“I know you could,” she says.

“But I won’t,” I add.

“Good.”

She walks further into her apartment, but she forgot her bag, so I pick it up and follow her. When I place her bag on the stand beside the door, she glances over her shoulder, rubbing her lips together, as if she isn’t sure about what to do. Like she’s still trying to process what happened.

“I don’t think I should leave you alone right now,” I say.

“Chris, I appreciate you coming to my rescue, but please …”

“No, I’m not going to leave.” I close the door behind me.

“Why do you always have to be so freaking stubborn?”

“Because you can’t face your own feelings so someone has to make you,” I say, walking toward her.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You think that’s a choice you can make?” I snort. “Look at you, you’re shaking. Your eyes are all watery. You’re exhausted. And scared. And probably many other things.”

“Angry. That’s what I am. You’re in my apartment, Chris. I can’t remember ever inviting you in.” She points her key at me as if it’s some sort of tool that she’ll use to direct me out of the door.

“I invited myself in at the moment you ignored the fact that you’re not fucking okay.” I snatch the keys from her hand and throw it on the table. “That dude just attacked you for no reason. He stalked you. He followed you into this building. Hell, I’m not surprised if it turns out he stole your keys so he could return them to you for the exact reason of getting under your skin.”

“So? There are always weirdos around this area. It happens.”

“Dammit, Em!” I slam the wall with my fist, unable to control my rage. I guess it’s leftover from not being able to beat that punk to a pulp. “Can’t you see that you nearly got hurt there? Did you see the look in his eyes? What he was about to do? What he was thinking of doing to you? Because I could see it, and just thinking about makes me want to rip out his heart and feed it to him.”

She cringes, biting her lips as if she doesn’t want to deal with it. “He was drunk.”

“Stop making excuses for other people!” I yell. “You’re not their PR lady. You don’t have to be okay with what everyone does around you. Stop letting everyone run over you. Fight, goddammit. Scream it out. Let the world know you’re not a pussy and tell them what you think.”

Her hand suddenly comes up, and I barely manage to catch her wrist before she hits me in the head.

“Shut up!” she screams, a tear rolling down her cheeks. “I am not a pussy.”

“But you do ignore your own feelings,” I growl.

“I’m not weak.” She manages to wriggle free from my grip and storms into the bathroom. “Now leave me alone!”

Slamming the door shut, it’s suddenly quiet, and I’m left in the middle of her apartment, wondering what I’m supposed to do. She’s so fucking stubborn that it’s ridiculous. However, I know when I’m needed, and that time is now. No way in hell she can sleep without one eye open after what just happened. She’s still in denial, which means I have to help her get through this.

I knock on the bathroom door.

“Get out!”

“No,” I say, sitting down against the door.

She makes a raging noise. “Just leave me alone!”

The door isn’t even locked, but I’m not going to enter when I’m not sure she won’t throw shit at my head. She needs to calm down first. I respect that.

“Are you gone yet?”

“No,” I say softly.

“Why?” she yells through the door.

“Because I know you need me.”

Neither of us says anything for a while, and it’s eerily quiet for some time. Then I hear the shower turn on and her step into the tub. I never heard her take off her clothes, and I can’t see any shadows of the light falling down on them through the crack under the door.

“Emily?”

She doesn’t answer.

“You okay in there?” I get up from the floor and push down on the door handle.

Opening the door carefully, I peek around the corner to make sure she isn’t huddled behind it. I don’t want to slam it into her face. I hope she won’t kill me for coming in, but I have to know if she’s all right.

That’s when I spot her in the corner of the tub. Completely drenched. With all of her clothes on.

“Go away …” she mumbles.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” she says. “I never was okay. Not today. Not yesterday. Not months ago. Not since … since …” She sniffs.

“Say it.” I frown. “Say what you need to say to me.”

She glances up at me with red eyes. “I hate you, Chris. I hate you with all my guts. And do you know what the worst part is? That I can’t stop wanting you, either. I hate that I want you.”

“Let me fix it.”

“Fix what?” she yells. “Me? Us? There is no fixing, Chris. Not for this.”

I swallow away the nerves as sweat drips down my back. “I can try.”

She growls. “You can’t bring my father back!”

I stare at her in shock.

I knew all along this was the reason she hated me for so long.

I just didn’t expect her to finally tell me what she really thought. What she’s been holding back all this time. Her words cut me like a knife … because they are true.

“I hate you because you killed my father!”

Chapter 29

Emily

Age 17

The leaves rustle and fly out from underneath my bench. I watch them surf on the wind like hovering birds, wishing I could hop on and take a ride to nowhere land. If only I could disappear. Not forever, but at least for a few days. Or weeks. Or maybe even longer.

The images rushing through my head over and over again make me want to scream.

I can still see them staring at me—all the other kids in my class—the moment they heard Chris scream through the microphone meant for a regular announcement.

The shame.

The unbelievable panic that swept through me.

It all became too much.

I fled the building as soon as his rant was over.

I couldn’t face their laughs, their whispers, their remarks.

Not even the teachers could stop me.

It was in the middle of class. I just stood up and left. No bell ringing, no toilet break. They’ll probably send me to detention when I come back. If I’m ever brave enough to step foot back into school again. Probably not for a long while.

Not that I care.

All I can think about is how much I hate Chris for doing this.

How could he?

I don’t understand why he couldn’t do this some other time, or maybe not at all. He knew how I felt about my dad finally finding someone to spend his life with. Why does he have to make it so difficult on the both of us? And now this?

He not only ruined my life, but he ruined that of my father, too.

Sighing, I kick away a few leaves, frustrated that I can’t change what he’s done. The only thing I know to do now is go home and talk it out with my father. Maybe he’ll forgive me if I try hard enough to apologize. I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand like this. And what Chris did, he did on his own. If I’d known that he was going to do that, then I would’ve done everything to stop him.

But what’s done is done.

I should focus on fixing what he broke.

I want to apologize to my dad for what he did, even if it wasn’t my choice for him to do it in the first place. I feel like I owe that to him, even though I didn’t have the guts to do it when he first came storming out of the school building. I wanted to, but I was glued to this bench and watched him race off in his car, probably on his way home. He’ll probably call in sick and ask for a few days off. I hope he doesn’t get fired over this.

Frowning, I force myself to get up from the bench. I have to do something about this situation.

In a haze, I make my way home, trying to think of what to say. The road home feels longer than usual, probably because I’m freaking nervous and I’m sweating like a pig. When I finally make it to the door, my heart is going crazy, almost beating out of my chest. There’s no turning back on this one, though.