Another full minute passed before she finally climbed out. Even from here, I could see something was very wrong. Her movements were too careful, too controlled, like she was concentrating on each individual motion. Get out of car. Close door. Lock car. Walk to house.
Robotic.
“Emily?” I called her name softly as I stepped off my porch and crossed into her yard.
She didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge me at all as she kept moving toward her porch, her steps measured and precise.
I followed, my concern sharpening into something closer to fear. “Em, hey. Are you okay?”
She fumbled with her keys, her fingers moving mechanically until she got the door unlocked. She stepped inside and I followed without thinking, unable to shake the feeling that if I let her out of my sight for even a moment, something terrible would happen.
“Emily.” I tried again, gentler this time. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
She turned to face me and I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment. Her eyes were glassy, blank and fucking terrifying. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat and emotionless, like she was reading from a script.
“I didn’t get the scholarship.”
Fuck.“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” I kept my voice low and steady. “I know how much that meant to you.”
“It’s fine.” Her gaze was fixed on some point past my shoulder. “I’ve experienced worse.”
Her words landed like a stone in my stomach. Experienced worse. I knew exactly what worse meant. The shed. The food control. The scars on her skin. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.
“Emily, sweetheart, what happened at your parents’ house?”
She turned and walked toward her bedroom, ignoring the question entirely. I followed, my fear escalating with every step.
In her room, she pulled a duffel bag from her closet and started throwing clothes into it. Jeans. Shirts. A hoodie. Her movements were jerky now, less controlled, like the careful facade was starting to crack.
“What are you doing?” I kept my voice calm even though panic was clawing at my throat. “Where are you going?”
“Mia’s.” Her attention stayed fixated on the bag. “I forgot I was supposed to visit her tonight.”
It was a lie. An obvious, transparent lie.
“Emily, please. Just stop for a second and talk to me.”
She kept packing.
“You don’t have to run.” I moved closer, careful not to crowd her. “Whatever happened tonight, you don’t have to deal with it on your own.”
“I’m fine.” The words were clipped. Mechanical.
“You’re not fine.”
“I said I’m fine, Cam.” She zipped the bag with unnecessary force.
I was losing her. She was slipping away right in front of me, retreating behind walls I didn’t know how to break through.
The fear morphed into something desperate and raw.
“Sweetheart, please.” My voice cracked. “I love you. Don’t shut me out.”
She flinched. She actually physically recoiled, like I’d slapped her instead of offering her my heart.
“Don’t say that.” Her voice was sharp, almost angry. “That’s crazy talk.”
The words felt like shards of glass in my chest. “It’s not crazy. I love you, Emily. Do you hear me? I want to sp?—”
