Barely Breathing (51 page)

"That's it?" Evan asked skeptically, examining me. My face flamed up, fearing he'd seen more between us. I nodded, unable to hold his gaze for more than a second. "I know you explained that you and Jonathan are friends and that you can talk to him about Rachel. I get it. But why do I get the feeling he knows more than I do?" His voice became stronger as he spoke, more agitated. I opened my mouth instinctively to defend Jonathan, but stopped when I saw the challenging look on Evan's face. "Then the way he was out there... The way he was looking at you..." I shifted my eyes. He released a breath, and lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, Emma, but I just don't trust him."

And maybe he had good reason not to.

40.  Honest Truth

No matter how hard I tried not to, I kept thinking about what I'd witnessed. His dark eyes were so compelling and trusting, yet instantly cold and hard. There was more hidden in their darkness than pain and torture. More than anger and loathing.

It seemed impossible that the same man who stayed up with me in the middle of the night, laughing at infomercials, was capable of bludgeoning someone into a grotesque, bloody mess. I shuddered at the remembrance, hugging the pillow against me tighter.

"What are you thinking about?"

I turned my head with a start. Evan stood in the doorway of the sun room, the warm rays lighting up the breathtaking angles of his face. Darkness wasn't hidden in his steel blue eyes. The disturbing thoughts were instantly brushed away at the sight of him.

"Hi," I greeted happily. "How was school?" I closed the book that was resting on my lap and set it on the wicker table beside me with the pillow I was mangling.

"The same," he shrugged, sitting down and resting my legs across his lap. "How was your day?"

"I helped stuff envelopes," I shared. "
So
exciting."

Evan laughed. He leaned toward me and ran his fingers over the vanishing bruise along my jaw, inspecting it. Then he leaned a little closer and gently kissed me.

"Aren't you supposed to be at practice?" I suddenly remembered when he pulled away.

"The coach had an appointment, so we have practice tomorrow instead."

"On a Saturday?"

"Unfortunately," Evan grimaced.

"Oh," I sighed. "I was hoping we could get my things tomorrow. Anna hired some guys to move the furniture out this weekend, so I need to pack up before they arrive."

"Is Rachel back?"

"I have no idea," I answered with a shake of my head. "I haven't heard from her, but I don't really expect to either. I'm hoping she's not."

"Do you want to go there this afternoon?"

A jolt shot through me just thinking about going back to the house. I knew we'd have to eventually, but I wasn't expecting it to be this afternoon. I thought I'd have more time to prepare.

"Okay," I answered, "let's do this," realizing there wasn't any way to prepare for it, no matter how much notice I had.

"You don't have to," Evan reassured me. Apparently my anxiety was evident. "Sara and I could go when she gets out of track practice. Besides, she said she wanted to help."

"No," I countered, trying to sound confident, "I can do it. I'll text her and tell her to meet us there when she gets out."

"Are you sure?" he confirmed again, eyeing me skeptically. "What if she's home?"

I didn't know how to tell him that it wasn't Rachel that made me dread going back to the house. It was the fear that there would still be blood on the floors. But the police didn't return to question me further upon searching the house, so I was fairly confident that Jonathan had cleaned it up and disposed of the broken coffee table. I had a feeling I'd see the blood even with my eyes closed.

"I can handle it," I assured him. Evan stood and offered me his hand. I took it and eased myself from the wicker chaise that was layered with pillows for my comfort. It didn't matter how many pillows it had, it didn't keep the pain at bay every time I had to breathe.

"I wonder how bad it's going to be," I thought out loud as we weaved through the back roads of Weslyn.

"What?" Evan asked with uncertainty.

"My room."

"How come you didn't go back with the police to see if anything was taken?"

"Because I knew there wasn't," I replied flatly, knowing the only thing he tried to take was hanging around my neck.

"Do you think he'll come back?" I could feel him watching for my reaction.

