by Corri Lee
Seriously? No. You fucked it up for everyone and you knew it would happen like that. But that still didn’t stop you. I reign your mind, not your body. You killed her with your own two hands.
“Emmeline?” Blaze shook me gently until my attention snagged away from her. I felt slightly dizzy when I came to my senses; the dizziness became a headache when it passed. “You can beat her. You can talk her out of your mind.”
“Are you for real? You think it’s that simple? She is dangerous, Blaze. You can’t just let her come back.”
“Cupcake...” There it was again—that cajoling tone he used when he was trying to pacify me enough to force his hand. “You have to know she’s not a separate entity from you. She’s part of you—she is you. She’s a part that needs controlling.”
I jumped up to my face like he’d pinched me. “I am not her.”
Yes, you are.
“No, I’m not!”
Yes, you are. Murderer.
“You should have told me about the medication, Blaze.” I crouched to jab him with accusatory finger. “If I’d been aware of this, I’d have been better prepared for it when she woke me up. We could have done something—anything—to stop this from happening, even if it did mean knocking me out while I was sick. She can not exist.”
“Right. She can’t.” Too calmly, Blaze stood and held me still by the tops of the arms. My heart pounded so violently in my chest I thought it might be the part of me most likely to jump out and punch him in the face. “You weren’t in a good place to rival imaginary friends in hospital, Emmeline. We made a decision based on how much of a risk you were to yourself. Now you’re okay and once you stop fighting me, you’ll realise it’s all in your head.”
“Of course it’s in my head!” Summoning strength I didn’t know I had, I stamped down on his bare foot and twisted out of his grip. While he was bent over cursing, I took the opportunity to grab a coat and dart out of the door into the hotel corridor.
Still in my pyjamas. With no phone and only the change in my coat pockets. No shoes and not even a bra.
Been here before, haven’t you?
Yeah... I’d been alone and felt like the world had fucked me over. But this time was different. This time was completely self-inflicted. What the hell was I supposed to do?
Moving from A to B was kind of a blur immersed in a fog that stunted my awareness and perception of time. It seemed to take both forever and no time at all to somehow find my way further into London and find myself crawling into the bed that was always kept open for me.
Even though I was rarely there, that bed held a certain amount of comfort for me. It had been there in times I’d needed unconditional support and love I didn’t think I deserved. It had seen a lot of tears and some blood. I’d feel bad that I’d fled there but always ended up being glad that I had.
“Thought I might find you here.”
The voice that spoke was soothing, though not the one I might have hoped for. Dressed all out in a suit with an electric blue shirt a lesser man would have struggled to pull off, Jonathan sat down on the bed next to me and set a mug down on the nightstand by my head.
I loved him for totally selfish reasons. Despite the age and status difference, he’d loved Daniel from the beginning, almost as much as I did. No sacrifice—not even his teaching job—was too much to keep them apart. Neither family approved of the couple and there had been times when Daniel thought about giving up. Jonathan held on. He was strong in ways his partner wasn’t and weak in the ways he was strong. I sort of admired him.
“Dan is stuck at work but called me as soon as he got message from Blaze. You okay?”
“My feet hurt.”
His eyes flitted down the bed to my muddy feet. He nodded sagely. “You walked barefoot through London to get here. I’m not surprised. Any cuts? Do you need a tetanus shot? Check up for hepatitis or AIDS?”
“I’m good.” I squeezed the pillow I was hugging closer to me. “You didn’t need to come.”
“Why? ‘Cause you have company?” Oh great, Blaze had told Daniel I was insane again. “I know I didn’t have to, Emmy. I just didn’t want you to be alone.”
Jonathan stood up quickly, moved into the small bathroom across the hallway and returned to me. Sitting behind me, he dragged a soft brush through the tangled lengths of my hair, wordlessly tidying up the outside of the messy world I’d created.
I cried. It should have been Blaze treating me tenderly, not my best friend’s husband. I felt like an impostor forcing my way into a happy place I didn’t belong in.
What right did I have to keep running there? Why should my friends have to carry the burden of my mistakes and remorse? I was a hindrance and a problem, one they really didn’t need.
“He doesn’t get it, does he?” Jonathan paused mid-stroke and rubbed my back with his hand. “Blaze doesn’t understand Fat Emmy.”
“He says she’s a part of me—all in my head. I know that’s technically true but he thinks I can just get rid of her on my own.”
“Right...” He sighed softly and laid down to spoon me. It should have been weird but it wasn’t, not after some of the things we’d done together. I’d been the willing helper to two curious gay men on more than one occasion. Over-familiarity didn’t even come into it. “He doesn’t get that you’re two separate people and you don’t want to be associated with that side of yourself.”
“Right. And he thought it was okay to take her away for a while but now he’s decided I have to fight her? I can’t. She has too much power over me, you have no idea.”
“You’ve never wanted to delete her before, Emmy. What’s changed?”
What hadn’t changed? Everything had changed because of her. Every single thing she’d made me do before had only ever hurt me. Now I knew she could hurt other people, too.
