Wicked Restless

Lindsey cut the threads on my chin, then told me to get out. She yelled it three more times, throwing my phone and keys into the hallway behind me, my stuff ricocheting off my back. I glanced at Sam on my way out, holding up a hand as he shook his head and chuckled. He mumbled something about karma catching up to me. He has no idea.

Lindsey passed me as she left her building with a duffle bag, pausing long enough to tell me I was pathetic and to ask me to tell Emma to move out.

I started to protest, to defend Emma, but she only held up a hand and seethed “Don’t.” Lindsey’s angry and hurt, and I get that. But I won’t give up on making things right between the two of them. That’s a promise I’m making to Emma.

I’ve been sitting out here on the stoop of her building ever since her roommate left. I’ve been waiting for hours—my hangover already seeping into every cell in my body. I was clearly not sober for any of that.

Trent texted me an hour ago, saying he came to meet me at Majerle’s, but it looked like I left. I told him he had “no idea.” He sent a question mark, so I told him I can no longer be left unattended. He sent a string of smart-ass remarks after that, which I never answered back. He’s going to be disappointed in me when I see him, as it is—no need to start the lecture on a text string.

The ice pack Sam tossed to me an hour ago has completely melted. I don’t know why he took pity on me, but the notion that the old man likes me feels nice. I get the feeling he and I might be a little alike—or at least we were when he was my age.

Most of the lights in Emma’s building have gone dark. It’s well past midnight, and the longer I sit here, the more my mind runs rampant with thoughts of her and that Graham dude doing things. I’ve fucked my life up so badly, it’s bordering on a Shakespearean tragedy. But I’m done losing out in life. I’m done not going for what I want, for being on the shit end of people’s opinions and what everyone else thinks is best.

I want Emma Burke. I always have. And I’m going to fight like hell to make her mine. I know a thing or two about fighting.

The quiet night air and the rasp of the crickets forms a constant hum that almost lulls me to sleep. The sudden rumble of the taxi pulling along her street jolts me awake though. And when Emma steps through the back door, tears pouring from her eyes, her face red and upset, her body convulsing with emotion, I’m rushed with adrenaline.

I sprint to her, and the closer I get, the worse I realize it is. Her cheek is bruised, her dress is torn, the strap on her purse is dangling by a thread.

I want to kill someone.

“Emma!” A breathy shout leaves my chest, and my legs feel like they want to fold under me. Someone hurt her—someone hurt her badly. Her lip quivering, she finally collapses against me, completely falling to pieces against my chest. I hold one arm around her, dig into my pocket, and fish out a crumpled twenty that I throw at the cab driver.

“That’s not enough,” he says, leaning out the window. I flinch toward him, and Emma startles. Thankfully, that move and the look on my face is enough.

“Mother fucker,” he grumbles, twisting his steering wheel and pulling away fast.

Emma’s still shaking in my arms, and I take this short moment to survey the rest of her. Scratches line her bare arms, and I realize just now that she’s also barefoot.

“Did he do this to you?” I ask.

She’s quiet, her eyes barely open, her tears still coming down like rain.

“Emma, did that Graham guy touch you?” I repeat. I’m trying so hard to keep my voice calm, but I know I sound like a lunatic.

I open my mouth to ask her again, but she finally nods slightly, stuffing her knuckles into her teeth as she lets out an enormous scream that echoes down the street. Sam hears from inside and rushes out to us.

“Miss Burke? Are you all right?”

He eyes me like a protective father, and I like him even more because of it.

“She’s hurt, Sam. We need to call nine-one-one…” I start, but Emma interrupts.

“No!” she screams, clutching my shirt and twisting her head to look at me, shaking her head no. She begs, and I feel like I’m free falling, my stomach sick and my head not sure what’s right or wrong right now.

Emma is all that matters.

“Miss Burke?” Sam asks again, his eyes flitting from her to me.

“No,” she coughs out. “No…please don’t call. I’m…I’m all right. It’s a misunderstanding, and that…that would make things worse. Please…take me inside.”