Luke
My alarm blared, snapping me out of sleep. A headache still lingered, the relentless beep like a hammer against my skull. I angrily slapped the clock, allowing silence to fall over my room once again. With a sigh, I rolled onto my back, staring up on the ceiling. Damn, school already.
The heavy feeling still hung on my body, but I pushed forward, getting up, and performing my normal morning routine. Take a shower, get dressed, call for a mom who is never there, eat cereal, and brush my teeth. This morning's routine was a little different, however. Along with the basics, I also had to fit in three subjects worth of homework which I hadn't been able to get done over the weekend. Because in case you hadn't noticed, I'd had one wild ride.
-
Stuffing my homework, I sprinted out of my front door, running down the street as my muscles screamed in protest. Adrenaline forced me forward, my hands waving as the bus doors began to shut. I gained quickly, the bus driver catching sight of me with a roll of her eyes.
The doors remained open, pants escaping me as I climbed the stairs, trying to catch my breath. "You're late," the driver said, setting me with a cold stare.
As if I didn't know. "Sorry, won't happen again" I muttered, my cheeks rosy and breaths shaky. I moved to the closest seat, collapsing down into it. My head rested against the seat, my head throbbing again. My muscles ached and my stomach churned.
After my breathing had slowed, and my heart didn't feel like it was gonna explode, I pulled my phone from my pocket. Still no text from Emma. Where the hell was she?
-
Finally, the bus pulled up to the school. One by one all the kids filed off the bus and into the high school. Luckily, I didn't have to carry my lacrosse bag because I had left it in my locker due to the practice's rain cancellation. I followed the masses, stepping into the large building that was now my school. My body ached as I was jostled in the crowd, a sigh escaping me as the first period was English. With bad quality sleep and an aching body, this was going to suck. At least I knew my way to this class.
When I got there I looked around, my eyes landing on the empty desk next to mine. Surprise, surprise, no Emma. I sat down in my seat, pulling out the homework that I hadn't gotten to finish. My eyebrows furrowed, that cloudy fog returning to my brain as I stared at the paper in front of me. The words went in and out of focus, my eyes closing in defeat. Maybe I'll just take the zero.
"Did someone forget to do their homework?"
I glanced up, meeting Emma's warm brown eyes as she chuckled, taking her seat next to me. I smiled at first before catching sight of a faint bruise on her cheekbone that hid behind what looked to be a thick layer of concealer.
"Is that from Saturday?" I asked, trying to remember Missy actually getting a punch in. But as hard as I tried to remember, there wasn't a moment where Missy touched Emma. And I remembered outside of the party, in fact, it was my most vivid memory of the whole incident. I remember staring at her face, taking it in. And there hadn't been a bruise there unless it had been a dream.
Emma turned slightly, angling her face away from me. "Yeah, but don't worry about it. It's barely a bruise at all" she smiled, shooting me a wink. She hadn't gotten that bruise from Missy. And she wasn't as a good a liar as she thought.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to students buzz around us, all of them coming in, getting settled as gossiping to their friends about the weekend's events and newest rumors. "Emma," I said softly, catching a curious glance. "Thank you. Really, thank you" I whispered, trying to keep my voice from wavering.
Her face softened, a sympathetic smile warm on her lips. She reached out, placing her hand over mine before giving it a comforting squeeze. My heart skipped a beat, my hand feeling cold after she pulled back. The feelings I had for this girl only seemed to grow, and I only seemed to get sucked in further.
The teacher walked in, clearing his throat, the class snapping forward. Without a word, Emma swiped my homework off my desk before replacing it with a piece of paper from her bag. I opened my mouth to question, but Emma shot me a look that told me to keep my mouth shut.
"Homework out. I'm checking it now. Let's hope you did it" Mr. Sullivan sighed in aggravation, grabbing a clipboard off of his desk before weaving through the rows of desks. His narrow eyes scanned each piece of paper that sat on the desks, his hand making quick checks on the paper before he stepped forward and repeated the process.
"Jane, homework?" Mr. Sullivan stopped next to my other seat neighbor, his eyes burning into the empty desk below him.
Jane tucked her black hair behind her ear, shifting in her seat. "I-I forgot" she muttered, eyes plastered to the floor. A moment of tense silence hung between them. "It won't happen again, I'm sorry" she whispered, red embarrassment blooming on her cheeks.
"That'll be a zero, for homework and attendance." Mr. Sullivan replied calmly, very clearly marking an x on the clipboard before sliding to me. Jane sunk in her seat, her eyes glistening. I didn't know if he had a bone to pick with her but lately, she seemed to be his punching bag.
Before I could consider it further, he was standing over me, reading over the detailed paper that sat in front of me. He offered me a nod of approval, a check marked next to my name. Then he slid to Emma, who now had an incomplete paper to show for her efforts.
"This is incomplete" he observed, glancing from the paper to her.
Emma nodded, crossing her arms over her chest before leaning back in her seat. "Didn't have time" Emma said, shrugging her shoulders as she returned her stare.
