I’ve attracted another Emerson.
My muscles tense and my breaths turn shallow. Now that I know he’s a murderer, I regret sleeping with him last year.
I want him so badly, but I need to stay away from him. I can’t be with someone like Emerson. He’s going to break my heart like Emerson did.
“So I can’t get rid of him.”
She shakes her head, munching on her food.
The smell of fresh herbs and citrus is sharp in the air.
“Do you think… Do you think he would hurt me?”
She squints up at the heavy gray sky.
“Honestly, no. He’s very fond of you.”
Well, at least he won’t hurt me, but that doesn’t ease my rapid thoughts of him harming other people. I get it. It’s part of his job, but I can’t wrap my head around it.
We make it to Newton Hall. People crowd the walkway as I open the glass door, and the warm air greets my numb cheeks.
“That’s why he’s telling everyone that you’re his girlfriend. He doesn’t want anyone pissing on his territory.” She polishes off the remainder of her food and dumps the trash in the wastebasket.
Great. Now, I can’t get rid of him, no matter how hard I try. I don’t speak as we pass classrooms.
“You don’t seem scared,” she notes.
I want to tell her about my relationship with Emerson, but I don’t. She doesn’t need to know what kind of family I come from, and she might blame me for what happened—like the people back home did. I haven’t been back since the murder trial. I saw the signs of Emerson’s detachment from reality, that he wasn’t himself, but I chose not to speak up.
Lyrical goes on to speak about herself and Snow, but I tune her out.
When we arrive at our statistics class, I sit down, and my phone vibrates.
I look to my left.
My heart damn near jumps. My chest tightens, and my hands tingle.
A guy with black hair is sitting in front of me.
It has to be my imagination.
I witness Emerson’s execution. Watched the life leave his dead eyes.
When the guy turns around, I sigh in relief, and tears slip from the corners of my eyes.
It’s someone else.
My mind is playing tricks on me.
Irvin
Ilean against the glass door of the library, watching my princess pack up her belongings and stroll in my direction.
Jameson sent me her school schedule earlier, so I know exactly when she’s in class. I blew up her phone tonight with reminders about our date, but she ignored every one. Cute. She really thinks she can skip our weekly nights together, and she really thinks we’re not in a relationship.
The doors slide open, and she steps outside. Her eyes snap to mine, wide and startled. She bites her lip, fingers tightening on her backpack strap. She tries to act casual, but her body betrays her.
“What are you doing here?” she prompts.
