by J. L. Beck
Inconspicuously I scan the room, finding my father almost immediately. If it wasn’t the tux that screams I have money, or identical hair and eye color that gave him away, it would be the obnoxious sound of his voice. He’s talking loudly, basically yelling, well holding up a glass of champagne. A circle of people surrounding him, listening to him like he is the most interesting person in the room. I can attest to that being false. Then he says something, and everybody breaks out into hearty laughter, and I all but roll my eyes.
No way is their laughter real. The man is the least funny guy on the planet. I’m surprised he even knows what a joke is.
“Let’s show our faces to my father really quick. I’d rather get it over with now, so we have the rest of the evening to do whatever we want,” I tell her.
“Okay, I don’t see my father yet.” I don’t miss the relieved tone in her voice, and I wonder if she actually dislikes her father more than I dislike mine. I find it hard to believe, but then again not really. My father’s a mega asshole, but hers has to be just as bad if he just sent her away in the state she was in when we first met.
We walk over to where my father and his entourage are standing, people are moving out of our way, some stare a bit longer than necessary, but no one says anything. They all nod, and wave, like an army that’s been trained to be seen but never heard. My father’s been making me come to events like this for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never brought a plus one before, never felt the need to, so maybe that’s the reasoning for long glances?
Either way, they better avert their eyes soon otherwise we’ll have problems. Gritting my teeth, I swallow down the anger like acid, forcing it away. My father would kill me, strike me dead if I made a scene by punching one of his guests, so I reel it in, and instead plaster a fake as hell smile on my lips. It doesn’t help.
As soon as my father sees us coming, he stops talking and greets us in only a way my father could, with a flare of dramatics to gather even more attention. “Clark, son, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His hard gaze swings to Emerson who is holding onto my arm like it’s the bar holding in her seat on this crazy-ass rollercoaster ride. “Emerson, you look lovely, beautiful, come have a drink with us.” I don’t know what annoys me more, how fake he is acting, like we’re just this little happy family or the way he is looking at Emerson.
Refusing to choose I go with both.
“Father,” I grit through my smile. “The event looks great. You did a great job.” Forcing the words out is harder than I expected, and I hope he nor anyone else notices.
“Thank you, your mother would’ve been so happy to see an event like this taking place. I imagine she is up there in heaven smiling down on us.”
The mention of my mother makes my blood boil and I curl my hand into a tight fist, wanting to swing the thing into his asshole face. He never cared about my mother, about her anxiety, her crippling depression that kept her in their bedroom all hours of the day and night well he was gone working which really meant sleeping his way through North Woods finest whores. He didn’t care about me, and he cared even less about her.
A small hand lands on my clenched fist, covering it and I look down to see a tiny smile tugging at her lips. She sees me, feels me.
Mine. My Emerson. Her touch cools my heated blood enough for me to rein in my emotions.
“I’m sure Mrs. Jefferson would’ve loved it,” Emerson adds softly, and my father’s eyes light up at the sound of her voice. I guess he should be surprised that she speaks since the last time he saw her she did everything she could to hide from him.
“Yes, yes, she would’ve,” my father says, his eyes lingering on Emerson’s body far longer than acceptable. Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him. “Well, I’m going to mingle, but have a drink and enjoy yourselves.” He directs his attention back to me and I can see the heated warning in his gaze. He told me not to fuck Emerson, not to get anywhere near her with my cock and though I haven’t... yet, I’m sure he thinks I have. He’s always been horribly judgmental of me, and who I fuck, though he did the same thing himself many years ago.
Either way, I don’t care what he has to say.
He can warn me away, cut me off, treat me like shit. None of it matters. I’m still going to do what I want to do. Turning his back to us, he dismisses us like we’re two of his hired workers. I force myself to turn and walk away, my feet moving across the floor as if they have weights tied to them. As soon as we’re out of earshot, the words spew from my mouth like word vomit.
“I hate him, truly. How can he put something like this together when he doesn’t even give a fuck about people, let alone their mental health. Saying shit like my mother would’ve loved this and she’s watching from heaven.” An exasperated laugh slips past my lips. “She killed herself so she wouldn’t have to deal with him, deal with his shit. She is sure as hell not watching from the afterlife. She killed herself and left me here.”
Moving so she can wrap her arms around me, Emerson hugs me, or at least tries to.
“I’m sorry, Clark,” she mumbles into the fabric of my tux. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, and that your father doesn’t care. I know what that’s like and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
Get it together, Clark. I feel like such an ass, complaining to Em, about my father being an ass when she has gone through way worse than me. Yeah, I lost my mother, but so did she and while my father’s a piece of shit at least I’m not plagued with fear, anxiety, and nightmares. At least I wasn’t abused like I know Emerson was.
The waitress walks by with a large tray and I grab a glass of champagne, bringing the flute to my lips I take a large sip, calming the rage inside of me.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel sorry for me,” I say, peering down at her. I’d much rather be at home in bed with her right now than here, but we can’t always have what we want. She pulls away, and shifts back to my side, a soft smile gracing her lips but said smile slips off her face and falls to the floor the moment her eyes collide with something, no not something, someone off in the distance.
