Emma That is Dead (FREE!)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Outside the window, lightning streaks across the sky like veins, leaving the air charged with electricity. I swipe the article from my screen and set down my phone. "Actually, she's okay with it."

Mom's eyes widen. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." I bite back how it happened, how she waited for me in my room. In the dark. Didn't make herself known until I was almost naked, like her presence was a threat. "But honestly, I don't think we'll ever be as close as we were. She's changed too much—and not in a good way."

I can't explain what I mean and don't even want to try. It's too much, and I don't want Mom to make me regret my decisions.

Mom sinks into the cushion and criss-crosses her legs in front of her, the same way preschoolers would during story-time. "How do you mean?"

She's not about to let me off the hook. I hesitate. "I don't know. Her personality's different. I expected her to be fragile and closed-off, not bitter to the point of abrasive. It's like she doesn't care about the things she used to and has no empathy in regard to how people feel."

"Maybe it's a defense mechanism? Her putting up a front to protect herself? I read an article once about how psychological trauma can change the brain. In younger people, it can affect their entire personality and, in extreme cases, their identity. They have no control over it."

"But she doesn't even act like she's been kidnapped. She acts like ..." I shrug, not sure what to say. How to finish the sentence. "I don't know. Just different."

Mom gives me a sad smile. "Give her some more time. I know her parents don't believe in therapy, but maybe they'll change their minds. Or maybe, with some extra support from her friends, she'll start feeling like herself again. The worst thing you can do is give up on her. Whether Emma knows it or not, she needs you right now. Don't write her off because she's different than how she used to be."

I break eye contact and turn away, not wanting her to see what I'm really thinking. What if Emma was never kidnapped at all? What if she's involved in something else? Something she's keeping a secret? I don't say these things out loud, but I want to. It'd be nice to share my thoughts so they'd stop bouncing around my head all the time, immense and out of control.

"Maybe we can convince her parents to let you two hang out sometime?"

My head whips back to her in shock. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Come on, kiddo." Mom's voice is borderline pleading, which I despise. Nothing good ever comes from her using that tone. "It would do her a world of good to get out of that house. Being cooped up like that isn't helping anything. And you could use the break, too." Her eyebrows form perfect arches as she studies me, as if she's expecting a challenge. So, I give her what she wants.

"I take breaks all the time. I'm watching Rowan tonight—that's something. And I went to the football game last night and out to eat afterward."

Mom cocks her head. "You know what I mean. You need to release some of that pent up tension."

Because kicking my ass on the soccer field every day isn't enough? I open my mouth to protest but nothing comes out. I'm not convinced Mom knows what she's talking about, but it's pointless to bring that up.

So instead, I roll off the couch and stretch, back arched, arms reaching above my head. "I'm going to get ready. Dad's expecting me around four-thirty."

"Four-thirty? That's early," she says, her brain switching gears. "Will you have to make dinner?"

"If I do, they usually leave money to order pizza or something. No big deal."