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EMORY
ONE HAND WASwrapped around my throat, pinning me to the wall of my bedroom, while the other covered my mouth. He didn’t care that I was shaking from head to toe, in fact, he got off on my fear.
I’d just returned from Gigi’s and hadn’t been paying attention when I walked into my room. I knew better than to let my guard down, but nothing had happened in months so I’d hoped he’d lost interest. It seemed I was wrong.
Joel Peterson, my father’s chief of staff, was a creepy asshole, who for the past year had taken it upon himself to corner me in various places around my home to tell me all the ways he’d “work me out.”
“You’re an embarrassment to your father every time your fat ass leaves the house in one of those skimpy outfits.” Spittle flew from his mouth, hitting my face due to his close proximity.
“It’d be a shame to waste such a pretty face. Cover your shit up from now on, Emory,” he sneered.
His hand left my throat and I should’ve been prepared, but I didn’t have time to tense up before his fist landed a devastating blow just below my rib cage.
I flew up in bed, my breaths coming in short pants as I tried to calm my racing heart.Just a dream.Or rather, a memory…nightmare…whatever you wanted to call it. I hadn’t had one in years, probably because I’d avoided going back home, thus avoiding the bastard.
It took a few seconds for the dull ache in my left wrist to register, but when it did, the memories of the day before came with it. Shame filled me as I remembered the expression of horror on my friends’ faces when Joel started spewing his shit.He’d never unleashed his inner asshole in front of an audience before, though I doubt any of my so-called friends in New York would have given the first shit.
The smell of coffee brought me back to the present as I tried to recall how the hell I’d gotten home. After the nurse at the hospital gave me a pill for pain, the rest of the night was pretty fuzzy except for a few flashes here and there.
Oh God.
I dropped my head to my chest. Luciano del Toro. The six-foot-three star of my fantasies had not only been here, he’d carried me to bed. How would I ever be able to face him again, knowing he’d had to heft me up a flight of stairs because I was too out of it to walk on my own?
Looking to my right, I noticed my phone sitting on the bedside table, so I grabbed it to check the time and noticed several missed text messages.
River: Are you okay? What do you need?
Quin: I’ll be there around 9. I’m bringing breakfast.
Glancing at the clock in the corner of the phone, I saw it was already eight twenty, which meant I needed to grab a quick shower before she started pounding on my door.
Unknown: This is Luc. Coffee is made. I had a training session this morning I couldn’t cancel, otherwise I wouldn’t have left you. Text me when you’re up so I know you’re all right. I left your bottle of pain pills on the kitchen counter. Take one. Don’t be a hero.
Damn. He’d been here all night?
I’d have to contemplate the question after I loaded up on massive amounts of caffeine. My synapses only fired on all cylinders after a half a pot on an ordinary day, but this went far beyond the realm of normal. I was skirting so close to the edge of bizarre, a trip to Starbucks might be in my future.
Opting to shower first, I removed the brace, then carefully washed myself, taking extra care to avoid twisting my wrist. No easy task, especially when it came to my long hair. Nevertheless, I finished in under ten minutes.
After drying off, I reached into my closet only to stop short. Years of therapy disintegrated into ash, as the voices I’d worked so hard to shut out slipped through my defenses.
“Jesus, Emory. You do know fat rolls don’t count as a six-pack, right?”
“You really should try to hide your body more, not call attention to it.”
Joel not only humiliated me in front of my friends, he’d single-handedly resurrected all my self-doubt with his cruel words. I’d been trained since the age of five to loathe my body, then spent thousands of dollars for a medical professional to undo all the damage.
Now, I was pushing aside the pencil skirts and formfitting blouses I’d loved so much to reach for the baggy, understated clothes I hadn’t worn in years. Honestly, I didn’t even know why I’d kept them, but after yesterday, I was happy I had. They were my safety net; a physical layer of protection my bruised ego and I desperately needed. Eventually, I’d be able to see beyond the cruel words skittering through my brain, but until then…well…until then.
Destiny was a fickle bitch. She’d made me who I was and no amount of exercise or fad diets were going to alter my body structure. Trust me, I’d tried—and failed—them all a dozen times. My weight, like my life, was one big scary roller coaster after another, with constant ups and downs wreaking havoc on my soul. It was a vicious cycle I’d thought had been broken after I left home, but apparently that wasn’t the case.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I pulled up the navy, drawstring pants and slipped my feet into a pair of sneakers, then headed to the kitchen. I had a few minutes to slurp down as much coffee as I could before Quin descended on me with her special brand of crazy.
The girl had no filter. Zero. Which endeared her to me even more. She was a hundred-percent genuine; something I’d only ever had before with Gigi. Quinlan James might be young, but she had an old soul. Maybe she was born with it or perhaps she developed it due to her circumstances. She worked three different jobs in order to provide care for her elderly parents, who adopted her as a baby. I’d never seen someone with her level of dedication, but River and I both agreed, she was on the cusp of burning out.
I was finishing my second cup when the knock on my door came.
“Open up, Ems,” she exclaimed. “I’ve got a key and I’m not afraid to use it.”
