~Emmalyn~
It was embarrassing. Absolutely humiliating. It started with stupidly falling asleep while Rhys was watching a movie with me, and then having another one of those damn nightmares. They had come back since the medication. I knew it probably had more to do with what happened at that apartment Rhys took me to than the meds, but it was what my mind associated them with.
I glared at the bottle of pills on the table in front of me. I could feel Rhys's eyes boring into me. I felt exposed, vulnerable. Like he was peeling back my layers with his eyes and uncovering my biggest secrets.
That was a horrible feeling. Especially when the secret I was trying to keep had the potential to destroy me if it ever got out.
"Emma?"
I jumped, cursing myself when I did. I had been avoiding Rhys's gaze for the past fifteen minutes. "Yes?"
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I replied quickly. Too quickly.
"No you're not."
"Yes I am," I quipped, the biggest lie I had ever told in my life. "Please, just . . . Please drop the subject. Thanks for the movie and the fries but I think you should go home now."
"Are you going to . . . You know . . ."
I turned my gaze on him for the first time in the longest time. He was staring at me closely, analytically. "Am I going to what?"
He looked uncomfortable. "You know."
My stomach dropped. "You mean am I going to hurt myself?"
He shrugged.
I suddenly grew angry. He had no right assuming that! Even if it was warranted. But still . . . I wasn't like that anymore.
I wasn't.
I stood up. "You need to go home now."
He followed me. "Come on, Emma, I'm just trying to understand."
I wrapped my arms around myself, squeezing my eyes shut. "Please, Rhys. Go home."
Why was this boy so stubborn? Why was he so persistent to expose me? Some things needed to be left in the dark and my past mistakes were some of them.
He came up behind me and grabbed my arm, spinning me around to stare hard into my eyes. I refused to reveal any of the things he was looking for.
"What happened to you?" he asked, fingers digging into my upper arms. "Why do you need those pills?"
"Rhys, I-"
"Oh, my goodness! Am I interrupting something?"
I ripped myself away from Rhys and stepped back, face heating up. My mother stood at the door with Clara beside her. Both had groceries in their arms. I hadn't even heard them come in!
"No, you're not," I muttered, feeling all flustered. "Rhys was just leaving, actually."
"Right," he muttered, not looking at all happy. "I was."
"Well he doesn't have to do that!" my mother exclaimed. "Why don't you stay for dinner, Rhys?"
He sent me an apprehensive look, to which I returned with an indifferent expression. "No, I think I need to go," he finally responded. "But thanks."
"Okay, then." She handed more bags to Clara to take into the kitchen. "It was nice seeing you again."
He nodded and with a last lingering glance to me, slid into his shoes and walked out. I fell onto the couch, dropping my face in my hands. Out of all things I never wanted anybody to see, and Rhys had been the one to see it.
"Everything okay, Emma?"
My mom dropped onto the couch beside me. I shook my head. "No, it's not."
Her hand appeared on my back, rubbing comforting circles. "Did something happen with Rhys?"
"Sort of."
"Do you care to tell me?"
I sighed. "I fell asleep," I muttered.
She blinked. "That doesn't seem so bad."
I wrapped my arms around myself. "I had the nightmare again, Mom," I whispered reluctantly. "I had the nightmare while he was here. It was so embarrassing!"
She stared at me with sympathy in her grey depths. "You can't do anything about that, Emmalyn," she murmured. "Something like that can only go away with time."
"It's been two years," I squeaked. "When will it have been enough time?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "That's the hardest part."
"I don't like it."
"Well, you're not supposed to." She pressed a kiss to my temple. "I think your father was wanting to talk with you."
I nodded. "Okay." I stood and walked into the kitchen. In truth I wanted to talk to him, too. I was a Daddy's girl through and through. Just hearing his voice would be a small comfort. I picked up the phone and dialed his work number, pressing it to my ear.
"To which of my lovely ladies am I speaking?"
A smile curved my lips. "Hi, Dad."
"Ah, my darling daughter. What a pleasure."
I rolled my eyes. "You're so strange."
"So I've been told."
"Mom said you wanted to talk to me," I mentioned in a quieter voice, sagging into a chair at the kitchen table.
"How are you, sweetheart?" he asked, concern shining through his words. "Your mom told me about what happened . . . Honey I know you hate taking those pills but they'll only help you."