“That’s my father…” Emerson whispers, a tiny tremble in her voice, as a big burly looking man with blonde hair stalks toward us. He’s tall, almost as tall as me, and though he’s not wearing a tux that’s as flashy looking as my father’s, he still oozes that asshole look-at-me-I-have-money attitude. As he gets closer, I feel the need to shove Emerson behind me protect her, to tell this asshole who obviously didn’t protect his daughter from whoever hurt her to fuck off.
“Emerson.” His voice is deep, stern, as he comes to a stop a few feet in front of us. Our gazes collide. His eyes are the same color blue as Emerson’s, but they don’t hold the same warmth, the same energy or life. My jaw tightens and I so badly want to tell him to take a hike, but what good would that do? His gaze cuts to Emerson, who is now holding onto me like she just saw a ghost. “I would like to have a quick word with you.”
“Of...of course,” she stutters. She hasn’t stuttered in, well fuck, forever. Which tells me what I should do, what I need to do.
Pulling away from me, she takes a step forward. I reach for her hand, but she takes another step forward and shakes her head.
“I’ll be right back.” She gives me a reassuring smile.
I’m torn between letting her go to be strong and throwing her over my shoulder to drag her away from here. I want to protect her from everything, but I know that this is not how it works. I’m doing this so she can be independent and not scared. She’s made so much progress and now it’s time to let her and her father see how strong she is.
“Okay,” I say before leaning down and whisper right next to her ear. “You’ve got this.”
I don’t miss the disgusted look that her father gives me, like me touching his daughter is a crime or something. She let’s go of my arm and I watch her walk away, following her father through the crowd. I let them get a ten feet head start before I start tailing them. I’ll let he
r fight this battle, but that doesn't mean I’m letting her out of my sight to do it.
They step out into the hallway, through a pair of French doors leading to the pool and I walk around to the second exit leading to the same hallway. I’m not even standing there for a second and, Emerson hasn’t already started talking to her father, her voice strained like she is fighting back tears.
“It’s not like that. Why do you care anyway? Why can’t you just let me do this on my own?” I can feel her pain as if it’s my own to bear, and I dig my fingers into the brick pillar I’m leaning against to stop myself from going to her.
“Do you even care what people think about you? Everyone knows the reputation Clark has with women, do you really think it’s a good idea to be seen with him, let alone move in with him? I bet you didn’t think I would find out about that, did you?” Her father’s voice is accusing, and I can’t imagine what he’s thinking right now, or what he’s accusing her of?
“No, I don’t care what people think…and I knew you would find out. I wasn’t hiding anything—”
“I’m sure you weren’t, and well you may not care about how people see you I do,” he cuts her off and I’m a second away from coming out of hiding to roundhouse kick him in the chest. “You’ve caused enough problems,” he snarls.
What the fuck is wrong with this asshole? My grip on the champagne glass tightens and I have to force myself to loosen up before this thing shatters in my hand.
“I’m sorry if I disappointed you, or tarnished your appearance tonight. But really, it’s not what you think. Clark is not who you think he is. I love him, and I think he loves me too.”
An arrogant snort of humorless laughter erupts from her father’s throat.
“You are so naïve, Emerson. One would think after all you’ve done, you wouldn’t put yourself in another situation like this. I can see that you still don’t understand how the world works. Can you at least promise me one thing this time?”
“Yes,” she says quietly, her head hanging low in defeat.
“Try not to get pregnant again.”
Pregnant again? The words sink in slowly, my body feeling as if it’s sinking into quicksand. The glass in my hand slips from my hold, as the world around me shakes like an earthquake is taking place. It lands with a crash, shattering across the ground, and I imagine that’s how my heart would look right now if I could see it.
Shattered…broken.
Chapter Fourteen
Emerson
I know the moment I hear the crashing of glass against the stone floor that Clark is there. I don’t need to lift my head and look at his confused, heartbroken face to know, but I do anyway, hoping maybe he didn’t hear the fateful words my father had just said, but he did. A deep ache resonates through my gut and I take a step toward him without thinking.
“Oh, this is great. He didn’t know?” my father announces. Clark only glances at my face and then looks away as if he can’t stand to look at me another moment longer. Why didn’t I follow my gut instinct? I knew this would happen, that when he found out the truth he would run, leave me. I can feel the tears forming in my eyes.
I’m stupid, so stupid.
“That boy doesn’t love you and it would be wise of you to grasp onto that now.” My dad’s voice cuts through me like a knife. My eyes are still on Clark, hoping that he says something, tells my dad that he is wrong, that he does love me, but instead he turns and walks away.
He’s walking away. Time stands still, my body is frozen, but my mind is going at a million miles a minute, matching my racing heartbeat. He’s walking away.
My father’s voice touches my ears, he is talking to me, but the words don’t make sense.
All I can think of is Clark walking away and how I’m just standing here doing nothing. Like always, I let things happen without doing anything about them. Be strong. Something in me snaps and my legs start to move on their own accord.
I will not stand here and do nothing. I need to get to him, to explain. I need to tell him what happened and hope he will still want me after he hears the truth. He might not, but I need to try. I follow him through the door and into the main room, he walks through the crowd of patrons and I follow him step for step. I can tell just from the way that he is walking that he’s angry.