And just like that, the teacher moved on to the next student without another word. She turned to me and smiled sweetly, an almost smug look written on her face. "Didn't want the new kid to start off on the wrong foot," she whispered before the bell rang and class officially started.
-
The bell finally rang, dismissing class, allowing Emma and I to head for art. I followed her closely through the hall, having to keep up with her quick pace. It didn't seem like she was in a rush to get to art but rather had never heard of a leisurely stroll.
"Hey, Em where were you this weekend?" I asked, curious as to why I didn't receive a check-up or a text after nearly being assaulted. Especially after she went through the effort to get me home and take care of me.
"I was working" Emma replied shortly, ignoring my stare as she kept her eyes straight ahead.
I recoiled in disbelief, my eyebrows pulling together. "All weekend? You were working all weekend?" I prodded, trying to get her to look at me.
Emma looked extremely uncomfortable, biting her lip as she refused to meet my eyes. "Yes," she answered, colder than before.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. This girl was impossible sometimes. "Alrighty then. What do you do?" I asked, my arm brushing hers as we walked close together. Emma's head snapped towards me, eyes shooting daggers. "What? All I asked is what you do? You know, for work" I continued, trying to understand the look of alarm that burst from her eyes. "Oh god you're not a stripper or a prostitute are you!?" I exclaimed, a small smile on her face before she swatted my arm.
"No, no, I'm not a stripper or a prostitute or anything like that," she answered, running her tongue over her lips as she considered her next words carefully. "Let's just say for your safety, it's better if you didn't know" she finally offered, meeting my eyes now with severity written on her face.
"Ah, I see. Your job has to do with your last name and your secret" I said, lowering my voice as Emma shot me daggers again. "When do I find out?" I teased, Emma turning as she grabbed the collar of my shirt, pressing me against the lockers. Her hands rested on my chest, her eyes barring into mine.
My eyes went wide, my breath trapped in my chest. I stared back into her gaze, watching her analyze me. "Listen to me, I'm really trusting you here. You know more about me than you should. In fact, you know more about me than just about anyone. And that is something that I haven't decided whether it's good or bad." she spoke quietly, her voice stern as her face stood inches from mine. "Just, please look. Don't break my trust for you. Help me decide it's a good thing. Because believe it or not, Luke, I want it to be a good thing" she said, the anger disappearing, replaced with something like sadness.
Her strength was shocking, but her words were what surprised me. It took me a moment to find my voice under her stare. "Yeah. Yeah of course" I finally replied, my words shaky.
Immediately her gaze broke as she took a step back, straightening my shirt which she had wrinkled in her hands. "Great" she sighed happily, smiling at me now. She slung her arm over my neck as we began walking, my head spinning as I rode this rollercoaster of emotion.
"Let's go do some portraits" she replied as we continued on our way to art.
"Oh, joy" I laughed, shaking my head.
Emma smiled, her eyes studying me. "Yeah, I'm really looking forward to seeing how your evil twin turns out" Emma laughed, shooting me a teasing glance.
"Oh come on, it's not that bad" I laughed, knowing that in fact, it really was that bad.
"Whatever you say pal" Emma chuckled as we were almost all the way to art.
-
A month had passed since the party and the traumatic memories were fading, only reaching me in scarce nightmares. And Emma and I were starting to develop a routine, a sense of normalcy. I would wake up go through my mornings like I always have. Oh but some mornings instead of my mom not being home, she was passed out drunk on the sofa, an empty handle of vodka on the floor.
Anyways, I would walk to Emma's house and she would give me a ride to school in her convertible, that is if she wasn't working. Apparently she has two cars, the convertible for leisure and the motorcycle for "work". Again, I didn't push her much with questions like I used to. I was starting to accept that somethings would just be a mystery.
We'd get to school, going through our day together. She was in most of my classes, which I know Emma had hated at first but now enjoyed. I mean, I loved it. Halfway through the day, we would find each other, if Emma was at school, and each lunch out in the backfield together. We'd laugh, tell stories, and joke around, like real, true friends. Best friends even.
One day at lunch, she finally admitted to living alone, briefly mentioning her parents passing. The memory of her mother accidentally bruising her wrist flashed in my brain, as she had essentially admitted it was a lie. But she didn't offer an explanation.
"How do you afford that place if you don't mind me asking?" I ventured, watching my step very carefully. Emma had been great about opening up, well, with most aspects of her life. But I had to be careful because if I got too close to the truth or asked certain questions, she'd close up for a while.
Emma wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, removing any crumbs that had stuck there. "My job pays for it" she responded, and I knew that was the truth. I also knew that was as much as I was going to be told.
After our daily lunch, we'd finish our classes. I'd go to lacrosse practice and Emma would do whatever she does after school. That was still a mystery today. If she wasn't working or busy, she would pick me up from practice in that shiny convertible, the guys on my team always sure to throw me a curious comment or two. I'd get in the car, her complimenting me on my lovely aroma that can only be created through a rigorous lacrosse practice. From there, we'd go to her house and work on homework together. I actually was able to tutor her in a few subjects, and she was able to help me out in one or two.
