Echoes

Chapter 13

"He's not going to stop," Sean warned, his voice low and serious as he watched Jason's truck fade into the distance.

Emily turned to him, her eyes still glistening with tears. "I know," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But I have to keep moving forward, Sean. I can't let him—or Charlie's memory—keep me stuck here."

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Four Months Later

"Emily, this has got to stop," Sean called out to her as she walked out to her car in a drunken stupor.

"You said you were fine with just sex, Sean. You said that," Emily slurred, poking his chest with one finger, her other hand clinging to a beer bottle.

"I said I was fine with just sex for now. And, Emily, I still am." He tried to reassure her. "But ever since you put Charlie's ashes in the lake, you haven't been the same. You quit the Stockton Globe, and you drink excessively. Emily, I love you. Damn it, I love you. And I hate seeing you tear yourself apart." His voice boomed with emotion.

"You aren't supposed to love me yet," she muttered before suddenly doubling over and throwing up on his shoe. Sean grimaced but quickly held her hair back as she flailed her arms at him.

"Stop it! Stop taking care of me. Stop being so damn supportive!" she shouted, hurling the empty bottle at him. He dodged it just in time.

"I thought you were getting better. I thought you were progressing, baby. Maybe I am a fool for thinking that, but I can't just stop caring about you," he shouted back, his emotions finally spilling over. "You need help. More help than I can provide, Em."

She began to laugh, the sound hollow and bitter. "Oh, big-time psychologist can't fix little ol' me? Guess he isn't as great as everyone says he is," she spat, her words dripping with venom.

"Emily, I think we should take a break," he said, his voice shaking.

She stopped dead in her tracks, swaying unsteadily, the drunken haze slowing her mind. She stared at Sean, trying to make sense of his words.

"A break?" she asked, her voice trembling, barely able to process what he was saying. The words felt foreign, distant, as if they weren't meant for her.

"Yes, a break indefinitely." Sean's voice was firm, his posture solid as he squared his shoulders, bracing himself against the hurt in her eyes.

The shock of his words cut through her stupor. Panic set in. "Baby, no, wait. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she slurred, desperation thick in her voice as she reached for him, her movements clumsy. But her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the ground, her apology barely a whisper before she passed out on the cold, unforgiving lawn.

When Emily woke, the world felt like it was closing in on her. She was back in her cabin, the silence around her deafening. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the reality of her situation hit her hard. The cabin was a disaster—empty liquor bottles scattered across the floor, remnants of her spiral. Her head pounded, the dull throb a painful reminder of her binge. She sat up slowly, the memories of the night before flooding back with every sharp sting of regret.

Sean was gone. His words echoed in her mind, each one a stab to her already wounded heart. "A break indefinitely." She had pushed him too far, torn down the one person who had tried so hard to help her. Her chest tightened as the weight of what she had done sank in.

She looked around, seeing the chaos she had created. It wasn't just the mess in the cabin; it was her life, spiraling out of control. She had lost control—of her grief, her drinking, her relationships. And now, she might have lost Sean too. The realization was too much to bear. A sob wracked her body, followed by another and another, until she was curled up on the floor, tears streaming down her face. She had pushed everyone away, and now she was truly alone.

Night had fallen by the time Emily finally mustered the strength to peel herself off the floor. The darkness outside seemed to press in on the cabin, but inside, the mess that surrounded her was all she could focus on. The cabin reeked of stale liquor and regret. Cleaning was the only thing she had control over, the one thing she could still manage.

With a grim determination, she moved swiftly, throwing away the empty bottles, scrubbing the dishes until they gleamed, and doing laundry with a precision that bordered on obsessive. Each task was a distraction, a way to keep the pain at bay for just a little while longer.

When the last piece of laundry was folded, and the cabin was finally spotless, she plopped down on the couch, exhaustion washing over her. But the loneliness, always lurking in the background, quickly caught up with her. The silence in the cabin was suffocating, amplifying the void Sean had left behind.

Her gaze fell to the coffee table in front of her, where a picture of her and Charlie on their first date sat in a frame. They looked so happy, so carefree. The sight of it was too much. She picked up the frame and, with a cry of anguish, hurled it across the room. The crash echoed through the cabin, the sound shattering the silence as glass shards scattered across the floor.

Instantly, regret slammed into her. She rushed over to where the frame had fallen, her bare feet stepping on the shards of glass, but she didn't care about the pain. All she could think about was the picture, the memory it held. The frame was busted, the glass shattered, but as she carefully lifted the photo from the wreckage, she noticed something she hadn't before.

Beneath the photo, tucked into the frame, was a note, yellowed with age. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the piece of paper. The handwriting was unmistakable—Charlie's.

My dear Emily,

If you are reading this, then I am gone. I had hoped this letter never found you, but unfortunately, my lies and deceit have caught up to me. I want you to know that my death was not accidental or military-related. I have never entered into the armed forces. Just know that I did what I did because I wanted to protect you. I love you more than you know, and I understand if you're angry with me. I'll see you when you get here.

Love, Charlie xoxo

The note fell from her hands as a fresh wave of emotion overwhelmed her. Everything she thought she knew, everything she had believed about Charlie's death, was a lie. She crumpled to the floor, the pain of his betrayal cutting deeper than any glass shard ever could.

Emily's hand shook as she reached for her phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light of the cabin. She needed someone—anyone—to help her make sense of what she had just read. Sean was the first person who came to mind, the one person she trusted with everything. With trembling fingers, she dialed his number, pressing the phone to her ear.

It rang once, then twice, before going straight to voicemail. She didn't leave a message. There was no point. The emptiness in her chest deepened as she ended the call, feeling more alone than ever.

Desperation clawed at her, making her feel like she was drowning. She needed companionship, needed answers. Without thinking, she scrolled through her contacts and dialed Jason's number. She didn't even know why, except that he was the only one who might understand, the only one who knew Charlie like she did.

The phone barely rang before Jason picked up. "Hello?" His voice was rough, filled with concern, but Emily couldn't find the words. Her emotions broke free, and all she could do was cry, the sobs wracking her body as she tried to speak.

"Emily? What's wrong?" Jason's voice grew urgent, but she was too choked up to respond. She needed him, needed someone to hold her together, but all that came out were broken, incoherent words mixed with tears.

"I'm on my way," Jason said, his voice firm and reassuring. He didn't wait for her to reply, didn't ask for details. He just hung up, leaving Emily clutching the phone in her hand, her tears falling onto the screen.