You Loved Me At My Weakest (You Loved Me #2)

by Evie Harper

  Sitting in this position with Kanye, I realize yet again that I am the reason he’s hurting. Yet, the weight of it doesn’t fall hard on my shoulders like it did before. My mind instantly goes to Marco, Donovan and all those faceless men which have blurred into one. They are why Kanye is hurting. They created this woman I have become. I’m just not strong enough to fight the downward spiral I’m on. That’s a lie. You’ve fought the spiral for five years. Did I? I think I may have, barely, but I’ve come out weak, useless. I need to find my strength again. I need to dig deep.

  I pull back from Kanye, a sudden urge to see Dr. Zeek comes over me. “I need to see my therapist,” I announce.

  He lifts his face to mine and my heart dies as I take in his red-rimmed, glassy eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Please know I am trying.” I shake my head. “No, I am going to start trying, I realize what I’ve done to myself is wrong, and I’m going to try and stop,” I say softly.

  I track a lone tear that falls from Kanye’s eye and a sob rips from my chest. I promise myself in that moment, he will never see me this weak again. Because I can’t bear to see him this tortured ever again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I’m catching the elevator up to Dr. Zeek’s office. I don’t have an appointment. I hope she’s here. I need to see her.

  The elevator doors ding open and I jog through the hall and push open the glass doors to the reception area. The receptionist, Amy, sees me and smiles brightly.

  “Emily, how are you? I didn’t know you were in today. Did you switch days?”

  “I need to see Dr. Zeek, today, now. Is that possible? Please say that’s possible,” I plead.

  “Well,” she drags out the word and I tap my finger on her desk in impatience. She holds a finger up to me and says, “Hang tight for one minute, lovely.”

  I nod and watch as she picks up her phone and after a short moment speaks, “Emily Roberts is here to see you and it seems she’s in need of a session right now.” Amy pauses, “Okay.”

  She hangs up the phone and I look in her eyes, eager to see the response in her expression; however, she’s quicker and tells me first.

  “She said to go right in.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She gives me a bright smile and I hope one day my smile can be as bright as Amy’s.

  I open the door to Dr. Zeek’s office and find her at her desk, eating a sandwich. She must be on a break.

  “Damn, I’m sorry. I can wait out in the reception and let you finish that,” I say, but my eyes are begging her to tell me to stay.

  “Nonsense, I can eat and listen. Take a seat, Emily, and tell me why you felt you needed to see me urgently. Has something happened?”

  “I’m cutting my skin,” I blurt out before I lose my courage. I’m expecting to see shock, panic, judgment on her face, but all I see is a soft woman’s soft, understanding face.

  “And why do you think you cut, Emily?” she asks, not missing a beat.

  “When my memories and thoughts are too overwhelming, I cut to free my mind. Cutting clears my thoughts and gives me a moment of peace.”

  “And after?”

  “Shame, disgust,” I whisper, but still loud enough for her to hear me.

  “And what made you come here to tell me today?”

  What did? When I cut myself today, I already knew I’d gone too far. I wanted to stop. “Part of it was when I cut today, the shame, the feeling of knowing what I had done to my flesh. And the other part, the part which pushed me to actually do this, Kanye caught me. Well, for once, I think I wanted to be found out, so I didn’t hide it. Until I saw his reaction and then I felt disgusted with myself. He picked me up and cried with me. He’s hurting and I don’t want to ever do that to him again.” I take a long breath in. “I need help. I need you to help me to be strong again.”

  “What makes you think you aren’t strong?”

  My forehead creases while I stare at Dr. Zeek, trying to figure out if this is a trick question.

  She throws her leftover sandwich in the bin under her desk and walks over to the seat I’m on and sits next to me.

  “Emily, before you were kidnapped, I wouldn’t have called you unique. I would have called you normal, average. You lived a normal, average life, but because of the unfortunate events that have happened to you, you are now unique. Why? Because you survived the impossible. Every day you walk around living; you are surviving. And every day you fight your feelings to not be with the man you love, because you think you’re saving him, makes you unique, but most of all, you are strong. All of those things take strength.”

