Beastly (The Ever After Collection)

by Noelle Marie

  Emma screamed until her voice was hoarse.

  Unfortunately, yelling at the walls didn’t make her feel any better; it only exhausted her. She collapsed in the same corner she’d fallen asleep in earlier, pulling her legs up to her chest much like she had before. She stared at her denim-clad knees, barely visible despite the fact that they were less than a foot from her face.

  And although Emma wasn’t nearly tired enough to sleep like she had the night before, she supposed numbly that an upside to all the yelling was that it had at least worn her out too much to go on another crying jag.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Emma didn't know how many hours passed as she alternatively sat and felt sorry for herself and painstakingly searched the dark for anything she thought could somehow be used to aid her in breaking out of the prop room. At some point she pried a piece of splintered wood from a portion of a stage setting and made an effort to somehow use it to dislodge the door’s bolted lock. Then she tried the same thing with a thin branch she’d plucked from a plastic plant. Much like the script she’d attempted to pick the lock with the day before, however, both makeshift tools proved to be utterly useless.

  As Emma searched the room for what had to have been the seventh time since she’d woken up that morning – she assumed it had been morning – her mind couldn't help but to drift to her father. Her friends. Heath.

  Emma wondered if they had realized she was missing yet. It was hard to say with Gunther in possession of her cell phone. She knew her father would practically drown in guilt when he was told she’d been locked in a dark, musty room for hours on end with no food or water while he’d obliviously gone about his routine. She imagined her friends would feel awful too when they realized that she’d gotten into the jam in the first place because she’d attempted to fend off Lulu for them. As for Heath, well…

  As silly to be worried about as it was – considering her circumstances, anyway – Emma fretted about all the horrible things Gunther could be texting him from her phone, pretending to be her.

  Heath, it’s Emma. We’re over.

  After thinking about it, I decided I’d rather go to prom with Gunther, a real man.

  Like I would ever actually tie myself down to a worthless sack of shit like you.

  The possibilities drove her mad. And simultaneously broke her heart. Emma imagined all the potential ways Heath could react. While she hoped that he would know somewhere deep inside that she would never think those things (let alone say them), with his abuse-filled background, she couldn't say for sure.

  Even worse than all the imagined insults she pictured Gunther slinging at Heath, Emma feared that Gunther might get it in his head to use her phone to lure Heath somewhere and jump him. Hurt him.

  The very thought of it made her stomach churn.

  It also gave her the motivation to keep going. To keep searching the prop room for anything of use when she felt like giving up.

  Emma was limping over to the right side of the room, intent on pulling out the pockets of the costumes that she’d already blindly examined once when she tripped over a trunk she had to have dug through about half a dozen times. The trunk’s contents spilled out onto the floor and a distinct clang had her stopping in her tracks. It sounded like something metal had collided with the cement floor. Something useful.

  Slowly lowering herself to her hands and knees in order to avoid jarring her injured ankle, Emma crawled across the floor, exploring it with her hands as she searched for what had made the noise. Her hand passed over what felt like a handle of sorts. She grabbed it and pulled it to her face, examining what she’d found.

  A screwdriver.

  Someone must have brought in some tools to fix the set at one point and had left at least this one behind.

  Emma fingered the sharp end of the screwdriver, an idea coming to her so suddenly that she forgot about the throbbing of her ankle and nearly re-twisted the limb as she hurriedly climbed to her feet and rushed to the door. While the tool might have been small enough to fit through the crack of the door and wall, dislodging the bolted lock was no longer what Emma had in mind.

  Not caring in the least that she was destroying what was technically school property, Emma pulled the screwdriver back and stabbed it through the door, right near the lock.

  It was easier to jam the sharpened metal through the wood than Emma had though it would be. (The inside of the door was hollow.) It was a bit trickier to pull the screwdriver back out of the wood, but Emma managed. Not wasting any time, she stabbed it through the door again and again until a semi-circle of punctures surrounded the lock. Emma used the screwdriver to chisel away at the wood until that semi-circle was nearly wholly separate from the rest of the door. Then, after twisting the knob, Emma closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and threw her shoulder into the door.

