Window

19.

Rain fell from the dark skies, pounding relentlessly against the roof. An angry wind howled along with it, the wood of the house moaning against its brute force. With the lights off, the only brightness came from the dim glow of the storm that seeped in through the windows. 

Emma sat in the middle of her floor, staring at her phone which lay in front of her. It buzzed again, notifying that it had received yet another message. Sighing sadly, she opened the text conversation. 

'Hey, what are you up to?'
'Hello? Em, wanna do something?'
'You still sleeping? Usually you're up by now'
'Emma?'
'Okay now I'm worried. Please respond so I know ur alive'
'Haha ok, joke received. Answer me now please'
'Emma? Are you ignoring me?'
'What's going on? Please talk to me'
'Em, pls. I'm worried out of my mind. What's going on?'
'You're scaring me. Answer your phone please'
'Emma'
'Please'

Tears misted her eyes, that familiar aching sensation growing in her chest again as she hit the home button, dispersing the messages from her screen. Her eyes danced to the little red icon that hung above the telephone application, the number twelve notifying that she had missed twelve calls. 

There were three voicemails too, but Emma hadn't opened them. She knew it'd be easier that way. To hear his voice again would hurt more than she could bear. 

Holding down the lock button, Emma powered down her phone before laying it on the floor and sliding it underneath her bed where it would no longer taunt her. She would probably regret it later when frantically searching for it, but as of right now, it felt like a great decision. 

A heavy sigh escaped her as she pulled her glasses off, allowing her to run her hands over her tired face. A dull headache thumped behind her forehead, making focusing on physics even harder. 

The dark, suffocating feeling that weighed on her shoulders made it difficult to pay attention, too. Every time her mind drifted from physics, that aching sensation would grow in her chest and her stomach would respond with a wave of nausea. 

She would wonder what lies he had told, and if there had ever been any truth. She would think about it until the anxiety caused that familiar sharp pain to stab in her stomach once again. 

That was another thing. She couldn't bring herself to eat. The thought of food made her feel more sick than she already was. That's how Lanny and Zack had known something was wrong; when Emma had woken up and refused breakfast. That, and the fact that her cheeks were puffy from dried tears and purple bags hung under her eyes. 

But no matter how many times they asked, Emma had refused to answer. She didn't want to talk about it, not anymore. She was sick of feeling stupid, and sick of feeling angry. She was sick of feeling hurt, and used. She was sick of feeling. 

Exhaling loudly, Emma pushed her glasses back up her nose. She tucked the strands of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ears, rolling back her shoulders before picking up her pencil. 

The tip of the pencil hovered over the blank space that lay beneath the question, the numerical values and directional words swimming around. Emma waited for them to straighten out so she could make sense of them, but nothing seemed to come together. 

Shaking her head, Emma forced her eyes to focus on the numbers. She wrote them down again, organizing them into her known and unknown values table. Her fingers danced over the calculator before moving to her opened computer where she searched the internet for the applicable equation. 

She let the dry, confusing physics distract her and the continuous thundering of the rain to soothe her. 

But then came the sound that she'd been dreading, the sound that she'd hoped to never hear again. 

Emma winced at the harsh sound of a knock that cut through the drumming of rain. Praying that he wouldn't be there, Emma allowed herself to look at the window where the curtains had been pushed to the side. 

Dean stood outside, the rain pouring down on him. His hair was soaked, plastered to his forehead. The dark sky cast shadows upon his face, but Emma could still see his arched eyebrows and wide eyes. 

And so she looked back down. She stared down at the paper in front of her with every fiber of her being, refusing to look up again. Her hand gripped the pencil tightly, shaking ever so slightly as she waited for him to go away. Gnawing her lower lip, Emma's heart raced feverishly, sending pulses of anxiety through her tired limbs. 

Cold rain soaking into his skin, Dean's eyes grew wide as he watched her turn away from him. Fear raced in his heart, sensing that something was wrong. Her phone hadn't been broken. All those unanswered texts and all those missed phone calls had been intentional. 

Heart beginning to race with panic, Dean thought he might be sick. Why was she doing this? Was it what Mason had said? Had she finally realized that she deserved better than Dean? The least she could do was tell him. 

Raising his hand, Dean rapped his knuckles against the glass again, shifting from foot to foot as he prayed she'd respond. He wanted nothing more than for her to open the window and let him in, shelter him from the freezing cold rain. He just wanted to hear her voice. 

Stepping closer to the window, Dean watched Emma's shoulders slump at the sound of his second attempt. Papers were scattered in front of her, the pencil in her hand shaking along with her arm. Purple bags hung under her bloodshot eyes, a cloud of darkness hanging over her. What was going on with her?

Forgetting the worry, Dean was distracted as Emma rose to her feet. Dean felt his heart swell with hope, knowing that whatever doubts Emma was having, he could convince her. He could just explain how he felt, what he'd been feeling for a while now. And then things would be good again, wouldn't they?

Emma's eyes were casted on the ground as she approached the glass, Dean beginning to shiver. He took a deep breath as he prepared for her to open the window. 

Then she pulled the curtains closed. 

Emma stood in front of her window, holding the curtains shut. Now she wouldn't have to see him, standing there in the rain. She wouldn't have to hear him lie his way out of another mistake. She couldn't take the games anymore, she couldn't take the lies. It was done. Now she just needed time to grieve. 

After walking back over, Emma collapsed back onto the ground. She pressed her hand against her stomach where it ached, that familiar tightness returning to her throat. As she let her eyes fall shut, a tear ran down her cheek, falling like the drops that came from the sky. 

Dean stood outside, cold water rushing over him, soaking into his clothes before seeping down to his bones. He stared at the window that had been closed to him, leaving him to stare only at his reflection. 

Fear swirled in his eyes, a lack of air creating a burning sensation in his lungs. He'd lost her. He had no way to talk to her, to see her. He'd lost the person closest to him. And he didn't even know why.