Page 17

FIFTEEN

clodagh

Today has been hard. I’m still in therapy, and while it’s helping, I don’t feel healed.

I doubt I ever will be. How does someone get over someone killing their family?

You don’t. But I’m trying to find a way to live, to move on, and I’m finally at that stage.

I think. But some days are harder than others and today is one of those days.

It’s been six years and it still hurts to think and talk about my family.

At school, we’ve had to do a project on our family and it’s broken me.

So here I am, at a party, something I had slowed down on doing but I needed the distraction. I’ve been lost, so utterly lost recently, and I just need a break.

I lean against the wall, the bass of the music thrumming through my body. The party is in full swing around me, people dancing, laughing, drinking. But I feel disconnected from it all, like I'm watching through a foggy window.

The clear plastic cup in my hand is half empty, the alcohol burning a path down my throat.

I know I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be drinking.

I've been doing so well lately, focusing on my art therapy and talking things through with Dr. Murphy.

But that family project at school... it broke something inside me.

I close my eyes, remembering the look on my classmates' faces when I stood up to present my project. The pity, the curiosity, the discomfort. I hate being the girl with the tragic back story, the one everyone whispers about. Thankfully, I didn’t need to explain how they died, and the school I’m at now is completely different than the one I attended with those bitches who said I was a whore.

Tammy’s been worried about me, and I get it. Things have been tough, but I’ve been through worse. Hell, I’ve lived through worse. It’s just going to take some time to get out of this funk I’m in.

This party is lame as hell. By the looks of things, it’s a college party and there’s no one here that I know. It was mentioned at school that it would be on tonight and it had an open door policy. Everyone and anyone was invited. But no one I know is here yet.

I push away from the wall and move toward the kitchen, finishing my drink on the way.

"How about a refill?" I hear someone say to my left.

I turn to see a tall guy with dark hair and a charming smile. He looks older, probably in college. Under normal circumstances, I'd be flattered by the attention, but tonight I just feel numb.

"Sure," I say, handing him my empty cup. "Thanks."

He takes it and starts mixing a drink. "I'm John," he says. "I haven't seen you around before. You new to the scene?"

I shrug. "Just needed a night out," I say vaguely.

John hands me the drink, his fingers brushing mine. "Well, I'm glad you came. It’s always nice to see a pretty new face."

I take a sip of the drink. It’s stronger than what I had before, and the alcohol burns, but I welcome the sensation. It's better than feeling nothing.

"So," John says, leaning closer. "Want to dance?"

I hesitate. Part of me wants to say no, to retreat back to my corner and drink until I can't think anymore. But another part, the part that's desperate to feel something, anything, nods.

John grins and takes my hand, leading me to the makeshift dance floor in the living room. The music is loud, the bass pounding through my body. John pulls me close, his hands on my waist. I close my eyes and let myself move to the rhythm, trying to lose myself in the music and the alcohol.

For a while, it works. The world narrows down to the beat of the music, the warmth of John's hands, the buzz of alcohol in my system. I don't have to think about my family, about the project, about the pitying looks. I can just be.

But as the song changes, I feel John's hands start to wander. His grip tightens, pulling me closer. I open my eyes, suddenly uneasy.

"John," I say, trying to pull back, "I need some air."

He doesn't let go. "Come on, baby," he slurs. "We're just getting started."

Panic rises in my throat. I push against his chest. "Let go," I say more firmly.

John's face hardens. "Don't be a tease," he growls, his grip tightening painfully.

"I'm not being a tease," I hiss. "Let go of me."

Thankfully, he does and I manage to stumble back away from him. I turn back to the kitchen and grab myself yet another drink. I need everything to numb, to fade into the emptiness that I feel inside.

* * *

I spot the brunette walking into the house and my heart soars. Finally, someone I know. It’s Lisa, my best friend.

“Lisa!” I call out. She spins on her heels and I stagger toward her, glad she’s here. “You’re here!”

“I am, and you’ve been drinking,” she says, smiling.

I grin, shrugging my shoulders. “We both know what day it is today. How are you holding up?” It’s been three years since she almost died from trying to take her life because of that evil bitch of a step-mam she has—although that cow doesn’t deserve to be called step-mam, not after what she did to Lisa.

“I’m good. It’s been a long three years, but I’m in a better place.”

My smile widens. “Damn straight you are, girl. So, we’re partying, right?” I ask, knowing this is more for me and the numbness I seek than it is about her. Which is a shitty thing to do, but I can’t help it.

Her brows knit together. “Celebrating what?”

I sigh. “Lisa, it’s been three years and this is the first time you’re not feeling the pain and grief that awful day inflicted on you.

It’s time to celebrate the new you. The woman who is strong and resilient, and so fucking beautiful she makes me jealous.

So damn sweet that you make me happy. And the best friend a girl could ever ask for. ”

“Okay,” she whispers. “But you know Orna’s rules.”

I nod. “Yes, I know. Orna’s got Tammy doing the same. I was warned before I left the house. But Tammy is someone I respect and care about. I won’t betray that trust she has in me.”

“Same with Orna. We lucked out with our foster parents.”

I link my arm with hers and walk into the kitchen to get a drink, talking about our families. I’m so glad she’s here.

Hours later, I’m beyond drunk. I’m barely able to see let alone walk. Lisa’s in the bathroom right now. When she comes out, I think it’s time to leave.

“There you are,” I hear a deep voice say and turn to see a guy who was bothering Lisa and I a while ago.

“Your friend’s waiting on you,” he tells me, throwing his arm around my shoulders.

“She’s been sick. You two really should watch what you’re drinking.

” He leads me toward the stairs, and I stumble a little trying to keep up with his longer strides.

