SHARING EMMA [18+]

44. Storm of Disbelief

|RYKER|

It's hard to look at her and not feel utterly miserable.

I feel like a loser myself.

Dad says Emma needs time and space to deal with what she has been through.

To come out of the shock that took a toll on each of our lives.

But I disagree.

I think I always do.

I think Emma needs us. She needs us more than ever.

I'm not a fool to say she needs me, or that I can help her get through this, but I know Dad and I, together, can help her, no matter how little.

When I was in high school, I was alone taking care of a sick mom. Dad was never home. He never made it on time for anything. He was so busy with his life and business that mom and I were conveniently cast aside.

I know they weren't a perfect couple to begin with. I know they had their differences and that neither of them really tried to make it work. But when mom got sick, I always felt Dad should have stepped up, that he should have been there for her, no matter their differences. His presence alone could have made all the difference in the world. His presence would have, who knows, maybe given her the strength to fight another day.

Now, history seems to be repeating itself, and it infuriates me.

Emma is alone, fragile, and broken, and Dad is telling me we should give her space.

And time.

But I can't stand by and watch someone I care about suffer like this.

I can't not do anything.

I just can't.

So, after waiting for more than a week, and doing as Dad says, I break the pattern of patiently waiting and reach her apartment.

I knock on the door, a Chinese takeaway in my hands.

I wait and wait and wait.

Finally, the door opens slowly, revealing Emma's tired and pale face. She looks surprised, perhaps even a bit wary, at the sight of me, and I can't even blame her. I don't look very good myself. But I'm hanging in.

"Ryker?" she says, her voice barely more than a whisper, frowning.

"Hey," I say softly, offering her a tentative smile. "I thought I'd bring you some food. You told me once Chinese was your favorite."

She looks at me, really looks at me, and then narrows her eyes. "I don't think I did."

"Oops!" I wince and grin. "Seems like I picked the wrong pick-up line."

She laughs. She does, really. And it's beautiful. And sad. And broken. Just like us.

"Well, as long as it's Chinese," she opens the door for me. "Come in."

I step inside, the smell of Chinese takeout filling the room.

Her apartment is dimly lit, curtains drawn to keep out the harsh sunlight. It's a reflection of her mood, I realize. Dark and somber. She doesn't have much going on either, I can see. Her home is clean as if no one has stepped in here in weeks. I didn't take her for a clean freak, but maybe that's all she has been doing all this time to keep herself busy and distracted.

Emma shuffles over to the small dining table, and I follow, placing the takeout containers on it. She takes a seat, and I join her.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. There's an awkward tension in the air, like we're both unsure of what to say or how to start.

Then, she finally breaks the silence. "Thank you for this. You didn't have to come."

I pick up my chopsticks and start to serve some food onto her plate. "I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to. You shouldn't be alone right now." Or at least that's what I believed.

She watches me for a moment, her eyes searching mine as if trying to decode my true intentions. But then she gives up and sighs heavily. "I don't even know what to say, Ryker. Everything is just so messed up."

I nod in agreement, my heart aching for her. "I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through, Emma. I wish I could be of more help."

Tears well up in her eyes, but she blinks them back. "I keep having these nightmares, Ryker. I know I'm not poisoned anymore. And now it's all in my head. But I still can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't focus on anything."

I reach out and gently place my hand over hers, offering what little comfort I can. "You don't have to go through this alone. You have me, and you have Dad. We're here for you, okay? I promise you, Emma. You're not alone."

She sniffles, her composure crumbling as tears spill down her cheeks. "I just want it all to stop. I want to forget. But I don't know how. I feel so lost."

I pull her into a hug, letting her cry on my shoulder. There are no words that can erase her pain—her trauma—but I hope that just being here with her, holding her, provides some solace.

We sit like that for a while, in the quiet of her dimly lit apartment, sharing a meal that neither of us has much appetite for.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that we're here together, facing the nightmare that has shrouded our lives, one moment at a time.

After a while, Emma pulls away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Sorry. I must look like a complete mess."

I smile softly at her, moving the stray curls out of her face and behind her ear. "You've been through hell. It's okay to feel this way. There's no right or wrong way to grieve or heal."

She scoffs, sitting back and staring out the window. "But I don't know what I'm even grieving, though. I mean, they say I wasn't even—"

"It doesn't matter what they say," I interject gently. "What matters is what you felt, what you believed in that moment, and no one can take that away from you."

Not to forget we could never find the doctor who told Dad and Emma that she was pregnant. It was as if he disappeared into thin air, leaving us in this storm of disbelief and confusion where we didn't know what happened and what didn't. There is simply no way to be sure if what we experienced on that Island, what Emma did, actually happened or not. Or was it just a ploy to toy with our heads?

She turns her gaze back to me, her eyes searching mine for something. "Ryker, do you believe them? Do you think I was never pregnant?"

I pause, considering my answer carefully. "Honestly, Emma, I don't know what to believe. What I do know is that something terrible happened to you. Whether you were pregnant or not, you experienced a trauma, and that's real."

Her shoulders sag as she nods slowly. "It's just... I felt so sure, you know? Like I could feel it inside me. It's like she stole something from me, something I can't even explain."

I reach out and gently squeeze her hand. "You don't have to explain anything, Emma. Not to me, and I'm sure, not to Dad either. We believe you, more than you know, and we want you to be happy."

She looks down at her hands and draws a deep breath. "I don't know how long will it take."

"It's okay," I take her hand and kiss it. "We have all the time in the world. We're not going anywhere."

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