Over the Edge

Ch.14-Freedom and Imprisonment

~Emmalyn~

Rhys had acted weird the rest of the day since going to meet with that woman, and I was pretty sure he took off before the school day was even over because I didn't see him after the bell. I hoped he was okay. And then I realized I was concerned for him and he could very damn well take care of himself. He didn't need me wasting time being worried.

I could hear Michael and Clara in the living room talking. The TV was on, too. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my backpack, stomach rumbling.

"Emma? Is that you?"

"No, actually, it's a serial murderer and I'm coming to kill you both," I replied sarcastically with a smile playing at my lips as I bit into an apple. "I'll give you five seconds to run for you lives."

"Just like her mother," I heard her say. "Jemma wanted me to tell you that she went out for a little bit, but she should be back soon."

"Coolio," I mumbled in reply, my eye catching some photographs hanging on a bulletin board by the fridge. I had never seen them before. I wiped my wrist along my mouth to clear the traces of apple juice as I squinted at the pictures. They were so clearly of my parents. I was sure there wasn't another person alive who resembled my Mom exactly.

They seemed to be taken at different times, as they progressed in years. The last one was of them in a hospital, my mother holding a baby which I guessed to be me. I smiled softly at that. The others were my parents being goofy or just acting as hopelessly in love as they really were. As they still are. They were seriously adorable.

I finished the apple and tossed it into the trash can, wandering into the living room. Clara was stretched out on the couch, using Michael as a footrest. I noticed he was massaging her feet.

"A regular ole' slave driver around here, huh Clara?"

Clara and Michael both laughed. I folded my arms over the back of the couch, grinning. "She's lucky I love her," Michael commented, tickling her feet. Clara jumped.

"Hush, you should feel honored to touch my feet," she replied in a jokingly indignant manner. I rolled my eyes and Michael might have done the same, though I noticed he didn't stop massaging her feet. I had a rather comical image, then, of Rhys massaging my feet, but it was so farfetched I nearly laughed aloud.

I was about to turn and disappear upstairs when I saw that all they were watching was the news-it always seemed so depressing to me-but a particular name caught my attention and I made the mistake of gluing my gaze to the screen.

My blood froze in my veins and I wouldn't have been surprised if my heart stopped beating for two seconds. I watched the people moving around on the screen, the words scrolling along the bottom. I gripped the back of the couch in white-knuckled hold.

Breathe, Emma.

I wanted to look away, to run away, but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed where I stood, eyes fixated on the man being led by cops on the screen, his face half-assedly shielded from reporters.

"That was a damn shame what happened with that boy," Michael commented. I barely registered his words. "Kids can be real cruel these days."

I swallowed hard. Right. My mother didn't tell our family why we moved in with them. And it was asked before that my name not be given out on details since he hadn't gotten put away for what really happened . . . For what my parents had fought for . . .

Breathe, Emma.

"The poor girl," Clara murmured. "I wish I knew who she was so I could send my condolences."