My head's fuzzy, but all I know is that Lisa's sick and she needs me. We need to get out of here and go home.

I stumble up the stairs, leaning heavily on the guy supporting me. My head is spinning and I'm having trouble focusing. Something doesn't feel right, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is.

"Where's Lisa?" I slur, trying to look around.

"Just up here," the guy says, guiding me down a dark hallway.

We stop in front of a closed door and he opens it, pushing me inside. I stumble into the dark room, expecting to see Lisa.

Ice cold fear shoots through my veins, cutting through some of the alcohol-induced haze. I spin around, nearly falling over in the process.

"Hey, what's going on? Where's Lisa?" I demand, my voice shaking.

The guy flicks on the light, revealing a bedroom, but it’s not empty. Two of his friends are here too. His smile has turned predatory as he advances toward me.

"Your friend's not here, sweetheart," he says. "It's just you and us now."

Panic grips me as I realize the terrible situation I'm in. I back away until I hit the wall, my heart pounding.

"Stay away from me," I warn, trying to sound brave even as terror courses through me.

He just laughs, reaching for me. "Don't be like that. We're going to have some fun."

The three of them pounce on me. I whimper at the feeling of their hands on me.

I try to fight them off, but it’s too hard.

I’m so drunk I can barely stand. The men drag me to the bed, and I collapse onto the mattress like a damn rag doll.

Their hands continue to caress me, and I try to raise my head, but it’s no use. I don’t have the power.

The door opens and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Lisa enter. She looks pissed. I hate that I’ve got us into this position. I know better than to get like this. I just needed an escape, but now look at me.

I hear cries of pain and turn my head to see Lisa hitting the men with a pool cue. My best friend is a badass and I love her so much.

The door opens once again and I hear loud, deep voices. My heart hammers against my chest. Have more of his friends arrived? Is Lisa going to be hurt?

“Are you okay?” she whispers, watching me carefully.

“Thank you,” I whisper back. “I couldn’t fight them off. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come in.”

She pulls me against her and I sink into her embrace. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

All I can do is lie here as she gets me dressed.

I feel foolish and scared. I hate that she’s had to see this and that I’ve let myself get into this position.

Once I’m dressed, she helps me to my feet and we walk out of the room, where we meet the two men who entered the room after Lisa did.

My eyes widen when I see Emmanuel standing there.

He looks so different than the last time I saw him.

He’s still got his father’s eyes, but now he has a scar that goes across his eyebrow.

“Emmanuel is going to carry your friend to the car, okay?” the guy who seems to be in charge says. “You’re both safe with us.”

Lisa nods and then glances at me. She has no idea who Emmanuel is and I just want to leave, get her out of this place. “Thank you,” I whisper to the man who saved us.

Emmanuel gives me half a smile, the scar crinkling as he watches me, his eyes filled with concern for me. “You’re safe now. Come on, let’s get you both out of here.” He lifts me into his arms and holds me close to his chest.

“Did they hurt you?” he asks quietly as he holds me.

I shake my head. “No. Thankfully, Lisa got there in time,” I say, my voice filled with shame and hurt.

“Please,” he says, his voice filled with pain, “don’t get this drunk again.”

I nod. “I won’t,” I assure him. I can’t do it again. Today was the shock I needed to tell me how dangerous it is to drink and not care about what happens. I know better. I need a better way of dealing with things.

“Clodagh,” he says thickly. “Be safe,” he tells me as he places me into the car. “I’ll be watching.”

I swallow hard. “Emmanuel,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. It wasn’t your fault.”

I know that now. Hell, I think I’ve always known that. I just needed someone to blame.

His finger traces my jawline. “Be safe,” he whispers once again, and this time closes the car door behind him, leaving me in the darkness all alone.

What the hell am I going to do? I need help and I have no idea how to get it. I’m drowning. I don’t know how to stop this toxic cycle I’ve gotten myself into. If I don’t stop it soon, I could end up dead, or worse, I could be the reason Lisa gets hurt.

No more. I can’t do it again.

I need help. A lot of help.

* * *

One week later

It’s colder than it looks. I tug my sleeves over my hands and shove them into my jacket pockets as I walk. Tammy told me not to stay out too long. I told her I was just going to the library. That wasn’t a lie, technically. I just didn’t want to go home yet.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to answer questions I haven’t figured out yet. I’m still reeling from the party, but I’ve been having a lot of sessions with my therapist.

My boots scuff the pavement. The town’s quiet. Too quiet. It’s that in-between time where school’s done but the shops haven’t really filled up yet.

I cross the street, glance left, then right?—

I stop.

There’s a figure across the road. Standing still. Watching me.

At first my chest tightens, just for a second, like my body hasn’t decided yet if I’m in danger.

Then I realise who it is.

Emmanuel.

He’s standing half-shadowed near the bus shelter. Hoodie pulled up, hands in his pockets. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t wave. He just looks at me.

I stare back, frozen. My heart’s hammering and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the way he’s not doing anything. Not saying anything. Just watching. Like he’s making sure I’m okay.

He gives me the smallest nod.

Then he turns and walks away.

No smile. No smirk. Nothing like him.

Nothing like his father.

I stay where I am. I don’t call after him. I don’t cross the road.

I just stand there, the cold finally starting to settle in my bones.

He didn’t approach me. Didn’t say my name. He could have. But he didn’t.

Jacob Dellinger would’ve followed me. He would’ve smiled and tried to talk. He would’ve made it feel wrong.

But Emmanuel?

He stood there. Quiet. Still. Like I was something worth protecting, not something to claim.

And just like that, I don’t see his father's face anymore.

I see his.

And I don’t know what to do with that.