You're My Medicine

Comin' In Hot

Chapter 8 - Comin' In Hot

Emmy couldn't pull her eyes off of her grandfather. Her heart was racing. This had to be a dream, or a nightmare more likely, this couldn't actually be happening. It couldn't, it just couldn't. 

She couldn't breath and her heart wouldn't stop racing. She couldn't move, her body wouldn't responed to her telling it to get the hell up and run. This couldn't be happening.

"Emmy!" Mark shouted out the door, "Are you - Hey! What the hell are you doing! Get the fuck away from her!"

'Mark,' she screamed in her brain but her mouth wouldn't move, the terror of seeing those dark, guarded eyes numbed her whole body, 'Help me.'

She could hear Mark running towards her over the pounding of her blood in her ears, "Look, I don't know how you are, or what you are doing here, but you need to leave," Mark demanded as he bent down and helped Emmy stand on shaky legs, wrapping his arms around her, "Now, or I'm calling the cops."

Emmy clung to Mark with a startling grip as he half carried and half drug back into the house. He slammed the door behind him and locked it and took Emmy to the couch where he sat her between his legs in front of him, crossed her arms over her chest with his, and held her to his chest, "Breathe, Emmy," Mark ordered softly, "In," he inhaled, "And out," he exhaled.

Emmy focused on the movement of Mark's chest against her back and willed her lungs to draw in air as his did, "There you go," he encouraged when she responded, "Just like that, you're okay now, Emmy, you're safe. Nothing can get you here."

She inhaled and exhaled again, feeling the grips of her panic attack subside. She was okay. She repeated this over and over again, she was okay, she was safe. Her whole body began to shake uncontrolably in Mark's arms and tears streamed down her face.

"Shh," Mark soothed as he turned her around and held her to his chest, rubbing her back up and down, "You're okay, you don't need to cry, Emmy, you're safe. He can't get you."

"How did he find me?" she wrasped against his chest as she clung to him, "How did he know?"

"Who was he?" Mark questioned gently wrapping his arms around her.

"My grandfather," she answered in a breath.

"His dad?" Mark pushed further.

Emmy nodded and closed her eyes. Why now? Hadn't he had his chance to 'talk' when everything happened ten years ago? He had his chance to say all he wanted, but no, he refused to even claim her as his granddaughter. The fimaliar fury from years past built in her chest, Emmy wasn't a scared, abused seventeen year old girl anymore. She was a strong, independent twenty-seven year old.

"He had no right," she hissed as anger built in her, "He had no right at all. Not after all that's happened."

"I know you might not want to talk about it," Mark started holding Emmy's shoulders, "And God knows I've never pestered you to tell me, that would just have been wrong, but what happened? I only ever heard rumors and the story the news spun, but what really happened?"

Emmy felt herself begin to withdrawl from Mark, to pull inside of herself at the deadly questions he asked, but she forced herself to stay present, not to go that empty place in her mind. Emmy took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds and then slowly let it out as she looked up into Mark's sapphire eyes. He was right, he never had asked about it all, they had been friends for as long as she could remember and never once during . . . everything had he ever asked about her side, actually he never brought it up. She loved her dear friend more now as she realized a simple fact: Mark knew that, when she was ready, Emmy would tell him what he needed to know, if that was anything at all.