  I shake my head. “No, I gave up. I gave into them. I ended up letting them do those things to me. I became weak,” I shout and stand from the sofa, wanting distance from this woman and her words. Words I’m desperate to believe.

  Dr. Zeek looks up to me with intent in her eyes. “Don't you see, Emily, you've never been weak. A weak person would have ended their life during or after your kidnapping. But you haven’t, won’t, because you are strong. You’re a survivor.”

  Strong, survivor.

  “Marco, Donovan, all of those men planted those thoughts in you. They aren't who you are. They are who they are.”

  “Who they are?” Weak, worthless, used and disgusting.

  “Those men went to those parties looking for women who couldn’t escape them because of their insecurities. They only reflected how they felt about themselves onto you because they can’t handle what they are or what they have become from previous abuse or being brought up and told that’s who they were. They had a choice; to become better than their abuser or to become their abuser. They choose wrong and for that, God will punish them.”

  Dr. Zeek’s words spin around in my mind. I know what she’s saying is the truth. I saw the disgust on their faces, the hatred they had for me yet they didn’t even know me.

  The realization of what Dr. Zeek is explaining spreads through my body. I believe those men thought that way about themselves, so then I have to ask myself, am I like those men? No. Never. I’m nothing like them.

  So how do I move on with that knowledge? I’ve defined myself as weak and worthless for so long. If I’m not those, than what am I? I don’t feel strong and I don’t feel happy, so where do I go from here?

  ***

  Kanye

  The desire to hit something, hurt someone is thundering through my body. From the tips of my toes to the tingling in my fingertips, I need to cause some damage.

  My Emmy, with a razor to her beautiful soft skin is repeating over in my mind and I’m going to go crazy if my fists don’t hit something soon.

  I turn into Dom’s place and break quickly. The tires screech and the car slides for about a meter.

  I jump out of the car, leaving the keys and not bothering to shut my door. I push open the side gate and it hits the fence, flying back at me, but I’m ready and I force it back again. I reach around to my neck, pull my shirt up, and throw it to the ground.

  I hear Dom calling my name but I ignore him. I’m only here for one reason. It’s not to see him. I spot what I want and walk straight towards it, rage driving my arm back.

  One swing and my fist connects hard with the punching bag. Hard swings, one after another, brutal and fast.

  Dom calls out behind me. “Jesus, Kanye, put the fucking gloves on so you don’t cut up your knuckles.”

  I ignore him.

  The vision of Emmy cutting, bleeding, crying, drowning, has tainted my vision red. I’m not stopping for gloves. If she’s hurting, then so am I.

  My girl is hurting. My girl is breaking apart. My girl is hiding away.

  I need to save her. I can. I will. I’ll die trying.

  ***

  Emily

  When I arrived home from my visit with Dr. Zeek the house was empty, no sign of Kanye. If I still knew him at all, he was out letting off some steam.

  I’m curled up on the sofa watching TV when I hear his
truck drive up. I don’t move, just wait for him to come inside. When I hear the door open and close, I glance up and over at the handsome man staring back at me. He walks over and takes a seat next to me on the sofa.

  I mute the TV and for the first time since I’ve been back, I ask him, “How are you?” I’m ashamed of myself that I’m only now asking him this.

  Kanye looks at me with sadness in his eyes; the pain of the day evident on his beautiful, weary face.

  “Not good, baby,” he whispers, and those softly spoken words may as well be thundering bullets right through my heart.

  He sits forward, places his elbows on his knees and covers his face with his hands. I notice his knuckles have cuts and are swollen. He’s been to Dom’s. Poor punching bag.

  “Thank you,” I say loudly in his direction. His head pops up and looks at me confused.

