“Shit,” Clark curses.
“Do you need some help?” I question, slowly walking over to him.
“Maybe so.” He grins before turning off the stove and throwing the pan in the sink.
“Do you like toaster strudels, because apparently I’m worse at cooking than I thought.”
“Toaster strudels are the best.” I grinned back at him, his smile infectious.
Ten minutes later we sit at the kitchen table across from each other digging into our steaming hot icing covered pastries. Clark’s fork is hovering inches away from his lips when the ding-dong sound of the doorbell chimes through the empty house.
“What the fuck?” Clark snarls softly while shoving up from his chair. Annoyance written in his angelic features. “Give me a minute, and I’ll be right back. I have to see who the hell that is.” He disappears into the hallway and time seems to tick by slowly well he’s gone. I pick at my food, suddenly losing my appetite.
My cell phone decides then to chime in my pocket, and I fish it out, the screen lighting up with an incoming text from my father. It’s a normal, obey, and listen or else text, the usual from my oh so loving father. Rolling my eyes, I exit out of the message and tap in the Facebook app. I scroll for a short while, skimming over pictures of people I barely know.
I only have a few friends on there, really I don’t know why I’m on there at all, none of those people are my real friends anyway. I don’t have any real friends.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket I sit there a little while longer before I get up. I shouldn’t care whoever it is that has Clark distracted, and I don’t or at least I tell myself that I don’t as I head for the stairs the sound of a feminine voice pierced my ears.
“Come on, Clark, it’s been too long, you can’t turn me away?” the girl says with a seductiveness that I could never achieve.
He is ditching you for another girl.
The confession stings, but is one I can handle. It’s really none of my business, or at least it shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t care who he screws, or sees, or any of that. I’m not his gatekeeper and I’m not about to cramp his style either. He can do whatever, and whoever he wants...
Shaking my head, I try to get rid of all these unwanted thoughts and feelings. I walk up the stairs hoping I can slip past both of them without incident. I’m not ready to meet any of Clark’s friends.
I make it halfway up the stairs before I hear the clicking of high heel shoes against the hardwood floors at the bottom of the stairs.
“Who the hell is this? Are you fucking someone else? You better not have given me crabs or some shit like that.”
“Shut up, Sarah, and get out. We aren’t fucking, we aren’t doing anything,” Clark growls and I’m surprised by the anger in his voice. Without turning around to face them, I continue walking up the stairs slowly, hoping, praying, that this Sarah chick will just leave me alone.
“Hey, you! Don’t ignore me, turn around and talk to me!” Her voice is pure venom and meant to harm. I wish I was stronger and could just keep going up the stairs without giving in to her demand, but like the weakling I am, I listen to her and turned around to face them.
Sarah is glaring up at me, her hand propped up on her hip, and her nose wrinkled like she smells something bad. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me, not one bit, and my stomach starts to churn as I wait for the onslaught of mental abuse to take place.
“Let’s get one thing clear, skank, you are nothing but a one time fuck to Clark. He’ll always come back to me…”
“Sarah!” Clark yells at her, his face a mask of fury as he grabs her arm and starts pulling her toward the door. Sarah shrieks, but has no choice but to follow.
“What? It’s not like I’m lying...she’s nothing but a quick lay. You are only nice to her until you get her panties off, everyone who knows you will agree.” Her words are coated with desperation. Little does she know I’m nothing to Clark, nor will I ever be.
Clark opens the front door with one hand and shoves her out with the other before slamming the door in her face. I can hear the lock clicking into place, and then he turns back around and looks up at me, his expression a mixture of anger and guilt.
He moves toward me and the need to get away, to escape overwhelms me. I spin around and run up the stairs taking two steps at the time. My chest heaves, my heart pounding against my ribs trying to escape my chest like a trapped bird inside a wired cage. I hear him following me, which only adds to panic rising up inside me.
I make it to my room just in time, pulling the door shut behind me and turning the lock before Clark catches up to me. On wobbly legs, I walk backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed.
“Em, please open up. Don’t listen to her, she was just being a bitch, it’s what she’s good at.” His muffled voice comes through the door and I cover my ears with my hands for good measure. I don’t want to hear his soothing voice right now. I don’t want to hear anyone right now. I decided then that I was wrong about him, somehow he fooled me into believing that he was different, that he was one of the good guys. I should’ve known better, then again, I’ve never been a good judge of character.
Chapter Three
Clark
I haven’t been this fucking mad in a long time. Never in a million years did I think I would be spending the day trying to coax a girl out of her bedroom, a room that’s inside my house to make matters worse, but here I am. I do everything I can to get her to come out to, at least eat something, but she won’t budge.
Fucking Sarah, that witch and her stupid mouth really freaked her out. I could kick myself in the fucking ass for even opening the door, or fucking her in the first place.
For once in my life, I hate myself for being such a manwhore.
Emerson was just warming up to me, even giving me some small, timid smiles over breakfast. Well, I guess that’s shot to hell.
Fuck, I need a drink. I don’t think Emerson is going to open this door anytime soon. Not caring that it’s only two o’clock, I walk downstairs into the basement and open the liquor cabinet. An ache forms in my gut, it feels wrong to be drinking right now, but… shoving the thoughts away I pour the tumbler half full of whiskey and bring the glass filled with amber liquid to my lips. Just a sip. One sip. I only mean to take a sip but one sip isn’t enough to sedate me, and once the alcohol flicks against my tongue, and burns its way down my throat I decide to down the whole glass.
It’s impulsive, bad… and the words remind me of what my father really thinks of me.
The whiskey settles like a dumbbell in my stomach, familiar warmth expanding throughout my gut and without a doubt, I know this won’t be my last one. Seeing Emerson like this, broken and hurt, it hits too close to home. Memories of my mother flood my mind, images I often drown out with whiskey and a warm body.
I couldn’t help my mom, but maybe I can help her.
Maybe I can save Emerson.
Pouring another glass of whiskey, I let my thoughts drown underneath the amber liquid. I drink and drink, the hours ticking by with nothing more than the whiskey bottle and me.
By six o'clock I’m three sheets to the wind and Emerson still hasn’t come out of her room. Not even once. She needs to fucking eat. I make a turkey and ham sandwich to the best of my abilities and put it on a plate with some fruit and a cup of yogurt. No five-star meal, but as I proved this morning, I’m a shitty cook.