“I have—I’ve changed. My life is different and there’s no space for her in it.”
“In your life, or your relationship?” I lay completely still, conscious of the fact Jonathan’s frank question had struck a sore nerve. “I get it. Fat Emmy is like the hanger-on friend or embarrassing relative you don’t want to introduce to the man in your life. You don’t want to them together because she’ll make you act stupid and he might be put off by her.”
“Is that insane?” I rolled over to face Jonathan and frowned. “Is it totally weird that I think of her as a completely independent person?”
“You have schizophrenia and you’re asking me that?” Fair point. There were enough people out there who would say that yes, that was automatically insane just for the condition.
“Schizophrenoform disorder,” I qualified. “But can it make sense to someone normal?”
“Emmy, honestly.” Scoffing, Jonathan sat up and pulled me upright. “Don’t use ‘normal’ like it really exists. It’s subjective and you know it. But can you make Blaze understand it? Of course. He just needs a firm talking to. He really shouldn’t have kept it a secret that you were on medication and even if he was going to make that choice on your behalf anyway, he should have been checking where your head was at. He’ll understand if it kills him.”
And Daniel would be the one who administered that verbal butt kicking, I knew that much. My money was on him calling Blaze back as soon as Jonathan found me and launching right into a lecture. Blaze would probably feel belittled and patronised, likely annoyed that I hadn’t spoken to him about it myself, but I knew my friends would handle it better than I ever could. I could only give him muddled explanations of how I felt, while they had lived on the outside watching what I was battling within, so they knew how to live with it. They might have understood even better than I did. Maybe I relied on them too heavily...
“I know what might make you feel better. You need a dress for tonight, don’t you?”
“Tonight?”
“Your engagement party, silly.”
“Oh...” Of course, I’d slept too much and my inner calendar was a little off. Ivy had been so excited to be
given the job of planning it that she’d almost launched like a rocket to the moon.
That night, the renovated theatre Henry ran but I technically owned, The Roses, would be over-run with journalists and B-list celebrities who’d gather to celebrate mine and Blaze’s so-called unwavering love. Not turning up really wasn’t an option. It’d have to be the full arsenal of forced smiles and banal small talk if I stood a chance of getting through it.
And Jonathan was right. I needed a really nice dress.
“Blaze already has one picked out for me, doesn’t he?”
Jonathan pursed his lips and sighed harshly. He wore the expression of the knowing femme—even though Daniel was the woman in their relationship—who felt a whole world of compassion for a ‘fellow’ girlfriend’. “It’s at Caroline’s. We could go pick it up. Or we could rebel.”
“Rebellion, please.” I had visions of one of Blaze’s classically demure yet foxy slinky numbers hanging on a rail waiting for me. Driven by annoyance, I wanted something indecently short and black; something that would get the cameras flashing.
Which, ironically, was exactly what was waiting for me when we went to Caroline’s boutique out of curiosity. I couldn’t help but be annoyed that Blaze knew me so well in some ways but not in others. It was one thing to pick the right clothes every time but another completely to make the wrong decisions over my mental health. It was almost an insult and a suggestion that we were one of those couples who only looked good on paper. Where was the depth?
Jonathan held the dress up against me and shook his head critically. “You’re sure he’s not gay? Not even bisexual?”
“The way he goes for it, it’s really safer for men everywhere that he’s not.” Somewhere behind us, I heard Caroline’s assistant suppress a giggle, which made me smile. “Think I should just wear it?”
“Don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s going to have my crotch on display. Reckon that’s why he chose it?”
“Hmm...” That would have made sense, dressing me for easy access at an event I didn’t want to be at. Our first sexual encounter in a department store dressing room told me that Blaze definitely had the stones for public sex, but was that really why he’d picked it?
Curious, I fidgeted on the spot until I caught Caroline’s attention. “When was this ordered?”
She looked at me blankly for only a second, then picked up a scrap of fabric and started picking aimlessly at the stitches in it. “A few hours ago, Miss Tudor. Is it not to your liking?”
A few hours. For fuck’s sake... “No. I don’t.”
“Something else, then.” She carried on picking away. “There may be something in our plus size section for you.”
I felt my spine go rigid and my shoulders slope down square. How fucking dare she?
Go for it. Black her lights out.
No. I wasn’t going to rise to it. She was a cow but I didn’t need the bad publicity and had no idea how to swing a decent punch anyway.
No. Suffocation is really more your forte, isn’t it?
I’m not going to hurt anyone else because of you.
Oh, wah-wah.
“Emmy?” Jonathan shook me gently from my inner deadlock. “Let’s go, okay? Let’s keep moving.”
I appreciated his attempt to keep me distracted, I really did. But it was an old habit my friends fell into that I always hated. How was I supposed to focus on fixing what was going on inside when they gave me no chance to confront it?
“I’m fine,” I insisted, biting back the wateriness in my voice caused by the constantly impending tears. Caroline had a problem with me and I was no enabler. She was going to have to tackle her grievances head on.
