“Please, Emma.” The words barely reached me. A plea in its final form.
I couldn’t stand there another second. Not looking like this. Not feeling like this.
“I need the restroom,” I murmured.
He stepped aside. “I’ll be waiting.”
I moved through the restaurant—stares tracking me, pity softening their edges. Their sympathy pressed too close. I couldn’t bear it.
The bathroom door shut behind me, and I turned toward the mirror—and gasped.
I was a wreck. Wild curls. Streaked mascara. Eyes swollen and red.
Oh, Emma, you need to take more pride in yourself,my mother’s voice critiqued.Put more effort in.
I didn’t argue. Instead, I opened my clutch with clumsy fingers, pulling out wipes, stripping everything away until bare skin stared back.
The stall lock clicked, my back hitting the partition—cold, rough plastic against frantic skin.
My phone appeared in my palm, Candace’s name bright against the glass.
I reached for the notification, then stopped.
Read’s messages sat above it—pinned to the top. First in importance.
They blurred together—the jokes that had made me laugh, the good mornings, the steady presence I’d grown to lean on.
His voice in words, slow and patient, walking me back from the edge when no one else even knew I was standing there.
He’d called me wonderful. Smart. Kind. Perfect. Walked me through the panic. Quieted the noise in my head. Ate midnight cereal with me. Told me he was proud I managed the smallest things on days that felt like the world was splitting open.
He’d helped me.
Every day.
Every night.
Chipping at the walls until I was left bare.
And he hadn’t left even when I’d pushed him away. It didn’t forgive the hurt, but maybe it did deserve an explanation.
I closed my eyes.
One step at a time,he’d said. The night everything shifted.
I snapped upright, pushing myself off the wall. Wiping the final tear from my cheek, I unlocked the stall door, meeting my reflection in the mirror.
One last smooth of my dress, a lift of my chin, and a deep breath.
Then the bathroom door opened, and I stepped back into the world waiting on the other side—takingone step at a time.
Chapter 10
***
Damien
The onlookers gawked as I walked back to my own personal purgatory—glares hard with judgment, already casting me as the villain in the story they’d just watched unfold.
