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The momentum sends me falling onto my ass, not that she cares, as she buries her face in my neck and wraps her arms around me like she’s an octopus and I’m the first viable food source she’s seen in days.
I sit there on the cold, hard floor with my arms locked at my sides, unsure of what to do as her warmth creeps beneath my icy skin. The me from four years ago wouldn’t have hesitated to wrap her up in my arms and ease her fears, only that’s not the relationship we have anymore. Recently, every touch has been born of anger. One intended to hurt, to inflict pain.
But I don’t want to hurt her right now.
The longer I sit there, the more I feel those shadows constantly surrounding me start to pull away. Emilia’s presence shines a bright light and forces them to retreat into obscurity.
A warm beam glosses over me, not only chasing away the ghosts but also filling that dark, empty hole in my chest with something warm and comforting. I simultaneously lean into the touch and rebel against it.
It’s only when a sob wracks her body that I give up the fight, and my arms curl around her petite frame, tucking her tightly against my body. The motion is both familiar and alien, and oddly, it feels right. Like coming home after being away for a long time. As though being in my arms is where Emilia is supposed to be.
I guess that’s my lingering feelings from before talking. After all, thisiswhere Emilia was supposed to be. And yet, after all this time, you’d think those feelings would have dissipated. It shouldn’t feel as though it was only yesterday that I held her like this.
Except it does. It’s as though no time has passed at all. I can feel the shriveled-up organ in my chest unfurling like a flower petal to the sun. Can feel the heat infusing my skin, warming me from the inside out as though I’ve just stepped in from the bitter cold.
Some of that ice around my heart thaws, diminishing the anger I’ve carried, but it doesn’t erase everything that’s happened. The remaining bitterness is still caustic and intense, competing with the newfound warmth and leaving me more conflicted than ever.
I push her back in an effort to create some physical and emotional distance between us. My eyes scan her tear-streaked face. How come I love the way she looks when she cries for me, but right now, I don’t feel satisfaction or glory at seeing her upset? Tears are tears. It should be about the pain and the humiliation. After all, isn’t that what I wanted to do when I first saw her in my kitchen?
I wanted to see her hurt and broken. I wanted her to feel the aching loss and devastation I felt at her rejection, at her callous goodbye, and at the sudden distance she forced between us. And yet, somehow, that doesn’t quite feel true anymore.
Maybe it was never true.
If I really think about it, I wanted her to feel even an inkling of that soul-sucking nothingness that constantly consumes me. The shadows that she unknowingly chased away. The ones that came rushing back, greeting me like we were old friends the second she dropped out of my sphere of existence.
Don’t get me wrong; I definitely want to hurt her, to make her regret the choice she made, but I want her to feel all that atmyhands.Iwant to be the one doing the breaking. Right now, seeing her like this just feels wrong.
“I, uh, need to inform the others.”
She sniffles, giving a faint nod but making no effort to get off my lap. I’m torn between lifting her off and working around her to dig my phone out of my back pocket. Because this bunker is doing fucked up things to my emotional state, I end up keeping one arm around her waist, trying not to jostle her too much as I wiggle my phone out of my pocket.
Of course, it’s all futile when a notification pops up telling me I have no signal, and I end up lifting her off me anyway. “I need to go outside to get a signal,” I say absently. “Wait, he—”
“No!”
At the blind terror in her voice, I lift my gaze from the phone screen. “I-I can’t stay here,” she pleads.
A rare sense of conflict slashes across my chest as I stare into her wide, scared eyes.She’s never looked more stunning.It’s probably fucked up that that’s the first thought to cross my mind.
Rather than telling her to suck it up like I should—like the twisted, fucked-up part of me wants to—different words spill out without any forethought. “I’ll be right up there.” I point to the top of the stairs. “And I’ll only be a minute. You’ll be perfectly safe. I won’t let her get to you again.”
Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly at my promise, and the vehemence in my tone equally takes me by surprise. Yet, I know I meant them. I can feel the conviction all the way to the deepest, darkest depths of my soul.
Unsettled by this abrupt change, I wave my hand at the walls and hurriedly tack on in a more brusque tone, "They’re going to want to see all this before we dismantle it, so you may as well stay here."
I wait for her shaky nod before moving toward the staircase. As I’m climbing the steps, I notice how she wraps her arms around herself for comfort. The act has me pausing halfway before I shake myself out of the stupid notion that I shouldn’t leave her alone when she’s upset and on edge like this, and continue until I’m greeted by the smell of damp moss and sharp, cool air.
The second I have a signal, I dial Hawk’s number.
“I found her,” I blurt out before he can get a word in.
“You did? Is she okay? Where are you?”
“She’s fine. She was in some underground bunker, but, man, you need to see this.” I give him directions to the bunker, and he says he’ll call Kai and come right over. With that done, I head back into the musty gloom, feeling strangely apprehensive about being alone with Emilia.
The dynamics between us have been pretty clear-cut until now. Every interaction I’ve had with her has been intended to break her a little, except I can’t do that to her now, which leaves me feeling uncertain. It’s been a long time since I’ve reacted to Emilia with anything other than harsh loathing. As I descend the stairs, finding her standing in front of one of the walls of photos with her back to me, I pause, taking a moment to simply observe her while I adapt to this new dynamic between us.
Of course, the creaking of the floorboards announces my presence, and after a moment, Emilia’s soft voice fills the bunker, breaking the spell I was under. “She took pictures of everything.”
