Unraveling Emily (Valla Series Book 1)

by Anna Rezes

  Unraveling Emily

  Valla Series

  Anna Rezes

  Words Imagined

  Hilliard, Ohio

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written consent from the copyright owner.

  To everyone who encouraged me.

  Contents

  dedication

  Prologue

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  thirty-three

  thirty-four

  thirty-five

  thirty-six

  Acknowledgements

  Continue reading...

  Prologue

  A life built on lies has a shaky foundation, one destined to crumble when deadly truths are brought to light, revealing this life has been an elaborate façade. For the last five years I’ve been piecing together this puzzle I call my life. Now that the jagged edges are in place, I want to tear them apart and set them on fire, anything to help erase the picture of what I am destined to become. Though my life has not been normal for a long time, I never expected it to come to this.

  Desperate and out of options, I cling to hope which feels tragic because it cannot save me. Hope is a trick. It’s intangible, like grasping air during a free fall. I should accept my fate, but so long as I’m breathing, I will latch on to hope, knowing the consequences could destroy me.

  As I reflect on my mistakes, the chill from the cement floor bleeds into the marrow of my bones. Through the bars of my cell, I watch the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. The man I love most in this world has been unconscious for a while now, and I’m painfully aware that his precious life is draining away before my eyes. If only I could reach him, he might have a chance.

  I stretch my arms through the barricade, pushing until the iron cuts into my skin. Then I push harder, enduring the pain in my shoulder. I cannot reach him. I don’t even come close, but I try. He’s dying right in front of me, and I’m powerless to do anything, but watch.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “It’s all my fault.”

  I hit the bars between us as my lips quiver, and the moisture in my eyes overflows. Crying, though it resolves nothing, is my only option as guilt consumes my heart.

  one

  I gaze out the oversized window wondering how much longer this will take. I shift, sitting sideways on my silk cushioned seat to thoroughly avoid my reflection in the wall of mirrors hanging before me. A love song drones on in the background. It does nothing to mask the uncomfortable, yet inevitable silence between myself and the lady next to me. We are amicably ignoring one another, yet I can’t help but feel insecure.

  I glance at myself in the enormous mirrors to see my black flats peeking out from under my nicest pair of dark jeans. I hadn’t realized they were frayed until forced in front of this reflective wall for the last two hours. The brightness of the track lighting overhead emphasizes my pale complexion and dull blond hair that falls past my shoulders in desperate need of a trim. I straighten my posture, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I feel.

  “Oh wow, I love this one!” the familiar voice chimes. I turn to find my sister’s glowing face. Her smile is radiant. She’s beautiful, even without the white satin dress draping her curves and flowing out in a tangle of tulle trailing behind her. The dress is not my taste, but no one could deny the stunning young woman on the pedestal.

  The elusive woman sitting next to me springs from her chair, wiping tears from her eyes. She rushes forward to hug my sister. “Oh darling, you look beautiful! This is the one!”

  As they embrace, I focus on their relationship. It looks so natural, like they could be mother and daughter. I’m happy my sister will have a mother again, even if she is a mother-in-law. The petite middle-aged woman is well put together, from her dark red nail polish matching her silk blouse, down to her pressed black slacks and patent leather heels. Her bronze skin screams tanning bed, and her makeup looks professionally done. Her artificial air intimidates me, but I cannot deny she loves my sister and is just the kind of woman Sam would admire.

  They break apart to begin a close inspection of every pearl and sparkling bead. The familiar pain of grief and loss weighs on my mind as I think of our own mother. The mother who will never see her daughter get married.

  Sam’s impatient sigh breaks my trance. I realize I’m staring at them with my thoughts miles away. My brain commands my tongue to form words, but I feel lost in the reality of my sister getting married.

  My sister spins on the pedestal to stare expectantly. “Emily, what do you think?”

  I muster a big smile and stand from my chair. “Sam, you look . . . like a princess.”

  She has always been a princess, and the spectacle of a dress makes it official. Her eyes light up as she turns around to admire her reflection. She touches her waist caressing the dress.

  “I do?” she whispers.

  Dressed in black, the saleslady, Monica, walks around the corner with a bundle of tulle in one hand and a sparkling silver comb in the other. Without saying a word, Sam kneels when Monica approaches the pedestal to fasten the new accessories in her hair. Monica is wearing a real smile instead of the fake plastered-on smile she’d been sporting all morning. Sam is sweet but tends to make a production out of everything. It can be exhausting trying to please her, and this dress is the last of twenty my sister has modeled, but none of the others had this reaction.

  My sister’s wavy mahogany hair falls to the small of her back. Half is swept up into a makeshift up-do, and the comb slides easily into place. A fluff of tulle sits on top leaving the veil to drape over her shoulders and out past the sweeping train. Sam begins crying. It’s an odd reaction to a piece of tulle, although, I might cry too if someone put that ball of fluff on top of my head.

