by J. L. Beck
My eyes dart to Emerson. She doesn’t want to be friends with my friends. They’ll eat her up alive, hurt her, and no way in fucking hell am I letting anyone hurt her again.
“Not yet. I was letting her settle in.” My words slur a bit and I know I’m giving myself away, but what do I care. He already sees me as a disappointment, a disgrace to the Jefferson name.
“Have you been drinking?” My father’s voice turns murderous and before I can answer him, he’s speaking again. “I asked you to do one thing and you couldn’t even do that. Jesus fucking Christ, Clark.”
I roll my eyes knowing a lecture is coming, and I’d rather not deal with that right now. It’ll only make me want to drink more, and I need to sober up if I’m going to help Emerson.
“I’ve got to go…” I growl, letting annoyance shine through my voice before I hang up.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” I tell her as I stuff my phone back in my pocket. “Will you eat something, please? You don’t have to come down if you don’t want to.”
She doesn’t even look at me, her eyes trained on a random spot on the floor, like she is trying to avoid my gaze at all cost.
“I’ll eat in my room while reading over the class schedule and then I was planning on going to bed early,” she says as she points to some papers on the bed that I just now notice.
“Okay… I’ll be next door if you need anything.” I try to hide my disappointment, but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job. I’m just angry. Angry with Sarah, with my father, with myself, but most of all, with whoever hurt Emerson. I don’t want to push her for answers, but I want them, need then.
I leave her room and stomp back downstairs to get the bottle of whiskey. When I get back upstairs, Emerson’s door is closed again, no doubt locked as well. Rolling my shoulders, I try and let go of some of the tension rippling through my body.
I flip on the hallway light before walking into my bedroom and sinking down on the bed, leaving my own door open. I haven’t slept with the door open and the light on since I was a small child, but I want to make sure I hear Emerson if she gets up.
Sinking deep into the memory foam mattress, I open the bottle of liquor in my hand. Then I bring the bottle to my lips and drink straight from the source. After awhile, I start to doze off, the whiskey doing its job to numb the unsettling pain. My eyes drift closed, memories of my mother flickering through my mind until the darkness finally wins out.
A scream pierces the air of the night, and I pry my eyes open. My head is foggy, clouded with sleep and alcohol. It’s a dream, nothing but a dream.
Another terrified scream meets my ears, and I push up into a sitting position. Emerson. I’ve never been awake and clear-headed so fucking fast in my life. Something’s wrong, something is terribly wrong. Her high pitch scream is all I can hear inside my head and in less than a second, I’m off the bed and exiting the room. I stop right in front of her door, inky dread filling my gut. Wasting no time, I reach for the doorknob, turning it, but it doesn’t open.
Of course it’s fucking locked.
The realization only makes me panic more. I can’t get to her… I can’t save her, not with this door between us.
“Emerson, open up!” I slam my palm to the wood, but instead of waking her up, her screams intensify, growing louder. I can hear the pain, feel the fear in her scream. My jaw and gut clench at the same time. I can’t bear this. I can’t listen to her scream without doing something.
Unable to listen to her screams a second longer, I step back and lift my foot kicking against the door in the area closest to the lock. All it takes is one kick, and with a loud crash, the door gives away and swings open, slamming against the wall harshly.
I’m not prepared for what I find on the other side of that door.
Emerson is on the bed, her arms whaling around her, her body tangled up in her blanket. She’s still screaming, and I notice fresh tears slipping down her cheeks as I rush to her side. Unsure of what I should do, I do the only thing that seems to have ever worked, and wrap my arms around her, engulfing her small form in mine, while pulling her tight to my chest.
“Shhh Em, it’s okay. Wake up for me. It’s a nightmare, no one is going to hurt you.” I cradle her on my lap like a small child, holding her arms in a gentle grasp so she can’t hurt either one of us.
“Please… stop…” she whimpers between sobs. Her eyes are still closed, but I can make out her scrunched up face as if she is in pain, even with nothing but the hallway light filtering into the room.