  The holey wood splintered the rest of the way and, leaving the chuck that surrounded the lock behind, the door opened.

  Emma nearly choked in relief.

  Stumbling out into the hallway, she braced her hands against the wall and took a moment to orientate herself. Then, shoving the screwdriver in her back pocket and moving as fast as her injured ankle allowed, she hurried down the hallway and up the small set of stairs that led away from the room she’d been stuck in for…

  Emma’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt, her body freezing as well, when she recognized the faint noise of what sounded like rap music at the top of the stairs. If Emma strained her ears hard enough she could tell it was originating from the opposite side of the school, in the direction of the gym.

  She had been stuck in the prop room for over 24 hours.

  Prom was already underway.

  Limping forward, Emma’s entire being jolted when she was nearly blinded by the sudden brightness being projected upon her from the ceiling.

  Stupid motion sensitive lights.

  Her eyes had grown used to the dark during her time stuck in the pitch-black room. Emma blinked back involuntary tears as her pupils contracted into tiny dots as they were forced to take in the unexpected light. Then, steadfastly ignoring the brightness and the way it made her eyes tear, Emma resolutely pushed forward, intent on making her way to the gym.

  The music got louder and louder the closer she got, and a few minutes later Emma was there. Standing in the hallway on the outskirts of the gym that was bustling with activity, however, she was debating her hasty decision to head there instead of going directly home. (Not that she really could without her backpack. It contained the keys to her truck.)

  It wasn’t even the fact that she knew she looked like she had lost a boxing match with Mike Tyson that caused her hesitation.

  What if Gunther was in there? She hated to admit it, but the thought sent a spike of fear down her spine.

  But what if Heath was in there?

  Emma was waffling in indecision when she happened to spot her friends. Collette and Luca were huddled together in the northwest corner of the gym, the one closest to her. Collette looked magnificent in a burnt orange gown that sparkled in the multitude of lights that lined the gym. Luca looked dashing as well, dressed in a white tuxedo and matching orange tie. Despite how closely they stood, however, they weren’t dancing. They seemed concerned with something else entirely, Collette throwing her arms around in abandon while Luca wore a pinched expression.

  Then, thank whatever deity was watching over her, Collette glanced in Emma’s direction. She didn’t think the redhead saw her at first, but then her friend performed an impressive double take, her head nearly swiveling off her shoulders as she turned back around to look at her. Collette’s eyes widened as they took in her appearance. She smacked Luca on the shoulder and pointed in Emma’s direction before starting to drag him over by the sleeve of his tux. His eyes widened, too, upon seeing her.

  Emma wondered if she truly looked that gruesome or her friends were just shocked by the fact that in exception of her underwear and jeans, she was only clothed in a nearly see-through white
camisole. Emma had realized she’d forgotten her shirt in the prop room about halfway to the gym, but wasn’t about to turn back around for it on her injured ankle. Plus, she never wanted to see the inside of that dusty little space ever again.

  “Where in the hell have you…?” Collette began laminating loudly before coming to an abrupt stop, voice suddenly lost, when she reached Emma.

  Then again, maybe her friends hadn’t had time to process her appearance yet.

  “Oh my God,” Collette whispered, her hands lingering above the right side of Emma’s face. She was glad the girl had the sense not to touch her swollen cheek. “What happened?” she demanded.

  Luca hovered worriedly by her side. “Are you hurt anywhere else? We should get you to a hospital.”

  “No,” Emma protested immediately, shocking even herself by how defensive she sounded. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  It wasn’t. She wasn’t.