“Clark, please wait,” I call after him, uncaring if anyone sees the tears in my eyes or anguish in my voice, but either he can’t hear me, or he doesn’t want to.
We’ve almost made it across the room when someone reaches out and grabs me by the arm, forcing me to come to a sudden halt.
“Emmy, there you are, I was looking for you,” a familiar voice calls, and it feels like pieces of ice are raining down on me. Him. That voice has every cell in my body suspended in time. I can’t breathe, my vision blurs, and it feels like I’m about to have a heart attack.
He found me. He’s going to hurt me again.
“Emmy, come here,” the vile monster calls again, his hand still on my arm, and I want to scream, rip my arm from his hold. The anger and pain inside of me is begging to be released, but it won’t come out.
I’m weak, and always will be.
Emmy. There is only one person who calls me by that name. I might be in a room full of people, but in my mind, I’m alone submerged in the dark. A scared girl unable to protect herself. I’m a prisoner here. I don’t see or hear anything outside that word.
“Shhh, Emmy, you wouldn’t want your father to hear, now would you?” His rancid breath fanned against my ear as he whispers against my skin.
“Emmy, my sweet little Emmy, such a good little girl. My sweet little girl.” Tears sting my eyes, but not because of the words he’s speaking, the words hurt, but not as badly as him prying my thighs apart and stealing from me something that was never meant to be his.
“Please, stop…” I beg, the tears staining my cheeks.
“Emerson…” Another voice pierces the fog. I know that voice. It belongs to… Clark’s calling my name, he came back for me, but it sounds like he’s far away. I can hear his voice, soothing, gentle, like soft waves against the beach, but I can’t see him. I can’t feel him. My body starts to tremble.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
“No one will believe you if you tell them.”
Bile rises in my throat.
“You practically begged for it…”
All I can feel are his hands on me, the pain, the fear. All I can hear are his words. The smell of his expensive cologne, it’s right there, tickling my nostrils. Panic bubbles over and I struggle against his hold. He can only hurt me if I let him.
I have to escape. I’m stronger than this.
“Emerson,” Clark says my name again, and this time it sounds like it’s right in my ear. I feel his hands on my arms, the softness of his touch, melting away the painful memory of his fingers digging into my skin. My savior, my knight.
“She’s fine, we were just catching up.” I hear Rick’s voice, the voice that stars in every one of my nightmares. Clark doesn’t seem to listen, because he continues pulling me away, his arm, snaking around me, holding me to his side tightly as we walk away.
“Yeah, looks like it,” Clark sneers, his voice on the cusp of a snarl.
You’re strong. You’re not weak.
Chanting the words to myself, I try and picture only Clark in my mind.
I’m so out of it, I don’t even know how we make it out the truck. All I know that I am suddenly there, Clark lifting me inside and buckling me up. He walks around and gets into the driver side a moment later. He doesn’t say a word as he starts the truck and pulls out of the parking lot and he doesn’t say a word the whole drive home either. I take that time to stabilize my breathing and organize my thoughts.
Clark knows about the pregnancy, but he doesn’t know that he just met the guy who did this to me. I know I need to explain, he deserves answers. The question is, will I be able to give them to him? I don’t really have a choice if I want this to work
.
The drive feels long, but not long enough. Clark still hasn’t said anything even as we arrive at the house. He’s angry. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to pick up on it.
I have to fix this, tell him, but I’m terrified of being rejected.
Clark parks the truck and kills the engine. I open my door at the same time he opens his and then we walk to the front door in silence. I follow Clark inside and close the door behind me.
“Let’s sit down and talk,” Clark finally says, shrugging off his tux jacket before taking a seat on the couch. I sit down on the other end of the sectional, so we are not so close, and I can look him in the eyes when I talk.
Clark is sitting stoically, waiting for me to explain. I take a deep breath in, trying to calm myself and gather all my courage before I start to talk. Before I say out loud what I never told anyone else before.
“I already told you that my father didn’t know about the abuse, so when he found out that I was… that I was pregnant… he just assumed that I had snuck out partying—”
“Jesus Christ, Em,” Clark interrupts, his face a mask of agony, like the words physically hurt him. With his elbows on his knees, he lets his face fall into his hands. “Why didn't you tell him… or anybody?”
“I was scared… no one would have believed me.”
“Fuck, Em, what happened? What happened with the baby?”
No longer able to hold back the tears, I let them fall. I let it all out. “I didn’t want it.” My words come out as sobs. I’m not even sure if he can understand me at this point. “I didn't want the baby, but by the time I realized I was pregnant, it was too late.”
My whole body shudders remembering that time. I felt so lost and alone. “I decided on adoption. I wasn’t going to have an abortion no matter what but then…I lost the baby when I was six months along.” I have to pause, even saying the words out loud hurts. It feels like my heart is being shredded. Knowing that it was my fault inflicts the worst pain of all. “The doctor said it was because I was malnourished and stressed. I… it was my fault that the baby died… I didn’t want it and then it died. If I had wanted it. Maybe…”