I shook my head and stared out the window, not wanting him to see the look on my face as I closed my eyes and tried to push away the bloody image that induced a shudder.
What did we do?
I mouthed to my reflection, resting my head against the glass, replaying Jonathan wiping away his prints on the car door. I wondered how detailed he had been when ridding the house of evidence.

I was so wrapped up in preparing myself to face the brutality; I really didn't give much thought to what it was going to be like to see my mother―if she was home. Her car was still in the driveway when we pulled in. But it had probably been there since I took her to the hospital. When we neared the house, music reverberated through the front door, confirming that she'd returned.

Evan stopped on the steps and turned to me. "Do you want to do this? We don't have to."

Despite the nausea that rolled in my stomach, I nodded. He eyed me warily, but didn't try to talk me out of it. Evan opened the screen door for me. I took a deep breath and walked into the house.

I didn't look for her. I continued up the stairs and Evan followed. I kept my eyes on each step and veered into my room without looking at the spot where his battered body had lain motionless. By the time Evan closed the door behind us, my heart was beating so hard I thought I might fall over.

We waited for her reaction. The music continued in the kitchen, allowing us to relax and breathe easier. I was just beginning to think we'd be able to leave without incident when I heard the door beneath my bedroom slam shut. She must have been out back. Evan stopped and looked toward me, awaiting my reaction. I shook my head with a shrug, trying to appear unaffected.

"Oh, Emma," Evan consoled under his breath.

I snapped back into the room and my mouth dropped open. "What the..."

It was completely torn apart. The mattress was pushed off the bed. The bureau drawers were dumped and tossed in a heap. The clothes in the closet were strewn across the floor. The only things left untouched were Evan's pictures on the cloth covered bulletin board and the stacks of clothes on the top shelf in the closet.

"My laptop's gone," I noticed, my voice deflated. I walked closer to the desk and discovered the hard drive on the floor beneath the desk. I eased myself under to pick it up. "At least I still have this. I guess I can always buy another laptop."

"True," Evan responded, trying to sound optimistic. Then he questioned in confusion, "But I thought you said he didn't take anything."

"He didn't," I confirmed. "She must have, or someone from one of her parties maybe." I absorbed the disaster with a disheartened sigh. "Okay, let's do this."

Evan set the suitcase and a large duffle bag on the box spring. He scooped the clothes from the floor and tossed them next to me so I could stuff them in the bags. There was no point in folding them.

The music disappeared. Evan and I hesitated and looked at each other just as Rachel called out, "Emily, are you here?" We'd driven my car since it had more space than Evan's two-seater sports car. She must have spotted it in the driveway.

My heart sped up at the sound of her voice.

"What do I do?" I asked him, not ready to face her.

"She knows you're here, Emma," Evan said. "You don't have to answer. Or you just say yes and leave it at that."

"Emily?"

I breathed out through pursed lips and then hollered. "Yeah, I'm here." Evan and I stared at each other and waited, but she didn't say anything. I swallowed and tried to relax my shoulders.

Evan picked up armfuls of clothes at a time and shoved them in the bag. I knew he was trying to hurry, since I was unable to mask the escalation of my anxiety. I tried to convince myself that she didn't bother me. That I could get through this without having to face her. But she
did
get to me, and I didn't foresee avoiding her when we left my room.

"You don't have to talk to her," Evan advised lowly, probably reading the fretful thoughts that flickered across my face. "We'll just leave. You won't have to say anything."

I nodded and mindlessly tucked the clothes in the duffle bag that was already stretched to its limit. Evan struggled with the suitcase zipper, closing it up.

"I'll bring these to the car and get the boxes and my duffle bag. The rest should fit in them, and then we'll go." He hesitated. "Are you going to be okay while I'm gone?"

"Yeah," I murmured.

I didn't move as I listened for Evan to walk down the stairs. The bedroom door didn't close all the way behind him, so I heard when she said, "Evan! I didn't know you were here too. What are you doing?" She sounded surprised. My jaw flexed at the sound of her voice.

"Just getting her things," he answered casually and continued out the front door.

"Emily, what's going on?" she called up to me, her voice heavy with concern. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer and remained motionless―hoping she'd give up.

