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“Does your dad know?” Aubrey asks. I have never heard Emerson talk about her dad before, whenever I would try and bring him up in conversation, she would shut down. I try not to be mad about it since I have my secrets too.
Or at least I did before Crusoe had to show everyone our worst nightmare in the fear simulator. I never told anyone about that night, and neither had Crusoe. It was the first time that anyone really understood what had happened that made us run away. I shiver, remembering the wind flying through my jacket as the pair of us ran as fast as we could out of the house.
We didn’t know where we were running; all we knew was that we needed to get as far away from our mum as possible.
Crusoe tried to play off the moment casually, I could tell. He joked about it afterwards, which was a clear sign it unsettled him. I completely understand why.
Although it wasn’t my fear, reliving that moment was one of the worst experiences I have faced.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” She shrugs, “but maybe you should go talk to him,” Emerson points to Cunningham, “he seems to know all the answers.” Aubrey, set on a mission, climbs to steps two at a time, till she reaches him.
When she does, I seize my opportunity and begin to walk next to Emerson. “Are you alright?” I ask. This is usually how all of our conversations start.
“Of course,” she says bleakly, and I laugh. I know her. She is never alright.
“I’m a genius, remember?” I wonder if she will remember that. It’s the thing I say to her every time I know she is lying. She doesn’t laugh, but her hard expression softens slightly.
“I don’t know, Hayden.” She says quietly. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Fix what?” I ask.
“Everything.” She whispers, and I draw my mouth in a tight line. I want to help her, but I don’t know how to respond. She’s always been a fixer; she will stay and try and do everything she can to help. I’ve always preferred to run away from my problems.
“Do you like him?” I distract her with another question because I don’t know how she is meant to fix everything. I don’t know how I can help her, but I don’t want to admit that aloud.
“What?” she glares at Jasper defensively, “No! How could I?”
“You tell me?” I ask her questionably. I may not know how to help her fix everything, but I do know that getting things back to how they used to be, will be a lot easier if she runs as far away from Jasper as possible. If I want to help her, I have to do everything in my power to make sure she understands that he is going to hurt her.
“Of course not,” she says, but she’s lying. She used to believe she was good at lying. She obviously doesn’t remember I can see straight through her like she is as transparent as glass.
“Whatever” I shrug. It’s her life, I remind myself. I can’t live it for her just because I want to protect her. “But you must realise that this isn’t going to work out. You know he is using you.”
“I know, but-”
“But what, Em?” I try to keep my voice level, but the anger inside me keeps building.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s going to betray you and let you down just like you’ve been let down by everyone else in your life. Do you really think he is any different from his father?” I point to him, who is conveniently talking to his father at that exact moment. “They’re just as bad as each other.” I scoff and she looks at the floor, her face full of sadness.
I instantly regret it, “Hey,” I say, putting my forearm on her shoulder like I used to do back at Beast Eye. I wonder if she still remembers how I used to joke about her being the perfect height for an arm rest. “It’s going to be okay, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” She replies and shrugs my arm off of her shoulder. I know that I’ve offended her, but I’ve told her what she needs to hear. I know she’ll get over it eventually. She always does.
Before I have time to say anything else, everyone stops, and Cunningham opens a door. “This way, everyone,” he tells us, running away from Aubrey as he does. We head through the door to see what surprises await us on the other side.
Chapter 21 - Hayden Martinez
Iam overwhelmingly underwhelmed at the hallway we have just entered. It’s just white. No colour, no character, no standout features about it. Just bleak perfection. It makes perfection look boring.
It is such a stark contrast to how we all look, with the exception of Cunningham Senior, Pretty Boy, Tyler, and surprisingly Emerson. They look natural, whereas the rest of us are walking on the tips of our toes down the corridor. I am almost certain we are all thinking the same thought.
We don’t belong here.
“How do you do it?” I ask Emerson, looking at how natural she seems walking down the corridor, as if she was born here. She looks like she could fit in too, with her ugly grandma sweater that surprisingly suits her and her black jeans that aren’t ripped or covered in dirt. Her face looks the same. Same harsh eyes. Same scar on her cheek. Same tight lips.
But not the same Emerson.