My eyes scanned the mannequins on display and fell on a daringly low cut Grecian affair that skimmed the floor but was slit from hip to hem. It was a gorgeous deep purple that would accentuate the hue of my olive green eyes and the adjustable halter neck would easily accommodate my fuller bust.
It was also fitted for a waif. The ruched, glitter speckled midriff looked elasticised to a point, but not early enough to cater for a woman with junk in the trunk.
You’ll never fit in that, fatso. Look again.
“Screw you.”
“Pardon me?”
I sucked in a humiliated breath, realising I’d spoken aloud in error and Caroline had heard it. “I said... Do you already have a buyer for the purple dress?”
Nice save.
Her head inclined just slightly in its direction. She had to have known the minute details of every dress in her shop without looking, but she caught it in her peripheral vision anyway, as if in disbelief. “No, but... It’s very fitted around the waist. I doubt it would—”
“I want it.” Feeling a surge of confidence, my hands went to my hips. I wanted to make her feel as awkward on her own turf as she’d made me feel on mine. If she was as passionate about her work as she made out, every creation was like a child to her and she’d want them rehomed properly.
“I... Umm...”
“Let her try it on.”
My fingers dug into my sides at the sound of a voice I really shouldn’t have been surprised—or happy—to hear. That it had taken him so long to reach me was the real miracle; that I hadn’t been expecting it, even more so.
Acting like everything was completely fucking fine, Blaze slithered up behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist. Furious, I looked up at him only because I could feel his eyes burning into me, along with all the guilt behind them.
His gaze slid over me in a raking glance, forcing me to take an inward look at myself and the outfit I’d changed into. My loaned chequered shirt was Daniel’s, as were the skinny jeans I’d folded over at the waistband in an attempt to make them tighter. Embarrassed, I thought down further to my feet and the battered pumps I’d picked up from a charity shop on my way through London.
I was a mess and he knew it was his fault. He’d fucked up to the point of pushing me away the way he’d promised he wouldn’t, which had to hurt. To see me looking like shit but still holding my own without him must have really poured the extra pinch of salt on the wound and I was happy about it. Really fucking happy.
“You’re stalking me,” I groused, taking the rucksack he was carrying over his shoulder. No doubt it contained a change of clothes and shoes so I didn’t leave at his side looking like a tramp. God forbid.
“I was tipped off.” Duh. Jonathan shrugged at me helplessly and shook his head, glancing over quickly to the archway that led through to Caroline’s workshop. Her assistant scurried away the moment my eyes met hers.
“Your dress order came with a stalking order?”
“Stop calling it stalking. You ran out on me wearing your jimmy-jams on the back of a nervous breakdown induced by an argument about our trust issues. What the fuck were you expecting?”
“Fuck me, Blaze.” Appalled, I gaped up at him. “Any more of our dirty laundry you want to air in public?”
“I’m not— ... I didn’t—” Stuck for words, Blaze turned a glare on Caroline and exhaled sharply. “The dress, Caroline. Let her try it on.”
“With all due respect,” she sighed impatiently, but was quickly cut off by thirty years of irate male prowling across the shop floor and impermissibly removing the gown from it’s mannequin. No doubt the words she was intending to follow up with were anything but gracious.
I didn’t know what Blaze thought he was doing—antagonising the woman responsible for creating the dress I’d wear on maybe the most important day of my life—and whatever it was, it didn’t impress me. If he wanted to call it nobility, it was misguided. If it was his version of an apology, it was bullshit.
And if dragging me into the dressing room, stripping me naked and making to kiss me was nostalgia, I wasn’t interested.
“You fucked up,” I hissed, jamming a hand between our faces before his lips made contact with mine. One kiss and I knew I’d get sucked in, and I hated that it was so easy for him to win me over. This wasn�
�t a disputed dinner bill or secret wife. This was my sanity at stake. “Again. You fucked up again.”
And you’ll forgive him because you don’t have a righteous leg to stand on.
“It’s going to take more than a fumble to earn my trust back this time.”
“Bullshit, Emmeline.” Blaze took a step back before I could shove him away and stooped down with the dress in his hands. Automatically and against my better judgement, I let him guide my legs through the elasticised ruching and pull the fabric up around my waist. “I’m sorry, okay? Not telling you was a dick move but I stand by putting you on the medication. You weren’t in a fit state to make any decisions regarding your own health and I figured the less extraneous factors in your recovery the better. I called it.”
“It wasn’t even your call to make,” I argued, loath to admit that he probably had made the best move for my welfare. Every choice that had been taken from my hands had been passed to him and he always handled it with utmost care and attention. It would have been so much easier just to lump me back in the Cardiff unit. He didn’t have to keep me with him. He just knew that he should, for reasons he couldn’t possibly comprehend. “It should have been Ivy’s choice. She never would have pumped me full of drugs.”
Blaze rose from the floor and looked right past me as he tied an effortless knot in the two halter neck pieces at my nape. “If you recall, she was happy to let you die.”
“Now I’m calling bullshit, Blaze. I’m her daughter. She’s my mother. And to that end, my next of fucking kin. Who made you reigning king of Emmy-Coo-Coo-Land?”