Bad guy (REWRITTEN)

Chapter 17

The walk home felt like wading through deep water. Every time my tongue brushed the split in my lip, the metallic taste of blood reminded me of his face—the hollow smirk, the way he looked at me like I was just an obstacle in his path.

Above me, the stars were starting to burn through the purple haze of the twilight, indifferent to the fact that my world was collapsing. I looked around the neighborhood—people laughing on their porches, the orange glow of cigarettes in the dark and felt a thousand miles away from all of them.

I couldn't let him touch her. Emma was the only part of my life that still felt clean. She was the girl who saw me before the world tried to make me invisible.

I let my back hit the brick wall of an alleyway, sliding down until my knees hit my chest. The tears came then hot, jagged things that I couldn't swallow back anymore.

October 13, 2012

The playground smelled like woodchips and rain. I was six years old, sitting on the swing set, moving my legs back and forth just enough to keep the chains from rattling. I watched the other kids—groups of three, groups of five all moving in a choreography I didn't know the steps to. I was a ghost in a pink hoodie.

Then, a hand landed on the small of my back. A gentle shove, just enough to lift my feet off the mulch.

"You're going too slow" a voice said.

I spun around, my heart jumping. She had messy brown pigtails and a smile so bright it felt like it could jump-start a car.

"Hey" she said, her tone so cheerful it made me blink.

"H-hi" I whispered, looking at my sneakers.

She stepped around the swing and held out a hand, palm up, like she was offering me a secret. "I'm Emma. I'm seven. Do you want to come play tag? My brother is it  and he's really slow, so we can definitely win''

I looked at her hand, then at her eyes. She wasn't looking at me like I was weird or quiet. She was looking at me like I was already her friend. I took her hand, and for the first time, I didn't feel like I was swinging in a vacuum.

A sharp vibration in my pocket snapped the memory shut. I wiped my face with my sleeve, my skin stinging from the salt of the tears. My phone screen glowed, cutting through the dark.

Emma: Where are you?

I took a breath, trying to steady my shaking thumbs.

Me: At home.

It was a lie, but I needed a second to pull myself together. I stood up, brushing the grit off my jeans, forcing my legs to move toward the end of the block. Then, another buzz.

Emma: We need to talk. Come to my house. Now.

My stomach dropped. The coldness from the bathroom came rushing back. Did he get to her already? Or was she going to tell me about the party? I started to run, the air burning in my lungs, praying that for once, I wasn't too late to save the only person who had ever truly saved me.