~ Measure 8 ~
I got a voicemail from Cameron the next morning during breakfast.
“Hey, babe, happy two weeks! So I wanted to let you know that we have a date tonight at the Viewmont Park Skating Rink. I expect you there at 7 o’clock sharp. I’ve done you a favor and picked out your outfit for you. At the mall in your favorite store you will find a long sleeved blue and black sweater priced at five dollars. On the opposite end of the store you will find a pair of dark wash skinny jeans priced at ten dollars and forty nine cents. Purchase them. Your hair is going to be straightened. You will wear a champagne eye shadow with two coats of black mascara and some pink lip stain. Brown shoes of any kind are acceptable.
“Your outfit has been planned to be removable, so I’m just letting you know ahead of time that I’ve got something special planned for tonight. See you there, 7 o’clock sharp.”
This time, I threw my phone as hard as I could across the room and it hit the wall with a loud thud.
“Goddamn!” I screamed.
I heard my phone ring again from across the room and picked it up to find a text from an unknown number.
“Cameron’s instructions will be followed. Leave now for the mall. I’ll be watching.”
I did the risky thing anyone could do at that moment.
“Or what?” I texted back.
A new message rang in about a minute later.
“I’d be careful if I were you. He’s got a weapon.”
I took in a sharp breath as I looked around frantically. I caught sight of my purse and grabbed it as quick as I could and ran from the building and to my car.
I followed the instructions exactly as told and took a minute to catch my breath while sitting in the car, taking in my surroundings. I finally set the bag in the back and turned the key in the ignition, backing out of the parking lot and turning down the street.
Five minutes later, I pulled into Hannah’s driveway and made my way onto the porch. Her mom was sitting on the porch swing and instructed me to go on in.
Hannah was up in her room on the computer.
“I need your help.” I said.
She jumped in her seat and turned around saying, “Oh God, Emily, you scared me to death!”
“I’m sorry.” I said, sitting down on the bed.
YOU ARE READING
Breaking Emily
Teen FictionEmily Ashton's father walked out on her when she was six years old. He packed up everything, walked down the driveway, and never looked back. Ten years later, Emily's grown into a beautiful flower with one dream: To play the piano. Everything comes...
