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Emily
Ella makes one hell of a cup of coffee, although I’m not sure how much of that is her actual skill set, and how much is that fancy as hell machine she used. Either way, I inhale the warm liquid gold my life depends on.
What Ella doesn’t do too well is cook bacon. The whole kitchen is currently filled with smoke as we both frantically wave towels around, trying to… Actually, I don’t know what we’re trying to do, but it seemed like the right thing to do after I turned off the stove and threw the frying pan into the sink.
We probably look stupid, both of us laughing as we try to ease the smoke. That is, until I notice Dean standing in the entryway watching us. As soon as I see him standing there, the panic sets in. Oh shit, what have I done? Five minutes in his house and the kitchen is nearly burnt down.
I know I wasn’t the one cooking, but I still feel responsible. My legs take steps backwards, as if on their own accord. I just need to put space between us. More space, I need more space. I walk backwards until I hit a counter. My eyes never leave Dean. Although I know it’s Dean, the face I’m staring at now is not his.
It’s Trent. He’s here and I’ve messed up. I can see his smirk, the twitch in his eye. That same one he gets right before he lashes out at me. I’ve just given him a reason to get mad. I should know better. I shake my head. I try to open my mouth, try to apologise, but nothing comes out. I can’t form the words.
I can see him getting closer. He’s closing the distance. He’s getting too close. I desperately look around for a way out. A way to get more distance. Maybe if I can find somewhere to hide until he’s calmed down… except I’m trapped. I’ve backed myself up into the corner of the room.
I sink to my knees before he reaches me. I see a hand come out towards my face and I scream. I scream so loud. Hopefully (this time) the neighbours will hear. Someone will hear and help me. Someone has to help me. The hand never makes contact. Something’s wrong. Something’s different. Why hasn’t he hit me yet?
I bring my knees up to my chest and sink my face into my thighs. Closing my eyes, I wait for the abuse to start. It’s bound to start soon. I don’t understand why he’s taunting me.
“What the fuck did you do?” A loud voice roars—a loud voice that shouldn’t be here. Josh, he’s not supposed to be here.
“Emmy. Emmy, baby, look at me. You are okay. You are safe.” Josh’s voice is soft. I can feel his hands on me. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe Trent knocked me out and I’m dreaming. That’s the only explanation I can think of right now. Except, when those hands gently lift my chin, forcing my face up, my eyes connect with those stormy blue eyes—the eyes that hold the other half of my soul.
“Josh?” How did he find me? I look around. I’m not in my apartment. This kitchen is way too fancy to be anything I’ve ever lived in. Then it all comes back to me: the coffee, the bacon, the smoke, Dean.
I can see Dean and Ella both staring down at me with expressions that look like pity. I don’t want or deserve their pity. I look back into Josh’s eyes.
“It’s me, babe. You are safe,” he says, kissing my forehead.
“Josh, can we go back to your room?” I need to get out of here. I need to get away from everyone else. I know I’m putting a lot on Josh right now. I shouldn’t be using him as my crutch, but that’s exactly what he’s become. My lifeline, my sanity. He seems to be able to break me out of any panic attack I’ve had. When I wake up in the middle of the night from the nightmares, he’s the one there, holding me and letting me cry myself back to sleep in his arms.
“Sure thing. Hold on.” I feel his arms scoop me up. I bury my head in his chest. I can’t bear to look at Ella or Dean right now.
“I’ll bring some food up. Don’t worry, I won’t cook it,” Ella says as we pass them.
“Thanks,” Josh replies, walking out of the room with me in his arms, again.
* * *
It’s beentwo weeks since my little breakdown in the kitchen. I haven’t stepped foot out of this room. I mean, it’s like there’s no need to leave this room. It’s bigger than the apartment I had back in Adelaide.
There’s a large four-poster bed in the middle of the room, and dark wooden beams with white curtains falling down the sides of the bed. Above the bed are fairy lights, strung from beam to beam. It’s a lot more feminine than I ever thought Josh would have. But it’s like a fairy tale, romantic even. I love it.
The room has its own sitting area with black, plush, leather couches facing a large television that’s mounted to the wall. There’s even a little kitchenette-bar area off to one corner. It’s fully stocked with every beverage you could probably dream of. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol though. I’m not really sure why, but the thought of it makes me want to puke, ever since the last time I tried to drink with Ella and her sisters.
It’s late. I’m looking out the window, waiting for Josh to come home. I haven’t told him of my growing anxiety every time he leaves. I don’t ask him to stay with me, even though I desperately want him to. I know he tells me he’s going into the office to do some work, and I do think that at some point during the day he does. But that’s not all he’s doing.
I know he’s out looking for this Detective Jones. I’ve heard the phone calls he’s been having with Sam. I know Josh is frustrated he can’t find him. I’ve been racking my brain for any recollection of someone named Jones. I can’t for the life of me make a connection between that detective and Trent.
Josh says it’s awfully suspicious that there is no warrant out for my arrest—he had Sam hack into the police database to check. There is nothing on the database to report Trent’s death at all. His records show that he is MIA, missing in action. I have this awful fear that I didn’t actually kill him and he’s out there somewhere, looking for me.
I asked Josh to look into Trent’s brother. He was also a cop. According to Sam’s research, he’s still going about his everyday life. He goes to work and returns home to his family, which, by the way, I had no idea even existed. I met the guy heaps in the first year of dating Trent, and never once did either of them mention any other family members. Sam says that Trent’s brother has a wife and two young kids.
Why hasn’t he been looking for Trent? Why hasn’t he alerted anyone that he’s missing or anything? And, my biggest question, where is the fucking body? Josh had a team enter the apartment I shared with Trent. They found nothing; the apartment was completely empty. No furniture, no clothes, nothing. No body rotting on the kitchen floor. Just nothing. The apartment had been cleaned out.
I know he’s stressed out. And I know the cause of that stress is me. I’ve offered to help him. If this detective is after me, why not just call and tell him a place where I’ll be. I’ll meet with him, see what he wants. Josh, of course, won’t even consider using me for bait.
It’s 11:00 p.m. now. He’s been gone for fourteen hours. Fourteen long hours, in which I have to try to pretend that I’m okay without him. I have taken about six baths today, in an attempt to calm my thoughts. What if something has happened to him? I could text him. Sometimes, when it gets too much, I text him and he calls me straight away, his voice soothing my inner demons.
I don’t though. I don’t want to be the needy girlfriend. Is that what I am to Josh, his girlfriend? I know he’s used the term before, but we’ve never discussed a label for what we are, other than Josh claiming that I am now and always have been his.