  “For never giving up.” I take a deep breath and keep going, “I realized something today. I was believing lies monsters told me. I have these ugly emotions which have been plaguing me for so long. Dr. Zeek has made me question those lies and emotions. I’ve realized something. How can I be these bad things if a man as wonderful as you wants me and believes in me? So, thank you. I’m not better. I’m not even close, but I’m on a much better road than I was before, because of you.”

  Kanye sits up and reaches out for my hand. I let him take it. I’m not rejecting him; it only hurts us both, but touching is as far as I can go right now. Emotionally, I’m screwed up. I need to figure out where my head is before I risk putting Kanye through any more grief.

  “Emmy, baby, that’s amazing. Where do we go from here?” Kanye’s thumb runs over my hand in a comforting gesture.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper and look away.

  I feel stupid. We’ve come this far and I’m still confused. I feel like the girl who keeps going back and forth. I'm drowning in a nightmare I created myself, and I can't stop it. I can’t stop myself from pushing away the people I love.

  I hear Kanye sigh. My eyes flick back to him. His eyes are closed and he’s resting his head on the back of the sofa. I decide this is the best time to head to bed. This conversation can only go downhill from here.

  I take my hand from his and Kanye’s eyes open. He doesn’t attempt to stop me. He just watches me stand up and head for the stairs while he rests on the sofa. I’m half way up the stairs when he stands and speaks, “You can walk away from our conversations, but you can never walk away from me.”

  I pause in my retreat and turn to him as he gets to the bottom of the steps, staring up at me.

  “We are an unfinished love song is all, Emmy. God’s just working on our next set of lyrics.” He takes two steps at a time to meet me and kisses my forehead. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

  Kanye walks down the stairs and then into the kitchen.

  I’m left frozen on the steps, my mind and body at war with each other. My body begs me to go after him, but my mind wins. I’m still too weak to reach out and take what I want.

  I climb the stairs and head for my room. I pull out my laptop, open my email account and find a new message.

  Subject: He’s on the move.

  Donovan is on his way to the USA. He boarded a flight to New York. I’m on the same flight. He hired an investigator to find you. The investigator is in New York City. From my investigations, he has nothing on you yet, but he’s good. It will only be a matter of time before he finds you.

  So Donovan is already on his way to me. That was much quicker than I anticipated it would be. No matter, I will be ready. Maybe the answers to who I am lie in dealing with him. Revenge may be what truly sets me free.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It’s been a month since Kanye caught me cutting myself. I haven’t cut since. I’ve felt the need. My body raged at me the first few times I craved to clear my mind of my thoughts and memories. It was an easy way to achieve some peace. But the feeling of letting Kanye down weighs heavier on my heart than the painful memories in my mind.

  Kanye and I have been taking each day slowly. We’ve formed a sort of new friendship. One where Kanye constantly pushes my boundaries with words and touching, and one where I gently step away or ignore him. The man is a mountain of steel when he wants something; there is no budging him.

  My resolve is a thin sheet of glass with cracks all the way through it. I’m just waiting for that one moment where it all shatters and I’m lost to it.

  I’m sitting at a bar, dressed in a one-shouldered black short dress with ruched sides and single flutter sleeves. Best of all, I’m drinking vodka and lemonade. Damn, I’d forgotten how good alcohol tasted. And the wonderful warm, tingly feeling it gives as it runs through your body and lightens your mood.

  It’s Jake and Lily’s engagement party. They arrived from Australia four days ago and Mom surprised them with a party to celebrate their engagement. I turn in my chair and look at all the people standing around in the beautifully decorated gold and black function room. Women in stunning dresses and men in trousers and buttoned-up shirts.

  My eyes drift over the dance floor, they fall on Lily and Jake swaying, holding each other, and staring into each other’s eyes. I’m so happy for my brother. He really did find his one true soul mate.

  A man catches my attention when he sits next to me at the bar and smiles brightly at me. With his dark hair and expensive looking suit, the similarities of him and Donovan have me moving away from him instantly. His expression turns to confusion as I retreat backwards and slam into a hard body, a body I know all too well.

