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“What happened to you?” Sam asks me. Where did he come from? I didn’t know he was even still in the apartment?
“Nothing.” I smile.
“Bullshit. What happened, Emily?” he asks again, crossing his arms over his chest.
“He’s being overdramatic. I fell while dismounting Cherry this morning. That’s all. It’s just a little bruise.” I shrug my shoulders.
“There’s nothing little about that bruise, Emmy. Here, take these,” Josh says, holding out two white pills.
I can feel the sweat rolling down my back. They’re just pills. I have to calm down. I cannot freak out again. They’re just pills, I repeat to myself. Swallowing, my throat dry, I ask, “What are they?” My voice quakes, even though I try not to let it.
Josh screws his eyes. I can see the intake of breath he draws before he marches over to the bin and dumps the pills. I watch as he silently walks back into the pantry, returning with a packet in his hands.
He holds the box out to me—a sealed box of paracetamol. “It’s just paracetamol, Em. Take two.”
I go to take the box, when he holds my hand still. “We will be discussing this later,” he says before letting go. Sam places a glass of water down on the bench in front of me.
“Here you go, love.” He winks.
Josh slaps him across the back of the head. “Her name is Emily, asshole.”
“Thank you.” I take two pills out of the sealed packet and swallow them. I can’t look in Josh’s direction right now. I know I need to trust him. And I do. But these moments I have, where I second-guess his motives, they are driving me insane. I don’t know how to stop it. The guilt is drowning me. Josh has never done anything to warrant my distrust. Well, nothing to make me think he’s out to hurt me… physically anyway.
He loves me. I’ve always known that, even when he didn’t want to admit it to himself. I wonder… when did he accept the fact that he loves me? He seems to have no problem telling me now. Yet, seven years ago, he wanted me out of town.
I get that we’ve both grown, changed, and had experiences that have turned us into different people. But whatever this connection is that I’ve always felt with Josh, it’s never gone away. If anything, it’s intensified now that I’m back here with him.
“So, I’m cooking. What’ll it be, kids? Your options are steak, steaks, or steaaaaaaks?” Sam says, pulling a pack of steaks out of the fridge.
I laugh, appreciating that he’s attempting to put a knife through the current tension both Josh and I are throwing out there. “Ahh, guess I want steak?” I question back to him.
“Right answer.” He winks again.
“Emily, you can have whatever you want. Don’t listen to this jerk. If you don’t want steak, I’ll order in. What do you want?” Josh is staring straight at me, through me, like he can see deep down to my soul. It’s unnerving.
But what bothers me more than his soul-piercing gaze is the fact that he called me Emily and not Emmy. I’m not even sure why it bothers me. He’s the only person who has ever called me Emmy. Everyone else will say Emily or Em. I feel like I’m going crazy. It’s just a name. The fact that he called me by my name is fine. It doesn’t mean anything, right?
“Don’t overthink it. It’s just food. There is no right or wrong answer, Emmy. What do you want to eat?” Josh pulls me out of my own head, again.
“Steak sounds good. Although, I don’t see a barbecue in this fancy apartment of yours. Can you really call it steak if you don’t barbecue it?” I ask.
“Don’t you worry. I got you covered. See you at the top.” Sam collects a tray and walks out of the kitchen, leaving Josh and me alone.
“At the top? Where is he going?” I ask Josh.
“To the rooftop. There’s a barbecue up there.”
“Oh, well, should we go up with him?” I ask, hopping off the stool.
“We will,” Josh says as he steps in front of me, trapping me between the bench and the brick wall of muscle that is all Josh. Reaching up, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear—the gesture, soft and comforting, a total contradiction to the storm I see brewing within those ocean blue eyes of his.
“Right after you tell me about the pills.” His arms fall to each side of me, before he rests his hands on the benchtop behind me. He has me trapped. I can’t escape.
Looking all around, I try to find a way to flee, a way out of this. Not so much to get away from Josh, but more to get out of this conversation I do not want to be having.
“You can’t run away from this, Emmy. We need to face this head-on. And I can’t fucking help you if I don’t know what I’m dealing with. So, let’s start with the pills.”
He’s right. I know he’s right, yet I still can’t seem to bring myself to tell him.
