Fifteen hours remainuntil my untimely death.
That’s nine hundred minutes. Fifty-four thousand seconds. I need to make every fuckingmillisecondcount. It’s time. These past four days have brought me to this exact moment.
It’s now or never.
Literally.
If this doesn’t work, I’ll never have the chance to do anything ever again.
I’ve played my part perfectly. I’ve laid down the foundation. And on that foundation, I’ve built the most gorgeous structure. It’s made out of malleable trust. The kind I can twist and bend to my will. She doesn’t know that. She thinks it’s made out of iron, or steel, or platinum. But that was the goal. She’s so unaware that it’s almost funny. And Ialmostfeel bad for her.
Almost.
But then I remember that she bashed a crowbar against my head and locked me in a dirty basement.
I don’t feel bad after that thought.
Moonlight trickles into the room, casting shadows as I sit chained to the cold, unforgiving floor. Unforgiving. Like me. I straighten out my shoulders and quietly clear my throat.
Alright. It's time. I need to draw Toni closer, hit her where it truly hurts.
I’m ready.
A subtle sniffle escapes me, a feigned sign of vulnerability. Toni shifts in her chair, her gaze momentarily flickering toward me, but she remains silent. Undeterred, I turn up my performance, forcing tears to trickle down my cheeks, the moonlight catching the shimmering trails of a beautiful final act.
As the quiet sobs increase, I glance up at Toni, pleading for a connection. I’m playing a very delicate role, the sort of manipulation that requires finesse. Through thick, salty tears, I catch a glint of something in her gaze, a storm of concern, and I seize the opportunity.
My cries grow louder, my breathing more erratic. Like a poor, helpless woman on the verge of a total breakdown.
She buys it. Of course, she does. I’ve always been an expert on supply and demand.
Toni turns away from her computer, worry etched across her features.
"Breathe," she says. "You need to breathe, bella."
I don't.
Instead, I choke on my tears and pretend to hyperventilate. Unable to resist my theatrics any longer, Toni scrambles off her chair and rushes toward me.
“Emery.” She kneels before me, like a good little puppet, and places a palm on my back, searching my damp face for answers. “What is wrong? Please, breathe, bella. You need to?—”
I mentally crack my knuckles and crumble under the fabricated despair. "I don't want to die," I sob, the words strained and rehearsed. "I don't want to die, Toni. I-I’ve barelylived. He… He's not going to pay. I know he’s not going to pay.” My head feels light from all the dramatics, but I continue. “I'm going to die. He... He won't pay. I know he won't. I'm... I'm worthless."
“Emery, please,” Toni tries to soothe me. “You need to calm down. You need to?—”
She thinks that I’m weak. And I use it. I use that perceived weakness as a weapon, a tool. I let the tears flow freely, my shoulders shaking with every manufactured sob.
"No. You were wrong, Toni," I wail. "You're wrong. He won't pay.” The basement rattles with my sobs as I draw in my captivated audience. “I’m nothing, Toni. You don’t believe me but it’s true. I’m going to die here. I’m going to die here, alone and worthless. God, why me? Why is this happening to me?”
Luna pats me on the back. Jesus Christ. I’m a natural-born talent.
“You are not nothing, Emery,” Toni whispers, her own damn eyes glossy.
Oh my God… Is she crying? This is going better than I anticipated.
"No one's ever loved me, Toni," I whimper. "I'm just a toy they play with then throw away. I'm disposable, Toni. You were wrong. So wrong…"
“Stop saying that, Emery. That’s not true. You are special, Emery Jones. You are so…” She swallows, her raw gaze flitting across my face, a hunger in her eyes that she can no longer conceal. She lifts a tentative hand, cupping my cheek, her thumb stroking the river of tears streaming down my face. “So very special.”