Then, time permitting, Emma and I would hang out and watch a movie or something. Mess around, do whatever we feel like. Half of the time Emma was so tired she would end up falling asleep on my chest as we laid on the couch. It was my favorite part of the routine.
After it got late, I would go home take a shower, and then text or call Emma and talk for a while, go to sleep, and repeat. Things were becoming more normal and there were fewer secrets between us. But there were always those days, rarer now than before but still present, where Emma would go MIA. And that made me anxious.
Today's Tuesday and Emma and I had just sat through an hour lecture on how to write a perfect MLA essay. We walked to art talking and joking, just another day in the life. My stomach was sore from laughing so hard. Missing a step, I tripped over nothing, teetering until Emma caught me. We paused for a second, in each other's arms, her face less than an inch away. Then she pulled away. "Watch yourself," she said smirking. And I don't think she was only talking about the trip.
Finally, we made it to art, sitting down in our usual place. Emma rose to her feet, stretching side to side. "I'll go get the supplies," she offered, walking to the center table. We took turns getting the supplies as it was the polite thing to do.
Her arms were quickly full of supplies as she walked back towards the table. She paused as her phone rang out, the supplies teetering in her arms as she quickly answered it. "Hello?" she asked, the phone too far away for me to hear what was being said on the other end.
All joy left her eyes, a look of twisted horror spreading across her face as if she was watching a car wreck. Her arms went limp, the art supplies clattering loudly to the ground. One or two people looked up, uninterested after a moment, and moved on. But Emma stood, stuck in place, the phone clamped in her hand.
Her body began to tremble, tears filling her eyes as much as I knew she was trying to fight them. "Emma?" I stood up, worry pounding in my chest. Her eyes met mine, her lip wobbling along with her knees. It didn't even look like she was breathing.
I rushed to her side, wrapping my arm around her shoulders before escorting her out of the room. "We're going to the nurses," I told the teacher, guiding her into the hallway before the teacher could respond.
"Here, sit, sit," I told her, leaning her against the wall. She slid to the floor, dropping her head between her knees. Then her breathing resumed, but in large, jagged breaths that prompted tears to streak down her face.
I kneeled in front of her, placing my hands on her shoulders ."Em, hey, talk to me. What's wrong?" I pleaded, Emma just shaking beneath my hands, trying to get her breathing under control. "Please talk to me" I stroked her cheek, wiping away some tears.
"John" she wheezed, her face collapsing as more tears ran down her face. "He-" Emma seemed to choke, shuddering under my hands. "He's dead" she sobbed, burying her head back between her knees.
"Oh my god, Emma. I'm so sorry" I breathed, squeezing her shoulders tight. "What-what happened? How did he die?" I asked, trying to understand the sudden news. I hadn't seen much of him but wasn't old enough to just keel over and die.
Weakly, she lifted her head, resting it against the wall. She was shaking, pain, and worry written on her face. She whispered one word that answered many questions "Work" she shuttered, causing me to sit back.
We sat in silence, one hand still on her shoulder. The tears died down until they were just dried trails on her cheeks, her eyes staring vacantly ahead.
John wasn't just her friend, but a colleague at work. He died at work, doing the same job that Emma did. A job that she can't tell anyone about, one that would somehow hurt me if I knew. I began to understand that she wasn't overreacting. I began to see just how serious this was. Deadly serious.
I sat next to her against the wall, putting my arm around her. She put her head against my chest, taking in a long, shaky breath. I rubbed her back, feeling her slowly calm down. We stayed like that for a while. "Emma?" I asked, not gaining any acknowledgment. "How well did you know John?"
"What?" she sighed softly.
"Well you seem pretty upset," I said, "How close were you guys? It wasn't anything..." I shrugged, knowing how ridiculous the question was. He was much older, but I just had to be sure. Curiosity and the need for answers was one of my predominant traits.
"No," she said, voice full of surprise. A hiccup escaped her from all the crying as she sat up. "I'm not this upset just because he died. Sure, I'm gonna miss him. He was a close friend. He was almost like a f-" Emma shook her head, running her hands over her face. "He's saved my ass many times. But that's a risk we all knew existed. We've always been prepared for that."
I shook my head slowly, trying to process what she was telling me. "I don't understand" I whispered, studying her face that suddenly looked so old.
"Luke" she breathed, shaking her head as she bit her lip. "His death means the su-clients are advancing. That means I'm in more danger. And that's fine. But it also means you're in danger. And that-that's my fault. I can't have you getting hurt, Luke. I just can't." she whispered, staring at the wall in front of me. "I just care too damn much," she said, her voice so quiet the words were nearly lost.
I pulled her closer, hugging her against me. She stiffened, waiting for my reaction. But I just held her tight pressing my head against hers. "Listen to me, Emma. Do not pull away from me. I know you better than anyone. You're my best friend. My life and this is just a guess, and yours, have been happier since we've met. You-you mean a lot to me. I mean, if we're being honest, you mean the world to me. If being around you means I'm in danger, then it's worth it. For me, it's worth it. I'm not giving up and neither should you" I said, hugging her higher.
She was quiet for a few moments, tucked away in my arms. "Thank you" she finally whispered into my chest. "Thank you."