Rewrite the Rules

This is your life, Emerson Rowan: Part 32

He gestured with an open palm, an invitation for me to begin. Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the heart of the story.

"Do you think we could find somewhere quiet to talk?" he requested.

I signaled a bouncer over, passing along his request. We departed from the lively club area, following the bouncer to a black door leading to a small room with sofas. As the door closed, silence enveloped us.

"The truth is," I confessed, "I was an extreme introvert as a kid. Socially awkward, bookish, the whole package."

A surprised laugh escaped his lips. "Wait, what?" he exclaimed, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Yeah, believe it or not, the social butterfly persona was a carefully cultivated act. My parents, bless their hearts, were convinced I needed to 'come out of my shell.'"

"So, they enrolled you in charm school?" he asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"Charm school, public speaking courses, even small talk tutorials, drama, dance, singing – you name it, I probably did it," I admitted. "Anything to appease the extrovert gods, as it were."

"And did it work?"

"Well," I began, choosing my words carefully, "by my early teens, I'd managed to snag a spot in the 'cool kid' circle. My two best friends, Samina and Daisy, followed suit, although they were never quite as deep in as I was."

"The next two years were... wild. I rebelled against everything, desperate to shed the shy girl image. My parents? Let's just say they were completely out of their depth."

"They probably longed for the days of the bookish introvert," he remarked.

"Definitely a case of 'be careful what you wish for,'" I agreed, a rueful smile playing on my lips. "Honestly, looking back, I don't know how I even managed to graduate high school. School became a distant memory as I jetted from party to party, living the high life – or at least, what I thought was the high life. Both Samina's and Daisy's parents banned them from spending time with me."

"Wait a minute," Namjoon interjected, his brow furrowed in confusion. "You were underage, right? How'd you get into clubs?"

"Walked in. I was Rowan, back then, nobody really checked that closely. As long as you looked the part and acted confident, you were in."

"And the DJing?" he asked, his interest piqued.

"That was my saving grace," I admitted. "My parents took my credit cards away. Turns out, I had a knack for it. Behind the decks, I was transformed. The life of the party, the one everyone wanted to be around. Schoolwork became a blur of cramming for exams and somehow managing to pass with decent grades. University was a miracle – my parents, bless their worried hearts, agreed to foot the bill, as long as I kept grades up."

I paused, letting the weight of my past hang in the air between us.

"First year of university, and I was a mess. Mentally, physically, everything was falling apart. School? Barely scraping by with the lowest passing grades. My health? Deteriorating by the day. I was a ghost of myself, a shell of the vibrant girl I used to be."

"I could barely recognize myself. Eighty-six pounds, all skin and bones. Looked awful," I choked out, the words catching in my throat.

"No way," Namjoon interjected, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of protectiveness. "You're beautiful, Emma. Curvy, strong..." He trailed off, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before quickly flicking away.

"Not back then," I admitted, the words heavy. "I wasn't eating, barely sleeping, surrounded by the wrong people. One night, it all came to a head. A friend offered..." I hesitated, the memory sending a fresh wave of nausea washing over me.

"Something bad?" he prompted gently, his hand reaching out to tentatively touch mine.

I met his gaze, finding understanding and a flicker of anger simmering beneath the surface. "I said no," I whispered, the words thick with emotion. "And then..." Taking a deep breath, I continued, my voice cracking slightly, "I walked out. Left the club in the middle of the gig. Just walked away."

"I returned to the condo I rented. A supposed friend, the term scraping harshly in my throat, materialized at the door, a key glinting in her hand – a key I'd never entrusted to her. I was being robbed, violated in my own sanctuary."

"I watched, a chilling detachment settling over me, as she ransacked my belongings. The rustle of expensive fabrics, the clinking of stolen trinkets, a noise of betrayal. She stuffed designer bags, shoes, and clothes into suitcases with a manic glee that curdled my blood. None of it held any real value for me, but the act itself was a knife twisting in my gut."

A gentle squeeze on my hand jolted me back to the present. "Baby," he murmured, his voice thick with concern.

The sound seemed to pierce the fog of disbelief. My voice, when it came, was a hollow shell. "When she finally noticed me," I began, the memory a bitter pill on my tongue, "she wasn't even ashamed. Almost indignant, like I'd inconvenienced her by being there."

A humorless scoff escaped my lips. "She tossed off some comment about my parents buying me more. As if I wasn't the one footing every bill, the one who built this life from scratch."

"I let her take it," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "And then I told her to get out, to never darken my doorstep again. And you know what? She was perfectly fine with that."

"A friend," I spat, the word a bitter mockery. "Sad doesn't even begin to cover it."

I wiped away a stray tear that escaped down my cheek. "I let her go," I continued, my voice stronger now. "Told her never to contact me again. And she didn't seem to mind."

Silence descended upon the small room, broken only by the faint thumping of the music from the club. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions – concern, anger, and a newfound respect that shone through.

"I picked up the phone and called my dad. I said, 'I'm ready.' He hung up on me."

"Like, said nothing? He didn't say anything. Just hung up?" he asked.

"Yes!" I started to laugh with tears in my eyes.

"He just hung up?" Namjoon's voice, laced with disbelief, pulled me back to the present.

"Nope," I hiccupped, wiping at the tears that spilled down my cheeks. "Just ...gone."