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I don’t know how many times I read the message, I just sit there frozen staring at the screen. I must have sat there for a bit too long, clearly ignoring whatever Craig was saying to me, as he snatches the phone out of my hand to read the message himself. His face lights up and he starts to cheer.
“What the fuck are you cheering about?” I ask, my brow furrowed in confusion.
Craig laughs that cocky laugh, and I have to clench my hand into a fist once again. The urge to punch my best friend is growing stronger every time he opens his mouth. “I’m cheering because now you can stop fucking moping. You can finally go and get your girl.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that fucking simple.”
Craig dramatically throws himself onto my bed with a groan, his hands flying to grip his head, like he’s trying to tear his own hair out. Talk about being dramatic. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is exactly what you’ve been waiting for. You know Emmaleigh is missing you the way you’re missing her. You know she needs your help. So you have to go to her.” He says it like it’s so obvious and simple, but it’s really not.
“It’s not like that, Craig. First of all, this is Lucy telling me this, not Em. Em hasn’t texted me like she said she would, which means she still wants space from me. Even if I believe what Lucy is saying about Em pushing me away, there’s still the big fucking obstacle in the way. Lucy said it herself, I can only go to Em if I’m certain I want to be with her. I don’t want to hurt her more.”
My head sinks into my hands, and I feel like it might explode. Craig shuffles over to the edge of the bed and places his hand over mine, directing me to look at him. I know he can see the pain in my eyes, because he gives me a small smile.
“Look, I know absolutely nothing about relationships, but one thing I consider myself a bit of an expert in is you. You’ve been my best friend for almost fifteen years, and I know you. I saw you with Emmaleigh at the strike, and even if you aren’t sure how you feel, take it from me when I tell you that you are perfect for each other. Both of you lit up whenever the other one was near. I know the idea of a relationship terrifies you, but I truly believe you will regret it if you don’t give this a try.”
I mull his words over and over in my mind, wondering if he’s right. After Craig leaves for the evening, all I’m left with are my thoughts. Pretty soon tomorrow will be here, and I will have to make a decision on what to do. The truth is, it physically hurts not having her in my life. I miss her with every fibre of my being, and the more I think about it, the more I realise what that probably means. I think I was falling for Em all along, I just didn’t realise it.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
LEE
Iwoke up early the next morning. After my revelation the previous night, it became obvious what I needed to do. Emmaleigh has spent the last few months fighting for us, and now it’s my turn. How the hell did I not notice I was falling for her all along?
I realised, much to my annoyance, that Craig was right in what he said yesterday. We were in a relationship, and I was the only one who didn’t know. Em knew, and she was fighting for us, even when she knew she could get hurt. I could—and probably will—berate myself over how I treated her, but that’s not going to fix anything. Instead I need to get my ass over to her flat and show her that we still have something, and now I’m fighting for us. I will not let her push me away this time.
I’m ashamed to admit I sat in the car outside of her apartment for far longer than I should. Nerves are getting the better of me, and my heart is racing so much I can hear it beating in my ears. I do the usual breathing techniques that help, but it’s barely making a dent this time. My hands are clutching the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white, and I’m pretty sure they’re going to slide off any minute if they get any sweatier.
After giving myself yet another mental pep talk, I finally open the door and walk up to Em’s flat. I straighten down the band T-shirt I’m wearing, and make sure I look decent. I haven’t dressed smart because Emmaleigh would think that was weird, but I’ve obviously tried to look nice. I’m wearing the dark jeans that are tight around my ass and thighs, because I know Em loves these. The band T-shirt I’m wearing sits snugly over my abs, and the dark colours suit my skin tone—or at least that’s what Em has always said. I’ve spiked my black hair a little, too, so it’s the perfect messy style she likes.
As I knock on the door, I’m not only filled with the sense of dread and anxiety, as I wonder if she’s going to reject me, I’m also filled with excitement that I get to see her again. It’s been just over three long fucking weeks, and I have missed her every single day. Even if she weren’t sick, she would still have been on my mind and I would have been thinking about her, wondering how she is and what she’s doing. But add her sickness into the mix, and it’s a wonder I have any fingernails left at all. My nerves are frazzled as all I’ve done for the last three weeks is worry about her, wondering if she’s okay.
Even if she doesn’t take me back, and this Hail Mary attempt fails, I would just like to know if she’s okay. Maybe then I can get some sleep at night.
It takes a while for her to get to answer the door, but when she does, a look of pure shock spreads across her face. For a second, I’m sure she almost looks pleased to see me, but that’s quickly replaced by a scowl I’m not used to seeing on her pretty face.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps, her tone sounding much nastier than I ever would have thought she was capable of.
I take in the prickly girl in front of me, and I’m shocked by what I see. Her long purple hair now looks dull and lifeless, and it’s pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head. Her normally bright bluey-grey eyes look dark and sunken in, with big black circles surrounding them. Her face looks pale and almost ashen. I can still see her natural beauty, but it’s hiding behind the girl standing in front of me.
It’s obvious she’s lost a little weight, and she doesn’t have as many curves as she usually does. She’s wearing a baggy T-shirt, and my heart stutters a little when I realise it’s one of mine. I must have left it here some time. She’s wearing a big black cardigan over the top, and as soon as she sees me looking at the shirt, she pulls the cardigan closed so I can’t see it anymore. She’s paired those with her usual black leggings and bare feet.
I’m pleased to see she’s not using crutches anymore, but it’s clear just from the way she’s standing, her posture isn’t quite back to normal. Not only does she look unwell, she looks to be in pain. Not just physically, although that is plain to see, it’s also obvious she’s struggling mentally too. Her eyes that are normally so vibrant, showing off her amazing personality, now look dead and almost lifeless. What the hell happened to my beautiful, vibrant girl?
“I came to see you. Are you going to let me in or are we just going to stand here?” I ask, trying to hold firm. If she’s going to try and push me away, I need to make sure she can’t.
She doesn’t say a word, just leaves the door wide open, turns her back on me and begins to walk into the living room. I don’t miss the slight limp and hobble she has going on when she moves, or the fact she has her hand out on the wall, guiding her. Clearly walking isn’t easy, but she’s given up on using the crutches. So fucking stubborn.
I follow behind, closing and locking the door once I’m inside. As I walk into the living room, I look around, and it’s obvious Lucy has been here cleaning up. The place looks far too clean for Em. I always used to joke with her that although her house was never dirty, given she always dusts and hoovers, neither of our parents would class it as tidy.
Emmaleigh has a habit of just leaving stuff lying around. Normally you can’t even see the dining table, as when she’s finished with stuff, that’s her dumping ground. Hair curlers, hair brushes and products, even a discarded bra, are all usually left on the table. But not today. Today it looks immaculate, and that’s not at all like Emmaleigh.
She throws herself onto the sofa, trying her hardest not to look at me. I take off my jacket and shoes, leaving them where I always do and walk into the kitchen the same way I always did. I turn to face Em, and I notice the way her brow is furrowed, like she can’t quite work out what I’m doing.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask, holding up the can of Coke I’ve just taken out of the fridge.
Her eyes bore into mine, and she looks pissed. “Are you really offering me one of my own drinks while you help yourself?”
“Well, you weren’t exactly playing the dutiful host by offering me a drink, so I thought I’d get my own. Offering you one was just my way of being polite. So do you want one or not?” I reply calmly, trying not to let her snarkiness get to me.