  “What happened?” Collette demanded again, looking torn between ripping Emma a new one for batting down her boyfriend’s admittedly rational suggestion and hovering over her like a mother hen, doling out Band-Aids and hugs. “We’ve been worried sick about you. We were about to form a search party. And now you show up like this?” Collette frowned, looking pained. “Tell us what happened before we’re forced to come to our own conclusions.” She gestured at Emma’s face. “I mean, what are we supposed to think?”

  Emma swallowed. “You’ve been looking for me?”

  Her friends looked suddenly guilty, neither of them quite meeting her gaze. “We were about to form a search party,” Luca repeated Collette’s earlier words.

  “We didn't know you were missing,” Collette said, the words spilling out of her mouth like a shameful confession. “Not until an hour ago at least. We were confused when you and Heath didn’t show up to the dance, but when we texted you, you just said you were sick. But then Heath did show up. He was a wreck, Emma,” Collette intoned seriously. “Not wearing a tux or suit or anything, just a pair of jeans and a holey t-shirt. He kept pulling at his hair. He was so agitated; I’ve never seen him like that before.”

  “Then what happened?” Emma asked fearfully.

  “What do you think? He confronted us, asked us if we knew where you were. We said no, that you’d texted us and claimed to be sick. Then he started going on how you weren’t at home and that he’d seen your truck in the school parking lot when he drove by,” she paused, her brow furrowing. “He showed us what you texted him, Emma.”

  Emma’s bottom lip wobbled. “What was it?”

  The wrinkles on Collette’s forehead smoothed over as realization dawned. “You didn’t text him anything, did you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter what it said,” Luca swiftly interjected. He placed a careful hand on each of Emma’s shoulders. “Now, tell us what happened. Where have you been?”

  Emma licked her dry lips. “I’ve been trapped in the prop room since y-yesterday,” she explained, stumbling over the words. Her tongue felt suddenly too large for her mouth. “When Lulu sent me down there…” Emma paused, admiring Collette’s impressive glower at the mention of the girl’s name. “Gunther followed me.”

  Both of her friends stiffened.

  “And what did Gunther do?” Luca asked carefully.

  “He basically demanded that I go to prom with him,” Emma said, but she wasn’t up to explaining what else had happened just yet so she gestured vaguely at her face. “He wasn’t too happy when I said no.”

  “Gunther did this to you?” Collette clarified, looking distraught.

  Emma nodded. “Yeah. And then he took my phone and pretty much locked me away.”

  Luca looked perhaps the most furious Emma had ever seen her usually easy-going friend. His cheeks were tinged red and his eyebrows were crumpled together in an overwrought scowl.

  Collette looked pissed too. “I’m going to kill him,” she declared seriously.

  Luca laid a placating hand on her shoulder. “Not if Heath does first,” he declared ominously.

  They exchanged worried glances.

  Emma frowned. “What?” she demanded, looking back and forth between their troubled expressions. “What does that mean?” she asked again when neither immediately answered.

  Collette sighed. “Heath tried calling your phone when he was here. I guess he saw Gunther look at his cell at the same time or something.” She paused, cringing. “He lost it and attacked him in front of everyone, demanding to know what he’d done to you. His actions make sense now, of course, but at the time, they both looked crazed. We didn't know what to think. I mean, Emma, Heath had Gunther laid out, his hands wrapped around neck, choking him. I really thought he was going to kill him.” She gingerly touched her throat at the memory before shaking her head. “Anyway, they were both kicked out about fifteen minutes ago for fighting.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “Gunther?” Luca inquired uncomprehendingly.

  “No, Heath!” Emma snapped.

  They both shrugged. “We don’t know,” Collette admitted.

  “I’ve got to find him.”

  “Emma, wait! Don’t-”

  “You need to go to the hospital!”

  Emma ignored her friends and limped as fast as she could to the nearest exit. She felt a few stares on the back of her head and heard a couple shocked gasps. She knew she must have been seen by at least a handful of her classmates, but Emma hardly cared. Her thoughts were focused entirely on Heath.

  It didn’t take her long to find him.

