Pretend to be mine tonight (GXG)

Chapter 5

Emily's POV

I returned to work, serving the remaining tables with a distracted focus. When I could, I lingered near Ms. Vieira's table, sneaking quick glances at her as she ate. I noted the way she chewed her food with deliberate precision, the subtle shift in her eyebrow when she first tasted her salad—a sign she enjoyed it. Her tongue occasionally swept across her lower lip as she concentrated, a tiny gesture that somehow fascinated me.

Every time a customer called for my attention, I felt a pang of irritation; it pulled me away from the hypnotic rhythm of her eating. It was infuriating how drawn I was to her, how my gaze kept returning to her.

When Cam brought Ms. Vieira her check and she left without another word, it felt like she'd taken my breath with her. I exhaled sharply, irritated with Cam for no reason at all. She couldn't have kept her here against her will, but the frustration boiled over nonetheless.

The rest of the day slipped by in a haze, and once home, I collapsed onto my bed. My mind replayed the day's events, and I felt a growing unease with the effect Ms. Vieira had on me. The way my heart raced around her was unsettling. I was adamant about not joining her twisted game, yet her presence stirred something within me that was impossible to ignore.

"Why is this so difficult?" I muttered to myself. "You're not ready, Emily. She's your teacher now, any hope you had before is gone. Get it together and ignore her." I buried my face in my pillow, trying to suffocate the thoughts that tormented me.

But atleast my eyes were getting heavy with sleep.

"Emily, oh god, I am so sorry," Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her voice, only the deafening buzz in my ears. I tried to shift on the ground, but my body was unresponsive. I wanted to call out, but my voice was trapped. The cold ground beneath me sent shivers through my body.

"He made me do it," she said, her eyes wide with panic. "I didn't know it would get this far." Her voice was faint, almost drowned out by the growing buzz. I looked down and saw my body covered in blood. "I'll get some help. Please don't leave me. You'll be okay."

The buzzing grew louder, my vision blurred, and her face became a distorted blur.

It was getting really cold.

I jolted upright, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing and bring my racing heartbeat under control. But sleep eluded me, and despite my best attempts at calming techniques, my anxiety remained unyielding.

I stumbled into the bathroom, shedding my clothes as I went, leaving a trail behind me. Standing in front of the mirror, I traced the scars on my skin, my fingers brushing over the faded marks as I closed my eyes, taking one final deep breath.

Turning on the shower, I set the water to icy cold. The shock of the freezing water against my heated skin made me gasp, but after a few sharp intakes of breath, my body started to adjust. I stood under the freezing stream for what felt like an eternity, hoping it would help me regain control. When it proved ineffective, I sank to the floor of the shower, hugging my knees and allowing myself a moment of vulnerability.

Dressing in oversized clothes that offered a sense of protection, even though it was warm outside, I sought solace in the safety they provided. The clothes wrapped around me like a shield, helping me feel safer against the world and my own turbulent emotions.

I made myself a cup of coffee and climbed out of my bedroom window, settling on the roof to find some peace before heading to school. Mornings have always been my nemesis; after 7 a.m., when the sun emerges, it feels like an inescapable reminder of the day ahead. Despite how I feel, I have to brace myself, plaster on a few smiles—though they're hollow—and feign interest in people's lives. The only time I'm allowed to unravel is when the morning is over, and I'm back in bed, wrapped in the safety of my own familiar darkness.