  One of Kanye’s arms wrap around my waist while the other extends to the bar between the man and me.

  I peer up at Kanye but he isn’t looking at me. No, he’s staring down the man at the bar.

  “You need to back the fuck off, now,” Kanye growls.

  The man stands and mutters angrily as he moves away from the bar.

  I sigh. “Kanye, what the heck was that?” I question him not nearly as angry as I should be. No, I’m thankful. Thankful Kanye will get rid of any man who comes near me.

  “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, Emmy. You're mine, every fucker in this room will know that when they come near you.”

  Jesus, at this point, I’m so confused where Kanye and I stand. I’m trying to save him yet he’s desperate to drown with me. I’m not strong enough to actually leave him like I should. Move out of our home. Our home. I’m so weak, yet this man loves me at my weakest.

  I move out of Kanye’s arms and my body screams at me in protest.

  I step up to the bar and down the rest of my drink. I signal the lady behind the bar and ask for another. I think it’s my third or fourth?

  “Take it easy, Emmy. When was the last time you had a drink? Have you even had a drink in the past five years?”

  My eyes go wide and they dart to Kanye. My palms sweat and my heart flutters with anxiety. A question, the first question he’s asked me about the past five years. This is it. The first small step before he wants to know everything, all the gory details and then he’s going to know what they did to me, what I was too weak to stop.

  Kanye must notice me panic because he rounds my body and looks straight into my frightened eyes.

  “What happened just then? What did I do?”

  The woman places my drink in front of me and I pick it up quickly, I stare down at the ice floating in the drink and try to calm my racing heart. I glimpse up to Kanye’s face trying hard to hide the fear I have inside myself.

  “Jesus, what is it Emmy?” It appears I failed.

  “It’s nothing. And no I haven’t had alcohol since—” I stop mid-sentence, trying to remember when my last drink was, but I can’t remember. “I can’t remember when,” I end softly.

  “Baby, it’s okay. You deserve to have some drinks and enjoy yourself. Just take it easy, okay. You don’t want to be sleeping next to the toilet bowl tonight.”

  I nod, step away from him, and move among the people i
n the room to find my parents. I need space away from Kanye.

  I find my parents and stand by my dad. In all this, he is the one person I know won’t ask me the questions I never want to answer. My dad is a tower of strength, but I guess since everyone can see straight through me, I get that from him because I can see straight through him too. Every time he looks at me, I see his world turn dark. If I could change that I would. If I could tell him honestly that I’m okay, then I would, but I can’t. I’m trying my hardest, but it’s just not enough to save the ones I love around me and stop them from hurting.

  I stand next to my parents for most of the night. A few hours later, I spot Kanye talking and laughing with a woman. My hand instantly reaches up and holds my rose necklace. I rub my thumb over the glass orb and my heart calms. Kanye must sense my stare because he looks up at me, then his eyes fall to my hand holding my rose petals. The woman continues to talk to him while he stares at me. She places her hand on his arm to grab his attention back and it works. He turns back to the woman and their laughs and chatter echo around me.

  Suddenly, I feel warm. I place the back of my hand to my head and feel sweat there. I walk back over to the bar and order a tequila shot. I stopped drinking earlier and feel fine, but if I have to keep hearing the annoying, scratchy female laugh, then I’m going to need more alcohol.

  I down the shot, and then notice a familiar arm stretch out beside me and lean on the bar. Kanye’s warm, minty breath floats across my cheek as he says, “We need to talk, now. Privately.”

  Kanye pulls me by my elbow and we walk through the crowd and out of the function room. We’re in a hallway and I think he’s going to stop just here, but he continues down the hall and a set of stairs toward the front glass doors.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Kanye turns us left and directs us into a room. It’s dark, but the lights from the golf course shine into the room, illuminating it enough to be able to see clearly.

  I hear the door close and turn to see Kanye watching me. His jaw is clenched and his posture is stiff.