How He Broke My Heart

Chapter 15

I left swiftly like Cinderella but I didn't drop a slipper, only secrets. I hurried out of the pool in my soaking underwear despite Brandon's protests and promises to drop the topic. He followed me through the house as I yanked my shorts on and left a trail of footprints to the front door. He reached out, grabbed my arm, squeezed to show me just how bad he wanted me to stay, but I had to go. Brandon knew not to follow me out of the house, and I walked back home alone with wet spots on my chest and shorts, looking utterly lost.

I snuck into the house and got in bed and haven't left. No one can manipulate me if I'm hiding under my sheets, nothing can touch me while I'm in the safety of my bed. Knocks came in the morning to wake me up along with my mother's voice. "Do you have work, Emma? Should you be up?"

"It doesn't matter," I tiredly called back, my lack of sleep creeping up quick, "I quit yesterday."

She pressed me for a few minutes but eventually left me alone, likely realizing that something is wrong. When something's wrong, I prefer to be left alone. I don't like to be vulnerable in front of people, even my own mother. Tears make me feel weak, especially when watched by those I act so tough towards. I used to let it all out in front of my friends and family, but I have a reputation to uphold, one that requires me to be emotionless.

By lunchtime, my stomach is grumbling like some earthy disaster. I know it's because I'm hungry, but I like to think it's because I let Brandon in and now it's messed me up. If I go to the shop, I'll see him. If I go to Jonas', I'll see him. If I go to the beach, I'll see him. Nowhere is safe except for the apocalyptic bunker I am in the process of making, but I don't know how long I'll last in here without something to subside my cravings.

My phone vibrates under my pillow, and I automatically assume it's Lauren, but when I lazily fish it out, I see unfamiliar numbers with the message: Emma, its Brandon. Lauren gave me your number. I'm sorry if I pushed you too far last night. Let me make it up to you.

Even in my bed he's reaching me, grabbing my ankles and pulling me out. I shut my phone off and shove it back under my pillow. Kicking my blankets off, I shakily get up and leave my bedroom for the kitchen, scavenging through the pantry, taking things that I can stash in my bed with me. Granola bars, water bottles, trail mix, and a bag of popcorn. I turn back to the hall with my findings but come to a halt when my Aunt appears in my path with damp hair, fresh out of the shower with judgment on her cleansed face.

"What are you doing?"

I slip past her. "Getting food."

"Clearly, but why? Why don't you sit at the table and I'll make you lunch. You're not living off of granola."

"That's okay," I rush, making my way backward towards my bedroom, "I just gonna go back and—"

"Who are you avoiding? Me? Your mom?"

"Avoiding? No. No one in the house anyway."

"Don't you have a job?"

I smear on my guilty smile. "Oh, I quit yesterday. It just wasn't working out."

"Emma," she says, disappoint. "Why? Why would you quit your job? You've wanted to work there for years."

"Because—because I just don't want to anymore. It's not that complicated, I just don't feel like it anymore. I'll find a job somewhere else in town or something."

My Aunt crosses her arms. "What's going on with you? Are you hanging around those old friends of yours again?"

"No. I'm not," I say seriously, more so than I would like. "Like I said, it's not that complicated."