"Emily!" she yelled louder. "What's going on?!"

I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. The angry storm began to rouse in my gut. I breathed deep, trying to control it. The boards creaked on the stairs.

I focused on remaining collected when I stepped out of my room, stopping her mid-step. "I told you I was coming back to get my things." My voice came out even and controlled, but my hands were clenched by my sides.

She appeared confused. I stood stoically at the top of the stairs and took her in. Her right eye was encircled with a greenish-blue bruise, and her left hand was in a black splint. I could tell there was more damage to her body as she leaned into railing for support.

She didn't react to the sight of the bruise on my face. But I didn't expect her to.

"You're leaving me?" she whimpered with big eyes.

My pulse quickened, spreading the anger into my muscles. I couldn't control it.

"Am I leaving you?" I repeated, my teeth grating with each word. I pulled my brows together and scoffed in disbelief. "Am
I
leaving
you
?"

Her eyes watered as she pled, "Please don't leave me."

Evan appeared behind her in the doorway. I caught sight him as he assessed our positions. "Emma." I focused on him, trying to push away the fury that was overtaking me. He flipped his eyes to my room, and I nodded. Without looking back at her, I returned to the bedroom.

Evan entered a few seconds later, closing the door behind him. "What happened?"

I shook my head and started pacing. "I can't believe her. I seriously think she's delusional."

"Emma, what did she say?"

"How could she be surprised that I'm leaving?" I fumed, staring at the floor as I continued to pace.

"Emma," he beckoned calmly.

"She didn't even say anything about the bruise. Does she even care what happened to me? Of course not!"

"Emma!" Evan bellowed loudly, standing in front of me. I stopped and looked up at him as he set his hands on my shoulders. "She doesn't matter."

I pressed my lips together to strangle the emotion and nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he soothed, pulling me into him. "I know this is hard. We don't have to stay."

I took a breath. "It's okay. We're almost done."

Evan kissed the top of my head before releasing me. "We'll be fast, alright?"

I nodded.

Evan handed me a box, and I started taking down the pictures on the board and placing them and the other items from my desk into it while he finished packing the clothes from the closet.

It was uncomfortably quiet as we rushed to gather my things. I tried to shut everything off as I finished with the box, not wanting to feel anything. But I couldn't. I couldn't release the fire that burned in my chest every time I heard her voice asking if I was leaving―like
I
was the one abandoning
her
.

"Emma, you're shaking," Evan noticed, taking a hold of my hand.

"Sorry. She got to me," I grimaced with my face scrunched.

"Maybe we should just go."

"Everything's pretty much packed anyway," I agreed, taking a look around.

Evan slung the duffle bag over his shoulder and picked up the box I'd packed. "I'll just come back in to get the last box." He nodded toward the one containing my sweatshirts and the pictures of my father I'd hidden beneath them.

In my final scan of the room I noticed something was missing, my heart skipping a beat.

"Are you coming?" Evan asked as he opened the door.

"I'll be down in a minute," I told him, searching desperately. "I want to look around one more time."

"I'll be right back," he stressed, his way of telling me not to leave the room without him.

I carefully knelt down and peered under the bureau and then the bed. Then I picked up the comforter that was on the floor. The framed picture of me and my father that had been on my bureau was gone. There was no reason anyone would want that picture, except for her. The one thing she thought I had left of my father, and she took it.

An angered blaze engulfed my entire body. My heart pounded so hard, it was difficult to breathe.

I didn't wait for Evan. And I didn't walk out the door to his car. I sought her out in the kitchen where she sat at the table, slicing a tomato while listening to the radio.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" she asked with a warm smile when I appeared in the doorway.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snapped vehemently.

"Excuse me?" she asked in shock. "I thought you might want to stay for dinner. I thought we could talk."

"About what?" I shot back. "How much you don't want me? How much you miss my father and how you blame me for his death? Or the fact that your drug dealer beat the shit out of us because you have
serious
issues? Yeah, that's great dinner conversation. I think I'll pass."