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I resend the message.
No answer.
I wait thirty minutes and head home. I start getting changed and send another message. She’s fucking with my head. I don’t even know why it matters, but I look at the trail of texts.
Are you angry with me?
I need to stop, but I don’t. I can’t. I need her to be okay. And the longer the silence stretches, the worse I feel. There’s something heavy and sharp in my stomach, rolling around and threatening to rip me to shreds.
I know something’s wrong. I’m sure of it.
It’s nearly one a.m. and no amount of grading, watching T.V., or self-talk has stopped me from sending more messages than I want to admit. None of it has distracted me from the nausea filling my head.
Kitten, answer me.
It’s a plea. I don’t care if she’s drunk. I don’t care if she’s dancing on tables or teasing frat boys. I don’t care about any of it as long as she’s safe, and some base instinct is screaming that she’s not.
After five minutes, I see the bubbles pop up saying she’s answering me. My whole body relaxes, a temporary reprieve from all the tension that’s been clenching my muscles until I actually read the message that appears.
Emily is okay. She’s really drunk and someone drugged her drink, but she only had a sip. I don’t think it’s too bad. She’s in the shower right now with me—her roommate, Beth—and her other bestie. We’ve got her. I promise.
Absolutely not. I’m not going to do nothing! My woman, my Emily, my Kitten is hurt. I want more answers. I want a fucking phone call, but if Beth doesn’t recognize my contact information, then I’m not going to let her recognize my voice.
I get in my car and drive over. If she needs to go to the hospital, that’s where she’s going. Whether she wants to or not. I don’t even care if it outs me.
She should be at a hospital. I’ll come over and help.
It takes a long while of not knowing before the bubbles reappear. As I wait for them, I consider calling. Beth wouldn’t do something that would hurt Emily. She might care later that I’m a professor and I’m with her best friend, but she won’t care in the moment. I’m sure of that.
If she gets any worse, we will.The last thing she needs is her parents knowing about what she does on weekends. Just relax and she’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep.
The answer doesn’t make me feel any better. I call. I shouldn’t. It violates plenty of rules, but I don’t pay attention to any of that. If Emily has been drugged, the police need to be involved. The hospital needs to be involved, and I need to make sure that she’s not hurt.
A sigh answers me, and I hear vomiting in the background and a weak moan.
“I promise, she’s fine. You don’t need to say anything, okay? She didn’t have much. She’s going to be okay. Your coming over is only going to embarrass her more, okay?” Beth asks.
“’Kay,” I answer, lowering my voice to a hoarse whisper.
“It’s cute that you’re this worried, though. And the necklace is cute too. She keeps saying it’s more important to keep her necklace out of the way than her hair, and that’s saying something. I promise, she’ll be okay,” Beth assures.
“Did he…” I can’t let the words out. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Keeping my whisper is hard. “Why did she…”
“We were drinking. It was a party. I was so happy she came out. I mean, granted, she seemed a little frustrated, but she wasn’t being sloppy, but…” Beth takes a breath, but I hear her speak to Emily. “That’s good. We’ll get you more water. If you can hold that down, you can have food.”
Emily’s voice is too shaky and low for me to hear, but Beth handles the rest of our conversation. “He didn’t touch her. She noticed right away and she stayed where I put her, with a trusted person, while I got Danielle. She’s safe. We’re taking care of her. I’ll make sure she knows how much you care,Tinder guy.”
Beth emphasizes the words before she hangs up. I have a feeling she knows exactly who I am. I have a feeling that she knows what Emily and I are doing. I owe her something more than good grades for allowing this, for making sure that Emily is taken care of, for being such a good friend when it would be easy to out us.
I’ll take owing her as long as my Kitten is safe. As long she’s cared for, as long as I have a chance to make things right.
Tomorrow, I’ll do just that. I’ll show her I have restraint. I won’t walk into her dorm room. I won’t hold her hair for her. I won’t scoop her up and take her to a hospital. I’ll go home and wait for my Kitten to come back to me and let me take care of her again, because she will. It’ll be her choice this time.
So I head home with my fingers crossed on the drive, my fingers crossed when I let myself into my house, and my fingers crossed as I put myself to bed.
Emily will come back to me because she chooses to. We’re stronger and bigger than this miscommunication.
twenty-eight
