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"Let me up!" She struggles against his hold.
"Sit down, Luna."
"So help me God, if you don't let me up right now—!"
He bands his arms around her, making an X over her chest. "You'll what?"
Before she can reply, a man in a white coat walks out from the double doors behind the desk. He's heading straight for us, and I stand so quickly my chair rattles. "Are you the family of Emmalyn Price?"
"I'm her husband," I say, the lie falling smoothly from my lips.
He nods. "Come with me please."
I follow behind him, back through the double doors he came out of, down a hall and around a corner, finally stopping outside of a closed door. "How is she?" I ask, unable to wait for him to speak first.
"Stable. We administered charcoal, and she's now stable."
"Is she awake?"
"Sleeping."
"Can I see her?"
"I'd like to ask you a few questions first."
"Yeah." The hope that was growing within me turns to ash. "Of course."
"Does she have any history of mental illness? Has she ever attempted suicide before?"
"Yes, and no." My heart aches for her, knowing she's lying in that bed, alone. What if she wakes up and there's no one with her?
"Elaborate, please."
"She was abused, for years, by a family member," I tell him, proceeding to give him all of the pertinent details. "So, can I see her now?" My voice cracks, but fuck if I have it in me to care.
"Yes, just one last thing."
"What?"
"Once we have a room for her, we will be moving her upstairs and placing her on an involuntary psych hold."
"Seventy-two hours, yeah, I figured."
The doctor eyes me speculatively. "I TA a psych class and she's a psych major."
"Got it." He pushes the door open. "You're welcome to stay with her until they take her upstairs."
"Thanks." I swallow roughly and head into the room.
I pause at the foot of her bed, the sight of her lying there, looking so small and fragile, hooked up to a plethora of monitors and wires, hits me harder than finding her on her bathroom floor.
As gently as possible, I take her hand in mine, careful not to bump the IV line. "Oh, God, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
She stirs, humming under her breath, but she doesn't wake.
"I love you, Emmalyn. I know I messed up. God, do I. I was supposed to protect you and now look." I shake my head, disgusted at myself for not working harder to keep her safe.
I've known Rob practically forever. I, better than anyone, know what he's capable of. I should have seen this coming.
"I'm going to fix this. I know, I know. I've said that before. But this time, I'll fix this or die trying. I love you, Emmy. Today, tomorrow, and always. And I'll work tirelessly to prove it to you."
I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, inhaling her scent, before pulling away, content to sit with her until they force me to leave.
Chapter Forty-Two
Emmy
Consciousness filters in bit by bit, slowly waking me from the deepest sleep of my life.
I groan as I try to shift to a more comfortable position. There's a rhythmic beeping filling the room, and the sound is an affront to my already pounding head.
Where the hell am I? I wonder to myself as I try to open my eyes. The room is so bright, it's like looking into the sun. I whimper and immediately snap my lids closed.
"Are you awake?" someone, a man, asks.
I mumble some incoherent reply.
"Let me see if we can dim some of these lights." I hear him shuffle around the room and try to take stock of my body as he does. "Okay, try again."
Slowly, I blink my eyes open, and while it's still an adjustment, it's easier than it was the first time.
"Sterling." An odd feeling vibrates in my chest as I whisper his name, but I don't know why. "Where are we? What...what happened?"
"You don't remember?" he asks, his brow dipping in concern.
Little tidbits trickle in, falling like raindrops, slowly watering my brain with the missing pieces. "We were at a party."
He swallows roughly and nods.
The memories rain down a little harder, until finally, a full-on tsunami is taking place inside the dome of my skull.
Sex tape.
Sterling lied.
Pills.
These fragments come together, flashing through my mind like lightning. But the one that hurts the most is knowing the man seated beside my bed played a part in it all.
"Why are you here?" I croak, refusing to look at him.
"Little mouse, I'm so sorry."
"Don't call me that." I sniffle. "I want you to leave."
"I can't do that."
"I don't want you here." Tears gather behind my lashes; I don't bother to try to stop them from falling. "Please go."
"Baby," he says, right as a scrub-clad nurse walks into the room.
"Glad to see you're awake, Mrs. Price. How are you feeling?"