  Sam wipes tears from her flawless golden skin. “Judy, do you think your son will like it?”

  Her soon to be mother-in-law answers in a choked voice, also wiping tears, “Of course. He will love it! Sweetheart, you could wear a burlap sack and still be the most beautiful woman in the world to him.”

  Tears spill down her cheeks and Monica brings tissues. Is this normal? Should I be crying too? I smile to cover my discomfort. It’s not out of Sam’s nature to cry, but I’ve never been able to make sense of her reactions, so I remain silent, eager to escape.

  The sunshine is calling my name from outside the bridal shop windows, and I need it more than ever after sitting next to “Miss Tanning-bed” for two hours. I need the sun, I need fresh air, and I need to get out of here before Sam makes me try on bridesmaid dresses.

  “Is this the one?” Monica asks, before giving a spiel about ordering, time frames and so on. I stop listening and mindlessly count the number of beaded tiaras in the case beside the mirror.

  They set their wedding date for New Year’s Eve and it is sure to be an extravagant occasion. Sam’s wealthy in-laws insist upon
paying for the entire event, dress included.

  Once Sam finishes with the sizing, a perfect size two, she walks with me to the bridesmaid dresses while Judy and Monica complete the paperwork. We browse the endless assortment of colorful and shockingly expensive dresses. The time, money, and planning that goes into one day is absurd. I make a mental note to elope if I ever get married.

  “So, I was thinking of getting all the bridesmaids together to try on dresses next Thursday,” Sam says, as she pulls out a bright yellow tulle dress. My eyes widen in horror, and she catches my reaction before I can hide it.

  “Oh, come on, I have better taste than this!” She holds up the yellow fluff and then shoves it back on the rack. “But if it’s what I wanted, then I’d expect you to wear it. I know you’re young and can’t understand—”

  “I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks.” As the words come out of my mouth, I realize how juvenile they sound and wish I could take them back. I hate when she pulls the age card. For most of my life, I have been more responsible, more reliable, and more adult than Sam has ever wanted to be. So, what does it matter that she’s four years older? I came to this appointment to support her. I sat through dress after dress next to a woman who at the very least dislikes me. I smiled and said encouraging words because she’s my sister and because I love her, but I hate when she treats me like a child. “You know I’ll wear whatever you choose,” I promise, trying to defuse the situation.

  “Meaning you’ll suck it up and wear whatever God-awful thing I pick. Gee, thanks, Emily!” She’s taking her anger out on the rack of dresses, and I’m hoping they don’t have a you break it, you buy it policy. “I bet you don’t even want to be in the wedding!” she accuses, giving up on the rack to glare at me. “You could use my help with style, you know.” She gestures to my wrinkled shirt and tattered jeans.

  I knew I hadn’t dressed cute enough today, despite my effort. Sam is a few inches taller standing in her stiletto heels. I come just past her shoulder making it hard not to feel like a child while she’s lecturing me.

  “I’ll make you look good and, of course, you’ll just pout the whole time,” she says, full of valley girl attitude.

  I give her a look that says, “Really?” because we both know she’s the one who pouts her way through life. With her big brown eyes and full luscious lips, she always gets whatever she wants. Her face has a baby doll quality, and when she smiles, she has perfect dimples in both cheeks.

  We look nothing alike. She received her height, features, and golden complexion from our dad while I’m a dulled down version of our mom. While Mom had piercing emerald eyes, mine are more grey than green, and while she had shining blond waves, my straight hair falls somewhere between light brown and dishwater blond. Dishwater blond. Who came up with that anyway?

  I take a deep breath. I don’t want to fight with her. “Samantha, I love you. And I want to be a part of your big day.” I’ve heard several people call it that. “I want you to dress me up like Barbie.” I cringe at the thought. “I’m happy you found Dan. He really is perfect for you.” This part is true. He knows how to handle Samantha and all of her drama. And there is a lot of drama.

  “Oh Emily, I love you.” She pulls me in for a quick hug. She’s one of the few who can get away with hugging me.

  As she releases me from her grip, I ask, “Did you decide on your other bridesmaids?”

  She takes a deep breath and releases a sigh before she begins, “Well, Dan only wants his three closest guy friends and his brother and cousin.” The intensity in her voice is classic Samantha. “As for bridesmaids . . . well, you of course, and I have to have Leah.” I can barely keep from scowling. “Then there is Rochelle.” She starts tallying us on her fingers. “Eva and Alison. I wanted to ask Jenny, but Mia will be mad that Alison is in it and . . .”

  I am trying to pay attention, but she’s lost me. As she continues to ramble on, complaining about someone named Amber, I think of the list she’s given me. I’ve always liked Rochelle, Samantha’s old college dorm-mate. They are opposites in almost every way, and in all honesty, she’s probably the only real friend my sister has. The others are a mixture of superficial high school friends and sorority sisters, except for one.

