Sweet Little Nothing

by Farlow, LK

  It’s the kind of hurt that pierces your skin and sinks into your veins, your bones, your fucking soul. It’s the kind of pain that eats away at you like poison, consuming all of the good within you until all that’s left is a shell.

  I stumble, tripping over my own feet as I cross the living room. “Stupid, so stupid,” I mutter, righting myself. I flip on the lights as I enter my bathroom, recoiling at the bright light. God, even my eyes hurt.

  I guess crying as hard as I have will do that, huh?

  My fingers tangle in my now limp and dirty hair. I wince as I tug on the ends, my past and my present colliding in my mind, morphing into a single mangled nightmare.

  “Stop, stop, stop!” I plea, the words a garbled cry to the universe. I want it all to go away, for the memories of then and the horrors of now to all stop. But I learned long ago there’s no one out there listening. Not for me, anyway. My own mother didn’t even have time to hear my story.

  “Not enough.” I pivot in a wide circle, clipping my hip on the vanity. “Never enough. Stupid!”

  Tears cloud my vision as I struggle to breathe. I want… I need the pain to stop. For my past to stop haunting me. For the taunts and leers to go away.

  I’m a top spinning out of control, desperate for someone—anyone—to save me from the path my own self-loathing is shoving me down. If I’d have been stronger—smarter—none of this would’ve happened to me.

  My breaths heave in and out of my lungs as a humorless laugh slips past my trembling lips. God knows, there’s not a single person on this planet who cares enough to try and pull me from the murky depths of my misery. If anything, they’d press their boots to the back of my head and hold me under.

  My hands shake as I press down on the lid, pushing to the right.

  “Dammit!” I cry as the orange bottle slips and my blessed relief falls to the floor. The tablets scatter and roll around my feet as I fall to my knees in a desperate attempt to gather them.

  With one hand clutching pills, I grip the edge of the vanity and pull myself back to standing with the other. The reflection staring back at me is the face of a stranger. She looks like me, but different, too. The face in the mirror is how I feel inside—worthless…empty…hollow.

  Already gone.

  I watch as she raises her hand and jams the pills into her mouth. The plasticky outer-coating quickly gives way to a bitter taste. Her face puckers, and so does mine.

  She is me, but she’s more than me. She’s all of my hurt and bitterness and suffering personified. She’s the part of me that’s broken beyond repair—used up and dirty, unwanted and unloved. She’s the voice urging me to end it all. I’ve fought her for so long, but now, my fight is gone.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Sterling

  After dancing with Emmy, her body so close, grinding against mine, I want nothing more than to find us somewhere private to go.

  Or better yet, home.

  But I dragged her out, so I might as well see it through. Although, I'm not even sure why I wanted us to come, other than it being a wildcat tradition.

  "Oh, look! There’s Gabe and Zach." I look to where she's pointing, easily finding the blond giant in the crowd. "Wanna go say hi?"

  My phone buzzes in my pocket for the fifth time in as many minutes. "You go ahead, baby. I'll wait here," I tell her, keeping my eyes trained on her until she makes it across the room to her friends.

  They squish her in a hug and I look away, sliding my phone from my pocket, already knowing who it is. Foolishly, I thought blocking his number would be enough.

  Unknown: You brought her to bed... and now you can both lie in it.

  Unknown: She stained my sheets red when I choked her, and she turned blue. You took what's mine, now I'm coming for you.

  Jesus Christ. He's actually lost his mind.

  Unknown: Don't fucking ignore me, Sterling. You owe me.

  Unknown: You took from me. You lied to me. What happens next is on you.

  Unknown: You have received a video message, tap to play.

  I know I shouldn't click the link. I fucking know I shouldn't, but I do.

  Anger, bright and hot, burns through me as Emmalyn's body fills my screen. I close the link before the sound can start, my body practically vibrating in rage.

  My anger turns to dread as all around me people start checking their phones, nudging the person next to them and sharing their screen.