  Her heart jumped into her throat, lodging itself there and pounding hard against its inner walls when Emma spotted a group of boys standing in the small grassy field that stretched a few hundred meters beyond the school parking lot.

  Except, of course, they weren’t all just standing. At least two were fighting.

  Ignoring the painful throbbing of her ankle, Emma ran towards the group of boys. As she got closer, her ears picked up chanting – “Fight! Fight!” – and a flurry of insults – “That’s it, Gunther! Show that little bitch what you’re made of!” She could also make out that Gunther and Heath weren’t so much as fighting as two of Gunther’s lackeys were holding Heath in place so Gunther could pound on him. She watched in horror as a meaty fist connected with the upside of his head.

  “Hey!” she screamed, straining her voice so much that the word came out nearly completely hoarse. “Hey, stop!”

  Most of the boys heard her approach, including the two sorry bastards holding Heath’s arms behind his back. Miraculously, Heath didn’t fall when they hastily released him. Gunther somehow hadn’t heard her, however, and was about to hit him again when Emma managed to shove him away from Heath with a burst of strength. The unexpectedness of the attack caused Gunther to stumble, but he didn’t fall over.

  “Get away from him!” Emma yelled, her voice even louder than the sound of blood rushing in her ears. She stood in front of Heath, hands out wide as she defended him. “You goddamn cowards! You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

  As surprised as the boys were by her sudden presence, most of them seemed appropriately cowed. Most of them. Before she could confront the one that wasn’t, however, gentle hands were gripping her waist and a forehead was resting against her shoulder. “Emma.”

  Heath’s voice was soft with relief and something that sounded suspiciously like awe. He whispered her name reverently, like he was praising God instead of simply greeting her. Maybe he was doing both.

  Unable to resist the urge any longer, Emma ignored their audience and turned to look at him. Her heart, still pounding furiously away in her throat, dropped down to the pit of her stomach when she saw his face. Red bruises – she was sure they would be purple tomorrow – decorated the entirety of it, his right eye was nearly swollen shut, and blood was dribbling from his nose. Emma couldn't stop tears from springing into her eyes at the sight of it.

  She’d almost completel
y forgotten about the fact that her face had had an unexpected meeting with Gunther’s fist as well when Heath ghosted a hand over her puffy cheek, his thumb gently brushing over the cut on her bottom lip. She knew there must have been a trail of dry blood when the digit continued its trek all the way down to the end of her chin. His jaw clenched as he took in her injuries. She could see him categorizing them in his mind, his eyes growing darker and darker until Emma didn't know where the pupils ended and the irises began.

  “Heath,” Emma said, choking on an unidentifiable emotion.

  “Shh.” He shushed her, cupping the back of her head with one of his hands and carefully pulling her towards him so that she could bury her face in the crook of his neck.

  Then he looked straight at Gunther, his dark eyes drilling holes into the other boy’s head. “I’m going to kill you,” he promised, pure malice lacing his voice. “I’m going to rip you to shreds and pull out your goddamn guts so that you’ll finally be as ugly and twisted on the outside as you are the inside!”

  His voice grew louder until he was practically bellowing and while Emma could hardly blame him for his anger, she pried herself out of the safety of his embrace – Heath wouldn’t let her go entirely, refusing to remove his hands from her hips – and attempted to soothe him by running her fingers through his disheveled hair.

  Percy, one of the dozen or so boys still occupying the field, but not one of the ones who’d been holding Heath in place, cleared his throat. “You can’t blame Gunther for being mad, Emma,” he half-heartedly defended. “Heath stormed into the school, accusing him of stealing your phone and hurting you. Then he got him kicked out of prom for fighting and-”

  “He was right,” Emma snapped, stopping Percy mid-sentence. Emma pointed in Gunther’s direction, ignoring the way he still stared at her after everything. “Gunther locked me overnight in the prop room after doing this to my face.” She shifted enough to finally confront him, looking him right in the eyes. “Some man you are.”