  Leah.

  As much as I like Dan, I hate his younger sister, Leah, who graduated with me this year. I had hoped never to see her again, but apparently, fate is playing a cruel joke on me. She was unbelievably nasty to me, dishing out Emily Burk gossip and making my life a living hell. The only satisfaction I’m getting out of being stuck with her is she’s stuck with me. I wish I could’ve seen the look on her face when she found out.

  “Okay girls, the order is complete,” Judy says, interrupting Sam. “I thought we would do lunch before the cake tasting.”

  “I should probably leave straight from here, so I’m not late for class.” I fake disappointment. “I would be happy to try bridesmaid dresses next Thursday as long as we start early.”

  “Perfect! I’ll see you the same time next Thursday!” Sam says, wrapping me in another hug.

  After an awkward nod to Judy, I make a run for it. I take a deep breath of fresh air as I walk out into the sunshine. It’s a warm Ohio day with a subtle breeze in the June air. I walk to my car, undoubtedly the oldest and most battered vehicle in the parking lot. The faded green paint and accents of rust complement the missing passenger side door handle. My weathered Toyota Avalon is embarrassingly loud, but she runs well despite the two-hundred-fifty-thousand miles on her.

  I bought the car just before my sixteenth birthday with the money I saved up from babysitting and mowing the neighbor’s lawn. My deafening muffler catches the attention of two women going into the bridal salon. They pause their conversation to gawk as I drive away.

  I started taking summer classes at the community college after graduating from high school two weeks ago. I still don’t know what I want to do with my life, but I know community college is all I can afford. To fill in my downtime I work thirty hours a week at the pet supply store, but it’s not enough to fill the void my friends left behind.

  Morgan was the only girl I really clicked with in high school, and she went off to college a year ago. For my senior year, I had only my three best guy friends. They were like brothers to me. Alec is cheerful, with an inappropriate sense of humor that makes him lovable despite his player tendencies. Gavin is smart; he’s the level head to Alec’s free spirit. Then there is Ben who is the glue that holds the three of them together. He can be the life of the party—allowing Alec to talk him into ridiculous situations—and other times he’s pensive but not in a brooding way. I feel most at ease with Ben, perhaps, because he’s comfortable with silence, and most of the time I have nothing to say. The four of us had a good thing going. They formed their own opinions, unswayed by the gossip. The guys didn’t pry or want to talk about feelings like girls tend to do. Alec liked to remark about his latest female conquest, and that was as serious as it got—until Gavin told me about his feelings for me.

  Gavin liked me all along, and I think I knew it. I just wanted him to keep his feelings to himself. After years of friendship, I began to wonder if the other guys only allowed me to hang out with them because of Gavin. I didn’t want to lose him, so when he professed his interest in me, I made the wrong decision and tried to force my feelings. As my boyfriend, everything he did annoyed me. It didn’t last long, and the one kiss we shared was terrible. I broke up with him on his birthday. I didn’t mean to. I planned to wait at least a few days, but I kept feeling sick about leading him on.

  They were my best friends, but I silently accepted the blame for making the last weeks of our senior year awkward. I was angry with myself, and the guys tried to pretend everything was normal, but I’d seen how they treated ex-girlfriends, so I’ve avoided them since graduation. It turns out; I miss them more than I expected.

  Lost in thought, I almost miss my exit. Merging lanes at the last minute, I barely make it, slowing as I loop the ex
it ramp curve. I round the corner to find a woman standing in the middle of the road wearing nothing but a nightgown and snow boots. Slamming on my breaks, the crazy-haired woman doesn’t move. She appears calm, looking right at me as my car is about to plow into her. My tires screech and my heart leaps at the moment of impact. I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but I can’t look away, so I witness the collision, but there is no impact. Instead, my car passes through her. I follow her crystal blue eyes until she is right next to me inside the car. She reaches out, and I feel her hand on my face, the chilling caress of a ghost as her hand passes through my body. “It is you.” I hear her whisper.

  My car comes to a stop, and the woman disappears. I turn around to look for her, only to be met with the blare of angry car horns. I hit the gas, accelerating away from whatever the hell that was. I check my rearview mirror as I go, but the woman vanished as if she had never existed at all.

  Reeling, I pull into the campus parking lot and pull up the dash cam footage on my phone. I’ve never been so grateful for my dad insisting on the stupid dash cam despite me thinking it was a waste of money.

  I watch the moment I got off the exit, and this time there is no woman. There is just me, slamming on my breaks for no conceivable reason. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. My mother’s psychiatrist once told me that post-traumatic stress could cause hallucinations. Maybe that’s all this is. It’s been a while since I allowed myself to think of my mother, but with Samantha getting married, I’ve been thinking about her a lot. She is always a trigger for me, reminding me of the worst time in my life. That has to be what this is, stress manifesting itself in the most bizarre way. I tell my heart to calm down as I exit the car.