  That dread turns to panic as the guy next to me shows me his screen, confirming my worst fears: the link wasn't only sent to me, it was sent to everyone.

  Every single person at this party is now watching what should have been a beautiful and private moment, and to make matters worse, the fucker edited the video to paint my Emmy in the worst light, showing all of her and hardly any of me.

  My brain can't even begin to comprehend how Rob pulled this off, but I fucking know it was him, and there will be hell to pay.

  "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" I yell, causing several heads to turn my way.

  I search for her, but she's not with Gabe and Zach anymore. Or, if she is, they aren't where they were.

  Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I spot her. Except, before I can get to her, the music cuts out and the sounds of sex—our sex—blast from the speakers.

  She stands frozen, with tears dripping from her chin. Her entire body is shaking like a leaf, and Gabe and Zach are nowhere in sight.

  My vision goes red as people shout and leer at her; a few even try to touch her, and I commit their faces to memory, fully prepared to make them pay later, once I know she's okay.

  I start shoving my way through the crowd, determined to make it to her, to explain, to save her.

  She turns to flee, and like time itself has slowed down, we both notice the movie playing on a giant projector screen at the same time.

  We're both frozen as our gazes meet. She looks so hurt, so broken, so utterly betrayed that, in this moment, I hate myself.

  "Get the fuck out of my way!" I roar to the idiots blocking my path.

  I don't make it more than two steps before Melanie and Summer stop me.

  Melanie bats her eyes as she nods toward the screen. "I told you so."

  It's then I realize, that somehow, these two were in on this.

  "I will fucking ruin you," I sneer, leaning in close to make sure she hears every word, as well as the promise behind them.

  When I look back to Emmy, she has this dead, vacant look in her eyes, and it instantly sets me on edge. But before I can make it to her, she turns and runs.

  I feel like the biggest piece of shit on earth as I run after her, now violently shoving party-goers out of my way. Because, deep down, I know this is my fault.

  If I wouldn't have agreed to help Rob, this wouldn't be happening. I told her I would protect her, and yet, I basically led her to slaughter.

  I'm nearly to the door when Gabe steps into my path. Before I can get a single word out, his fist flies toward my face, crunching against my cheekbone on impact. "You sorry ass motherfucker! I told you! I told you I would kill you if you hurt her!"

  I shake my head, despite the pain ricocheting through my skull. "It wasn't me! This isn't me."

  "That's not you in that video?" he asks, even though we both already know the answer.

  "That's me, but I'm not behind this."

  "How convenient."

  "Look, you can either help me find her or you can get the fuck out of my way."

  Gabe looks ready to hit me again, but before he can, Zach appears out of nowhere and steps between us.

  "Stop. Both of you, stop. Y'all can fight later, but right now we need to find Emmy.”

  "Fuck." Gabe scrubs a hand over his face. "You're right."

  "Let's go. Gabe, you check with Stella. I'll look on campus, and, Sterling, you check her dorm."

  "You trust him to go there?" Gabe demands.

  "I do," is all Zach says. "Now let's go."

  We split up, going our separate ways
, agreeing to check in every fifteen minutes.

  I haul ass to my car, flinging open the driver's side door and slamming myself into the seat. "Why the fuck is the light on?" I mutter, mashing the start button. Only, nothing happens.

  I jab my fingers into it again and again, my foot pressing the brake so hard it feels like it might punch straight through the floorboard.

  But still, my engine doesn't start.

  "Stupid fucking battery." It feels like the entire universe is conspiring against me.

  I throw my door back open and grab my phone. I start to call Emmalyn, but see her phone sitting in my cup holder. My shoulders slump and defeat sits heavy on my chest. But I won't give up. Not on her, not ever.

  I pull up the Uber app, but it's peak hours, and I don't have that kind of time to wait.

  The drive here was about fifteen minutes, so maybe thirty on foot. I don't even think twice; I just start running. I would fucking crawl over hot coals if that's what it took to get to her right now.