My chest clogs with emotions that I don’t understand at seeing her like this. It literally hurts, the bones throbbing as if someone kicked me in the sternum. Never in my life did I think I would feel this way about someone, that I would want to take someone else’s pain, fears, but I want them. I’d gladly carry the weight, just to see her smile instead of her lips trembling with fear. I want to help her and make her feel better, but I don’t know how and that’s the worst part of all of this. I don’t know how to help her.
Her whole body is vibrating, shaking like a leaf in the wind, while big fat tears roll down her cheeks. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, willing her to wake up from this nightmare, to open her big blues. A thin layer of cold sweat meets my lips at the brief contact, and I hold her a little tighter, making sure she is warm, safe, and secure.
“Clark?” she finally calls out to me, her voice hoarse, quiet, but still music to my ears. I pull away, but only enough to look at her face. I’m not ready to let her go just yet. My eyes collide with a pair of swollen blues, a haunting look rippling inside them, and yet they’re the prettiest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. Secrets as deep as the ocean reside inside of her, and though I’ve only known her for a short time, it feels like I’ve known her my entire life.
Funny, I can’t imagine what Vance would think if he heard me talking like this.
“I’m here, it’s okay,” I try to soothe her. “It was a dream, you’re safe here.” I feel like I’ve already told her this five times today, but if I have to, I’ll tell her five million more times, if that’s what it takes to make her see that she’s safe, to feel it, then I’ll do it.
I won’t stop telling her until she believes me.
I gaze down at her, taking her in… taking in this moment. The realization hits me that this is the most intimate I have ever been with anybody. The state she is in right now makes her extremely vulnerable, I can see it in her eyes, this is her stripped bare. Her soul laid out at my feet.
She doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her visibly calming. Her body becoming less and less rigid in my grasp. It’s almost like she is sinking into my arms, becoming more and more comfortable in my embrace. After a short while, when I’m certain she’s okay, I start to pull back. No matter how much I want to hold her in my arms, I know I shouldn’t.
I can’t grow attached to her, at least not in a sexual way. And I can already feel myself growing attached, wanting to protect her, and feeling possessive over her. I only want her in my arms and don’t want her out of my sight. I want to shield her from the rest of the world.
“Are you...are you okay?” I ask, pulling back a little more.
“Yeah… do you…” She starts to stutter, her eyes on my chest as if she’s ashamed, or afraid to say whatever is on her mind. “Can you… will you stay with me? At least for a little bit.” The organ in my chest beats furiously, and looking down at her, seeing the anguish in her face how can I say no?
“Of course, I’ll stay as long as you need me to. Can I ask you something though?”
“Yes,” she whispers hesitantly.
“Does your dad or your mom know? Did you ever talk to anyone about what happened to you?” I know I’m in dangerous territory here, I’m no expert, but I highly doubt this is something she wants to be asked.
“No, no one knows. I never told my father and my mother died when I was a baby.”
“I’m sorry, Em. About your mom and about what happe
ned to you. I’m here… if you ever want to talk about anything,” I offer, not expecting her to say anything, at least not yet.
“I was fifteen when it happened,” she says, her voice breaking at the end as tears roll down her beautiful face. My stomach is in knots thinking about it. Fifteen, she was only fifteen.
She doesn’t say anything after that, but I’m glad she shared that little bit of information with me because it’s a step forward.
Emerson closes her eyes and turns her face, doing one thing I never expected her to. Without hesitation, she buries her face into my chest. I’m wearing a t-shirt, but I might as well be naked because all I feel is her hot breath against my skin. I listen as she softly inhales, and like the smug fucker I am, I grin.
It doesn’t take long for her ragged breathing to even out and finally I allow myself to relax. I know she is placing a lot of trust in me right now. Letting herself fall asleep in my arms, letting me hold her in her bed.