I swallowed hard. That was a matter of opinion. "I know, Dad. I have been taking them, actually."
"You have? That's good!"
"Yeah." I licked my lips, trying not to think about it. "How's work?"
"Demanding. Criminals never seem to want to take a day off."
I laughed. "If only they ran by our schedules."
"I know, right?" he joked. I loved my dad. He always knew how to make me feel better. "You're always welcome to call, you know, if you need to talk," he said. "I know you're getting older but . . ."
"I will, Daddy," I promised. "Thank you."
"Of course. Is your Mom around?"
I nodded. "She is."
"Put her on the phone."
I smiled. "Okay."
"I love you, Emma."
"I love you too, Dad." I put my hand over the receiver and called for my mother. She breezed into the kitchen, eyes lit with an excited spark. I handed her the phone and a huge smile spread across her face.
"Jacob?" she spoke, leaning against the counter. I left the kitchen to give them some privacy. I stared at the pill bottle sitting on the coffee table, and after a moment's hesitation picked it up. I shook it, hearing the tiny capsules rattle around inside.
How something supposed to safe my life could double as a trigger of my ungodly nightmares, I would never know.
~*~
"Ah, Emma! What a surprise!"
I smiled as the bells jingled above me, signaling my entrance into Vittorio's Pizzeria. It wasn't a scheduled work day for me, but I had wanted to come in anyway. I hadn't returned to school yet. I would the following week. But for now it was Saturday, and though it was raining, I wouldn't allow it to dampen my mood. There was someone I wanted to talk to. Some apologies were in order.
I fastened an apron around my waist. Michaela was speaking quickly into the phone in Italian. "Is Rhys here?" I asked Vittorio as he scrubbed off some tables. It was early, just before seven in the morning.
"In the back," he told me. "He comes early to prepare the stock for the day."
I nodded and walked toward the back while twisting my hair up in a bun. I wasn't sure why my stomach was all in knots, why I was so nervous about Rhys not accepting my apology. Something in our relationship had changed. We had kind of progressed to the might-just-be-acquaintances stage, and that was something. We'd come too far to go back.
True to Uncle V's words, Rhys was setting out packaged balls of dough and organizing the supplies on the counter for ease of use. He was wearing his jeans and heavy-duty boots and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
"Rhys?" I spoke, voice coming out smaller than I intended. His head snapped around, eyebrows rising a fraction when he saw it was me.
"It's not your work day," he stated, returning his attention to the contents he was sorting.
"I know," I said, taking a brave step forward. "What are you doing?"
"Getting ready," he explained.
"Do you need help?"
"I'm fine."
I sighed. I expected his short, clipped answers. They hurt more than I was ready for, though. "I'm sorry, Rhys."
"For what?"
"You know what." I sidled up beside him and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at me. "I was mean."
He snorted.
"I'm sorry, okay? You're the first person to find out that I'm really just all fucked up and I wasn't sure how to handle it. I'm still not sure. I didn't react as well as I could have."
He turned around and folded is arms over his chest, staring hard at me. "Go on."
I shifted uncomfortably, feeling awkward now that I had his full attention. "My depression isn't something I like people to know about, and it isn't something I like to have a conversation over," I mumbled, pushing stray hairs behind my ear. "Can you please respect that?"
"Yes," he said, surprising me. "Yeah, I can respect that."
I huffed. "Why didn't you say that before?"
"I was mad."
"No, really?"
A smirk danced at his lips. "You make it impossible to get along with you."
I gasped. "Are you kidding? You're the one with the freaking 'if you even breathe wrong in my direction I'll knock your teeth down your throat' attitude! You say I'm impossible?"
He just shook his head. I tapped my fingers on the counter, thinking up what to say next.
"Thanks for coming over," I finally continued, picking at a patch of dried crust. "That was really nice of you to do that."
"No problem."
I craned my head to look up at him. "Do you think we can do it, Rhys?"
"Do what?"
"This project."
He grunted. "I don't exactly think we have a choice if we want to pass English class."
"Mr. Matthews thinks we can do it."
"Mr. Matthews is disturbing."
I nodded. "That's also true."
"I guess we'll see."
"Okay." I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "Hey, Rhys?"
He sighed. "What, Emma?"
"For what it's worth . . . I think we can do it, too."