  By the time I reach her building, I'm a panting, sweaty mess, despite the chill in the air. My legs feel like jelly and my heart is like it's on the verge of stalling out.

  I bang on the door before slamming my hand down onto the buzzer. "Geez, what's the—Sterling, are you okay?" asks Abigail, the redhead from the gym.

  "Emmalyn. I need Emmalyn."

  She eyes me curiously, more questions on the tip of her tongue, but I don't have time to waste. I have a gut feeling she's here.

  I shove past her, bypassing the elevator, heading straight for the stairs.

  "What's going on?" she asks, huffing as she struggles to keep up.

  I beat on her door so hard my fist aches. "Emmalyn!"

  "Sterling, this is...you can't do this. What is going on?"

  "Emmalyn!" I try the knob. Locked.

  I pound even harder, barely pausing to think through the consequences of my actions, before slamming my shoulder into the door.

  Abigail screams as the wood splinters. I try to shove the door open, but something's blocking me. Which means she's here. She's fucking here.

  I kick my foot into the small space between the door and jamb and make contact with something hard. A few more kicks, and I manage to move whatever she blocked the door with out of the way.

  I step into the dark space and flip the lights on, still shouting her name. Abigail checks the bedrooms while I head for the bathroom.

  What I see stops me in my tracks, my heart lodging into my throat, choking me as grief and guilt rain down on me.

  "Oh my God. Baby!" I drop to my knees and pull her limp body to me, cradling her head in my lap. "Baby!" I press two fingers to her throat and shout for Abigail. "Call 911!"

  She flies into the room, her phone already pressed to her ear. "Help, please help. One of the girls in my dorm... I think... she overdosed." Her words are rapid fire as panic consumes her, just as it is me.

  "Put it on speaker," I order, and she does.

  "I need you to calm down," the dispatcher says in a mild voice. "Is she breathing?"

  "Yes, barely."

  "Conscious?"

  "No."

  "Do you know what she took, sir?"

  "No, I don't. I don't know."

  Abigail rattles off the address, before collapsing to the floor beside me where she buries her face in her hands and cries.

  Seconds feel like minutes and minutes like hours while we wait. "What's taking them so long?"

  My entire body shakes as the woman I love slips further away from me, succumbing to whatever it was she took.

  "Campus police!"

  "In the bathroom!" I yell.

  "Sir, please move away so we can work."

  "I'm not leaving her," I grit out through clenched teeth.

  "We need you to move back," he reiterates. "It's in her best interest, we're trained first responders."

  At those words, I gently slide out from beneath her and retreat to just outside the door with Abigail.

  The other officer immediately springs into action, crossing Emmy’s arms over her chest and rolling her to her side.

  "Do you know what she took?"

  "No."

  "Do you know when?"

  "I don't know. An hour? Maybe?"

  "Does she have a history of mental health issues?"

  "Yes," I admit, feeling like I'm somehow betraying her.

  "A history of suicidal thoughts?"

  "I'm not sure." I swallow roughly. "She... her stepbrother abused her most of her life and tonight..."

  "What happened tonight?"

  I rehash the sordid details for the campus police. By the time I'm done, Abigail is sobbing inconsolably. "Oh my God."

  "Got a pill bottle!" the officer in the bathroom yells. "Benzos."

  "I'll let 'em know."

  The officer who has been questioning me reaches up and speaks into the mic clipped to his shirt. "We've got a suspected benzodiazepine overdose."

  The radio crackles. "10-4. We're about five out."

  The paramedics make it in less than five—thank fuck—and from there, it's a flurry of activity, with them checking her vitals and loading her onto a stretcher.

  A million-and-one questions sit on the tip of my tongue, but the officer's earlier words about being in the way keep me from asking any of them.

  "Let's roll," one of the paramedics says, and I spring into action, following them out into the hall.

  "I-I'll clean up here," Abigail says, tears still falling.

  I nod my thanks and take off behind them, once again taking the stairs so that I'm on the first floor waiting when the elevator arrives.