I can only imagine what she’s gone through and she isn’t just letting me do these things she wants me to. I can’t help but feel prideful in how much she trusts me. I got her to feel safe with me and something tells me she doesn’t feel safe with many people, maybe not with anyone at all.
I watch her sleep for a long time, wondering who the hell would hurt her and how I’m going to get her to tell me more. I need to know who did this… I need to know so I can make them pay. I’m consumed by her, this bright red-haired beauty with big blue eyes, and petal pink lips. A girl has never held my attention before, not unless I was fucking them, and somehow Emerson not only has my attention, but she has the rest of me too. She’s weaseled her way into my mind, into my every waking thought.
For once it isn’t about the physical aspect, though I would be down to screw Emerson. That I’ll admit. Of course right then she decides to squirm in my arms, rubbing against my already semi-hard cock.
This is bad.
Think about something else, anything else. Hairy assholes, mole rats, one-eyed hookers. I try to imagine the least sexy and most disgusting things I can, but all I can feel is her perfect little body rubbing against mine. Her hot breath fanning out on my chest and her almost inaudible whimpers vibrating through me.
I try my hardest not to get aroused by her, but fuck, my dick is not getting the memo.
This is going to be a long night, a long, hard night.
Pun intended.
52
Emerson
I wake up the same way I fell asleep, cocooned in Clark’s embrace. My cheek pressed against his shirt clad chest, his clean scent and the warmth of his body surrounding me. Never in a million years did I think I would be able to handle someone touching me like that, let alone take comfort in it. There’s something about Clark though, I can’t explain it, pinpoint it, something that gives me hope, something that calms the ever roaring storm inside of me.
Never have I felt so content, so at ease in the presence of another person. I revel in the feeling, and hope with all my heart that this is going to last. I don’t know if I could survive another heartbreak, because one thing is already certain. Clark holds my heart in his hands. A boy I barely know holds my heart and he has the power to shatter it into a million pieces.
He stirs after what seems like a long time but still not enough. I want him to hold me all day. His hand rubs up and down my back as he dips his head and kisses the top of my hair. The gesture is so gentle, kind, and it moves me.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice raspy with sleep.
“Yes, thank you for staying with me,” I say, my throat still throbbing from crying and screaming in my sleep. Of course this is nothing new for me. Night terrors have been a constant in my life for years. What is new is having someone hold me all night.
“My dad is coming home tonight,” Clark says, and all the lightheartedness I felt seconds ago vanishes. I’m not sure if he caught my body stiffen or if he is a mind reader, but Clark hushed me right away, rushing to my rescue like a knight.
“I’m scared…” I confess, the trembling in my lips already starting.
“It’s okay, you’re safe with me. I promise,” he tells me and I believe him. My brain tells me I shouldn’t, but I’m tired of listening to the crippling fear, tired of letting it control me.
Clark has never tried to hurt me even though I’ve been alone with him multiple times. He’s never showed himself to be a monster, and while I know that the darkest of villains often hide in plain sight, Clark isn’t like that and I should give him the benefit of the doubt, that’s what normal people do, right? Clinging to his words, I let myself find strength in them.
It’s going to be okay… it’s going to be okay…
He can never hurt me again…
Hating it but knowing we should, I start to pull away. As I do so, my leg brushes against a firm bulge in his sweatpants. It’s huge. I gasp knowing what it is, and like an idiot, I look up at Clark’s face. A pained expression mars his beautiful features.
“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. I wait for him to make a move, to come at me. My heart thunders inside my chest, but nothing happens, he doesn’t move, not even an inch.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I apologize, feeling stupid after a brief moment. Clark is not a monster, he can control himself, his urges.
Clark shakes his head. “Don’t apologize, not for being scared, not for anything. You don’t owe anyone an apology, least of all me.”
Stupidly I believe him. I hang on every word he says, like a silent prayer hoping this will last forever, that the nightmares of my past will remain hidden, buried deep inside of me.
