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I imagine being sent that image but of Emmett and Vivian together, and I think I might throw up. It’s hopeless. There’s nothing I can do to convince Emmett the photo isn’t real, and I am beyond certain of it because I don’t think he would be able to convince me if the tables were turned.
I hear the echoes of Vivian knocking on his door, trying to coax him to let her in. His voice shouts back indistinctly, but I can’t make it out. All I know is he’s not letting her in, which gives me some small comfort. I am still right on the ground where Emmett left me by the time she comes running down the stairs and out the front door. I let out a heavy exhale as I hear her car starting and peeling away.
Finally, I reach for the edge of the couch and use it to pull myself up. I half expect one of the housekeepers to stop me as I round the corner of the stairs. I feel like an enemy in this house now. No matter how innocent I know I am, I also know how guilty I look.
From memory, I find Emmett’s door and knock gently. It’s quiet inside now, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse. “Emmett?” I call out gingerly. “Will you please talk to me?” There’s no response. I flatten my palm against the door and wait, but after a few minutes I accept that nothing I can say will fix this. I need more than words. I need proof, and there’s only one other person who can give me that.
I force my breathing to become slow and intentional, trying to control each and every exhale so I don’t feel like I’m hyperventilating. I slowly slide down the wall until I am seated safely on the floor. I don’t know how long I sit there. It’s so hard to walk away, knowing that Emmett may never speak to me again. He has to come out eventually, and part of me wants to wait here until that happens. But seeing him is no guarantee that he’ll believe me.
“I’m going to go now,” I sob softly, my forehead collapsing against the frame. “I know you don’t believe me and I’m sorry for that. But I’m going to fix this. I swear to you nothing happened with Malcolm, and I’m going to find some way to prove it to you.” Still nothing. “Okay?” I try asking hopelessly. I don’t know how long I linger outside the door before finally forcing myself to walk away. But Emmett never budges. Things are completely fucked up beyond repair.
19
Chapter Nineteen
I stop myself from calling a cab as I walk along the dark sidewalks in Emmett’s neighborhood. I can’t stand the thought of making small talk with a stranger right now, and I think the awkward silence would be even worse.
I ignore a few worried texts from my mom, not even beginning to know how to respond. It’s almost two in the morning now, and she’s furious. I can’t even begin to think of any decent excuses for why I didn’t come home four hours ago when I said I would. Then the phone rings. I try to ignore it, but another one quickly comes through.
“Ophelia!?” her voice calls out across the line in a panic when I reluctantly answer.
“Mom,” I sniffle, not knowing what to say.
“Are you okay? Where are you!”
“Could you come get me?” I ask hesitantly. I don’t want to, but I don’t have any other choice. Although it would serve me right to walk the entire way back to my house in the cold. “I left my car at school.”
Without pausing, she tells me she’ll put Brendan on the phone to get directions to where I am. They don’t ask any questions. All I hear is the shuffle of her gathering her things in the background.
Once I hang up, I know I can’t just stand here and wait. I feel too awful to stay in one place, but I also don’t want to wander too far from the spot I directed her to. So, instead I pace back and forth along the same couple of blocks over and over until her car finally slows down beside me.
I burst into tears the moment I get in her car and can barely hear her persistent questioning over my sobs. There are a million things I wish I could tell her, but it’s all untrue. I wish I could say I had been drinking or smoking, that I was being irresponsible and having fun. But what actually happened is too heavy to even begin to explain.
“I don’t know what is going on with you lately!” She finally snaps into tears. “I keep trying to give you space and let you figure things out on your own. But you won’t tell me anything! How can I help you?”
“You can’t!” I scream. “That’s the whole problem! You can’t possibly help me!”
“How do you know if you don’t try?” she pushes. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Ophelia. I know things about the world. Probably more than you think. I work in a hospital! I see all kinds of things. Not to mention what I’ve been through myself. Please…Just talk to me.”
I shake my head and look out the window through my tears. “Tell me about you and my dad,” I murmur, needing to say it for myself, but I hope she doesn’t hear.
“What?” she demands. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I can’t talk about it right now,” I finally sob. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
She forces herself to stop hounding me and drives. Once we’re home, she rushes out of the car to wrap me in a long hug the moment I step foot onto the ground from the passenger’s side. Her embrace sends me right back into an eruption of tears. Only one other time have I been so grateful to see our house standing there just a few feet away, and that was when I was finally coming home from the police station after everything happened with Emmett and our fathers.
She doesn’t ask me any more questions as we go in, and instead leaves me be to retreat to my room. I toss and turn in my sleep, dreaming of Emmett’s t-shirt. The way it feels over his hard chest as I cling to it with my fingers. The way it smells like his cologne, sweat, and the salt of his skin. The warmth of him that rests beneath it. I want to bury my face in his shirt again. I don’t want that to be gone forever.
Eventually my dreams fade into a deep sleep. So deep that I sleep through my alarms the next morning.
I catch Brendan in the kitchen when I finally wake up and pull myself together. He drives me to school on his way to work, also not prodding about what happened the night before. I can only assume my mom asked him not to until I was ready to talk about it.
I stop outside the front doors of WJ Prep, feelin
g that same familiar sense of foreboding as I apprehensively make myself push forward with a deep breath, clutching my bag to my side. I walk into a familiar scene. I’ve already missed first period, but regretfully caught the rush in between classes. Everyone stares and snickers as I pass. They’ve all seen the doctored photo of Malcolm and me. I don’t know if this is better or worse than the time a nude picture of me was printed onto hundreds of flyers and spread around the school.
I keep my head high despite the strange, pitying looks that I have grown used to. The whispers of my name that put me on high alert. I’ve done this walk before. At least this time I know what the offense is. Everyone thinks I’ve fucked Malcolm, and no one knows what to do about it. The hierarchy of things is completely thrown. Before the Elites were taken down, an offense like this would have made me instantly blacklisted. But Emmett hasn’t commanded his old position of power since he came back, and now no one knows how to feel.