  "Which hospital are you taking her to?"

  "Who are you?"

  "Her boyfriend."

  "We're taking her to Central North," he says, as the other maneuvers the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

  I try to follow them, but the paramedic stops me with a hand to my chest. "Not so fast."

  "Please," I beg.

  He offers a sympathetic look. "Sorry, family only."

  Those words are an arrow through my already tattered heart.

  "Please take care of her," I whisper.

  "Let's go," one of the other workers calls.

  He gives me a nod before turning and heading for the truck.

  As they pull away, I realize I don't have my car. "Fuck!" I yell for what has to be the hundredth time tonight.

  I scramble to grab my phone from my pocket, dialing Gabe.

  He answers on the first ring. "Did you find her?"

  "Yes, but I need you to come pick me up."

  "What's going on, Sterling?"

  "Just come get me. I'm outside of her dorm."

  "I'll be there in five."

  I pace back and forth until I hear the sound of squealing tires. I look up just in time to see Gabe's truck jerk to a stop.

  Wordlessly, I run and jump into the cab. "Tell Zach to meet us at Central North."

  He whips around in his seat, glaring at me. "I'm sorry, what? Why are we going to the hospital?"

  Even as he asks, he's shifting the truck into gear.

  "She overdosed."

  He curses under his breath and peels out of the parking lot. "If anything happens to her, if she doesn't pull through this, I'll fucking kill you."

  I want to argue, to plead my case but, deep down I know he's right, so I don't. Instead, I pull my seat belt across my lap and say, "Just hurry, man."

  * * *

  The drive to the hospital passes in a blur.

  Gabe tries to ask me questions, but my mind is completely shut down. All I can think of is the way Emmalyn laid limp in my arms, her breaths so shallow I'm almost convinced I imagined them.

  Before I know it, we're pulling up outside the emergency department. "Zach should be here any minute," Gabe says as he swings his truck into a parking space.

  I nod to let him know I heard him, and together we exit his truck and head for the double doors bene
ath the illuminated red cross.

  I'm half tempted to storm the desk, but Gabe yanks on the back of my shirt and whispers for me to chill.

  "Can I help you?" the nurse asks.

  "Has Emmalyn Price been brought in? She came by ambulance."

  "Are you family?"

  I don't make the same mistake I did with the ambulance. "Yes, her husband."

  Gabe nearly chokes on air, garnering him a few strange looks.

  The woman behind the desk gives me a soft smile. "She was brought in about ten minutes ago. That's all I can tell you at this time. You fellas can take a seat in the waiting area, I'll do my best to keep you updated."

  "Thanks," I say tersely, balling my hands into tight fists by my sides.

  "Hopefully the doctor will be out to speak with you soon."

  Gabe grabs the back of my shirt and tugs me toward the waiting area.

  "Husband?" he asks, as we each drop down into a too-small yellow chair.

  The unforgiving plastic bites into my side, another painful reminder of where I am and why I'm here. "Told the paramedics I was her boyfriend and he shut me out."

  Gabe nods. "At least you did something smart."

  "Listen, I get you're upset—"

  "Upset?" Gabe bellows. "Try furious! You're nothing but bad news."

  "Listen," I say, my voice deadly calm, despite wanting to shout and rage. "I love her. I. Fucking. Love. Her. We had a fucked-up start and a crooked journey, but she is everything to me. Do you hear me? Everything. And you can blame me all you want, you can hate me all you want, but it'll never be more than I hate myself."

  I hunch over, propping my elbows on my knees, burying my head in my hands.

  "You love her?" Gabe asks quietly from beside me.

  "Yeah, man. I love her."

  * * *

  "Where is she? What's happening? Is she okay?" Zach demands as he approaches where we're seated.

  "We don't know anything yet," Gabe says, opening his arms for his boyfriend.

  Zach leans down and pulls him close before releasing him. He then leans over and hugs me, too, shocking the hell out of me.

  "So how is it your boyfriend over there punched me and you're hugging me?"