But something inside my head whispers… secrets were made to be told… and I know if I let Clark get any closer, those secrets will spill out. Ruining both of us forever.
We part ways, and I spend the morning going over my syllabus for class and putting my books together. I’m beyond nervous to start classes but tell myself its college. No way is it anything like high school was. I can handle this.
Later that afternoon, Clark has some guys come and fix my bedroom door while I hide out in the basement, curled up on the couch, some reality TV show on. I still can’t believe he kicked the door in to get to me. No one has ever come to my rescue like that.
Foolishly I wonder what my life would be like, how different I would be had I had someone like Clark in my life before now.
“The guys are done, and my father is on his way home. He didn’t tell me where he was at, but he’ll be here soon,” Clark sighs, sagging down onto the couch beside me. He looks, well, frustrated, to say the least, and it makes me wonder how strained his relationship with his father is. As soon as the thought appears in my mind a question forms on my tongue.
“Do you like your dad?” I ask, knowing I shouldn’t. It’s none of my business. It’s not like my relationship with my father is any better. I’m here only as a favor, as a burden. My father doesn’t know what to do with me, and so here I am. I’m here because it’s the easiest option, because my father is tired of dealing with me.
“Like? That’s not really the word I would use to describe our relationship. My father sees me as a burden, well, unless he needs me to do something for him, then I’m a convenience.”
“Mine sees me as a burden, never a convenience.”
“He sounds like an ass.” Clark grins, trying to make light of the situation. “I guess it’s good we have each other then, right?” He smiles, but I can’t return his smile. Not with the nagging feeling at the back of my mind that makes me wonder, do we really? I’ve been alone for so long I wouldn’t know what to do with a friend.
If that Sarah chick wasn’t enough evidence, I get the feeling Clark doesn’t have friends that are girls, which leads me back to the question running rampant in my mind?
Why? Why help the broken girl?
I’m about to ask him why he would want to help me, wondering if this is all an act, something that my father put him up to when the sound of the front door o
pening meets my ears. He’s here. My thoughts shift, swirling with panic. Dread fills my gut. I must have my worry painted on my face because Clark reaches out, placing a hand against my leg to calm me, and it does, his touch calms me, but it does something else too.
It gives me a warmth I’ve never experienced before, a tingling forms deep in my stomach and I want to latch onto that feeling, explore it.
“Clark, Emerson?” Clark’s father’s deep voice slices through that warmth bringing me back to the present with a hard jerk.
“It’s going to be okay,” Clark assures me again and gets up from the couch. He helps me up as well and we walk hand in hand toward the stairs that lead up to his waiting father. Again, warmth encompasses me, leaving me both curious and terrified. I can still feel the fear lingering beneath the surface, threatening to break through like a wave crashing against a cliff’s edge.
The walk up the steps is a quick one and when we reach the opening to the foyer, I see Clark’s father waiting for us with an impatient look on his face. I can’t help it, as soon as my feet touch the pristine marble floor, I clam up.
Like most of the wealthy men I’ve met, he’s wearing a suit that’s tailored to his body. It’s always the same, expensive suit, money, power, it’s nothing more than an image, a shield used to hide the darker things beneath. The impulses, the need. All waiting with bated breath to be released. A shiver ripples down my spine and I squeeze Clark’s hand tighter, as he all but drags me across the floor to stand before his father.
It feels like I’m being placed under a microscope to be inspected. Clark’s father’s gaze is powerful, raw, consuming and I feel the need to cower in his presence.
Even with my eyes on the floor, I can feel his gaze on me, burning a path of fire into my flesh. Slowly I peek up at him through my lashes, my lungs burning, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s going to burst from my chest.
This is it, he’s going to hurt you. His eyes find our joined hands before moving up to our faces, and when his eyes collide with mine, I can see the furious anger boiling inside them. I can feel it, and that causes me to take a step back, tucking myself a little behind Clark, as if he could save me from his father’s wrath, as if he could save me from his touch.