When I Was Theirs

2. Ben

2

Ben

T urn around, Benjamin.

Walk the fuck away.

You’re not here to tangle with pretty girls in bars. She’s not for you.

I take a small step away from her, slipping my hands into my pockets as she thanks me again. The tower of glasses nearly took her out, the stack higher than her damn head as she tried to weave through the crowd.

I force myself to smile again. “No problem.”

But she pauses. A small furrow appears between her deep blue eyes as she watches me, and my breathing stutters.

She looks at me like she sees me.

I wonder what she thinks she can see.

My mouth opens—

The lights above us flicker as I’m watching her. It means that I get a front-row seat to the sheer terror that sweeps over her face before we’re plunged into darkness, the storm outside getting the better of the outdated electrics in this shitty bar.

Chaos.

Around us, the sound of smashing glass rings out as dozens of drunk people start to panic in the pitch black. Cries and shouts ring out, and I’m shoved in the back as someone pushes past me.

I stumble forward into her, my hands closing over her shoulders with an apology on my lips.

But the girl – she doesn’t move at all. She’s rigid and silent amidst the chaos around us, her shoulders tense beneath my touch.

“Hey,” I say, my voice loud over the noise. “You okay?”

Nothing. She says nothing, and concern spikes in my chest. Concern for someone else. Concern outside of my own head.

My hands are still closed over her shoulders, and I gently squeeze. “You with me?”

Where the hell is the back-up generator in this place?

I just catch it, then. The smallest sound, as if it’s torn from somewhere deep inside her.

The people around us are scared.

But this girl… this girl is beyond scared. Someone knocks into her from behind and she staggers into me. Instinctively, I close my arms around her. And she’s shaking , her entire body trembling in a way that tells me her fears are deeper than just a brief blackout in a bar.

My heart squeezes, and I hold onto her. My words are a low murmur as I hold her tightly, my shoulders squaring as I brace us against the onslaught around us. “What’s your name?”

She sucks in a ragged breath, stiff against me. “E…Emmy. Emmy Marsters.”

Something flips in my chest at the small words. “Okay, Emmy Marsters. I’m Benjamin Bennett. Yes, it’s ridiculous.”

No response. Just the feel of her breathing against me, ragged pants and a dampness against my chest that tells me she’s crying.

I swallow.

I’m not this person. I’ve never been this person.

I am not the person who helps.

I’m the person who needs help.

But Emmy needs help right now, and she’s stuck with me. Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting go of her until the lights come back on.

More glass smashes next to us, as we’re pushed aside by people rushing toward where the exit is.

Fuck. If they don’t cut it out, we’re going to end up in a damn crush.

Making a decision, I crouch down and lift Emmy up, curling my hands under her. “Sorry. Just… hold onto me, okay?”

Her head is nestled against my neck, small huffs of breath against my skin as I strain to make out details around us. Others have their phone torches on, lights bouncing everywhere and making me queasy, but I catch a glimpse of an empty booth across from us in one of the light flashes and make my way toward it.

My shoulders curve forward, protecting Emmy the best I can from the crowd around us until my foot kicks against the base of the booth. I don’t bother sliding in. I step up , my boot gripping the worn leather as I climb. Bringing Emmy with me, I swing my leg over the back of the seat, sitting on top of the space between the booths instead of wedging us into the small, cramped seats.

I scoot back until my back is against the slightly sticky wall, Emmy cradled in my arms. The seats offer a layer of protection against the carnage in front of me, and I hold her tightly, my hand running over her hair. “There. Just need to wait it out.”

She stirs a little. The neck of my ragged band tee is soaked with her quiet tears, her voice barely a whisper that I strain to hear. “Sorry.”

“No apology needed,” I murmur. It feels like we’re in a bubble. “We all have things that we’re scared of, Emmy Marsters.”

She hesitates. “What are you scared of?”

“Many things.”

The truth.

My face in the mirror.

Time.

Christ, this could get very deep, very quickly.

I clear my throat. “Pineapples.”

Somehow, I can feel her eyes on me, even though I can’t see a damn inch in front of my face. “Pineapples?”

My head bobs in a nod. “Freaky little things. They look like heads to me. I used to cry walking around the supermarket if I saw one. My brother found a giant one and scooped it out once, managed to wedge his head inside it and chased me around the yard.”

My lips twitch up at the memory for the briefest second, before I lose it completely.

But she can’t see that.

The silence between us is broken by the low sound of amusement in her throat.

It feels like a victory.

I keep running my hand over her hair. It’s soft and silky beneath my fingers, the faintest scent of watermelon rising up. “This okay? I can stop.”

Emmy sighs, then. Her body softens, tension leaching out of it. “Don’t stop.”

So I don’t. We wait quietly against the wall, listening to the people around us shouting. Emmy’s hand finds my neck, her fingers pressing carefully into my skin against my pulse.

Counting my heartbeats.

When I stiffen, she pulls her fingers away before I gently grab them and put them back. “Don’t stop.”

My voice is rough. Hoarse.

She needs it. Something tells me she needs to feel my heartbeat, to anchor herself in the pulse beneath my skin.

And maybe I need it too.

For the first time in weeks, I feel present. With Emmy Marster’s fingers measuring each pulse of my heart, counting them, I feel visible.

And in the darkness that surrounds us, the words gather at the back of my throat.

“I—,”

We both flinch as bright overhead lights flicker on, momentarily blinding us.

My hold loosens as I blink away the orbs dancing across my vision, but Emmy is already scrambling away, taking her warmth with her and leaving cold air behind.

Her face is flushed as she slides off the top of the booth, arms wrapping around herself as she turns to face me.

Neither of us move.

My heart thunders in my chest. I can hear it, as if the gentle press of her fingers against my skin reminded me that I’m still here.

I’m still here.

“Emmy—,”

“ Marsters !”

She spins at the sound of her bellowed name, her eyes searching the bar. A wide-set guy in his fifties with a broom in his hand gestures at her. “Get over here!”

“I’m coming!”

She turns, peeking at me over her shoulder with that color still in her cheeks. Her lips tilt up. “Thanks, Ben Bennett.”

“Wait.”

She pauses as I slide off the top of the booth, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I’ll help you clean up.”

The bar is a mess. Broken glass is everywhere, chairs toppled over. The last of the drunken punters are heading through the door, herded by an exasperated looking firefighter. My feet are sticking to the vinyl floor thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol tossed everywhere.

She glances up at me. “I’m sure you have better things to do—,”

“I don’t.” I interrupt her. My heart is still pounding, still beating in my chest.

It’s the truth. I have nothing else to do.

Nothing I’d rather do.

So I follow Emmy Marsters across the bar, introducing myself to her ass of a boss who stares at me with suspicious beady eyes before he takes my offer of free clean-up and almost flings the broom at me, storming over to argue with the firefighters at the door.

Emmy ducks behind the bar, heading over to an older blond woman and checking on her. The woman looks tired, but her smile is devilish as she glances between me and Emmy. “Who’s this?”

“Ben.” I hold out my hand to introduce myself. “Ben Bennett.”

Breaking all the rules tonight, asshole.

“I’m Carla.” Her grin grows. “Where you been hiding this one, Emmy? He’s cute .”

“Carla,” she hisses. A grin tugs at my mouth as she shakes her head. “He’s just a… a friend.”

Blue eyes flicker to mine and away.

A friend.

I like the sound of that more than I should.