When Emmanuel said he’d take me home, he meant he would literally escort me home. Which is why he’s currently standing in my living room, after helping himself to a tour of the place. He went through each room, inspecting every crevice. What he is looking for, I have no idea. This is a small town where nothing happens. I could leave my door unlocked and not feel like anyone was going to come in. It’s why I’ve never moved away.
“Thank you for bringing me home. Now that you own the three houses surrounding me, I’m sure you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” I tell him.
“You don’t want me to leave, Evie,” he says confidently.
“Maybe not. But I need you to,” I say. He’s right. I don’t want him to leave. But I do really need to be alone. And the sooner I rip this Band-Aid off, the better.
Emmanuel’s head tilts to the side as he stares right through to my soul. “I’m going to leave, but don’t mistake this as me leavingyou, mi alma, because that is never happening. I’m going to giveyou the space you need right now, but I will be back.” Emmanuel leans forward and presses his lips to mine. Then I watch him turn and walk out my front door.
I twist the lock in place and lean my back against it as the first tear falls down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand and inhale a deep breath. Once I’m composed enough to move, I push off the door, walk into my bedroom, and fall onto my bed. My legs curl up, and I let the rest of the tears fall.
I knew letting him go was going to hurt. But this pain…? It’s worse than I expected. I watched the man kill his own mother. He admitted to killing his girlfriend as a teenager. Why am I so hung up on him? There is something seriously wrong with me…
Emmanuel didn’t let go of me for the entire flight home. He was either holding my hand or had his arms wrapped around me. It’s as if he knew our time was coming to an end too. I know he says he’ll be back, but when reality sets in and he realizes we’re not good together, that I’m really not girlfriend material, his infatuation with me will die.
You look like her.
My mind can’t get that one phrase out of my head. I look like the girlfriend he killed. How did he kill her? I’m so confused, with so many emotions that I don’t know how to handle. Is that really the onlyreason he’s so determined to be with me? Because he’s replacing a love he lost with a lookalike?
A fresh wave of tears falls and my chest heaves as confusion, hurt, and loss surround me.
My phone pings from my pocket. I pull it out and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Cabrón:
If you need anything, call me. Day or night. I will be back, Evie. I don’t care what you’re thinking right now. This is not the end. Don’t let your own fears hold you back from something great. I won’t let you break us.
Why is he doing this to me? He needs to let me go. He needs to forget about me. I don’t believe his words, as nice as they are. I need to be the one living in reality. The fact is, we are too different. We are not compatible. He is a murderer—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It’s also something that should be high on my list of Emmanuel cons versus pros.
The sound of my front door unlocking has me sitting up. Please don’t let it be him.I don’t move from my bed, but I do breathe a sigh of relief when Rachel appears in my doorway.
“Oh, Evie.” She climbs onto the mattress and drags me into her arms. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask her through my tears.
“Emmanuel messaged me and told me you needed me,” she explains. “He didn’t say why. What happened?”
He had her come here. He knew I wasn’t okay, and because I didn’t want him here, he sent my best friend. I hate how perfect he is.
Nope, murderer. Not perfect. Far from perfect.
“I told him what happened,” I say through hiccups.
Rachel stills. “You told him. Everything?”
I haven’t even toldhereverything. She knows that.
I nod my head, unable to look at her. I thought telling him would make him as disgusted in me as I am in myself. I thought seeing all the broken parts of me would make him not want me. I’m not sure it worked, though.
“What did he say?” she asks.
“That he’d deliver the head of every person who ever hurt me on a silver platter.”
“That’s, um, it’s something,” she says. “At least he means well?”
There is so much more I wish I could tell her. Somehow I can’t bring myself to say the words. I trust Rachel. I do. But telling her I just sawEmmanuel kill his mother could get him in a lot of trouble. I don’t want to risk anything happening to him.
Oh my god! I’m protecting him.
