When I Was Theirs

31. Emmy

31

Emmy

“ W hat are you doing?”

I don’t look up. My voice croaks from exhaustion and pain and grief. “They’ll be here to collect his washing soon. I need to get it ready.”

I didn’t bag it up last night, too distracted by my argument with Jared.

The apartment is cold now.

Empty.

Ben is gone, and only Jared and I are left. And I have no idea what to say to him.

This is something I can do.

So I carefully bag up Ben’s washing, carrying it to the door ready for collection.

“We need to discuss the funeral.”

I don’t want to discuss the funeral. “He left a box. It’s in the closet.”

I sit at the kitchen table, my hand wrapping around the cold coffee that Nicole made before she left, with a pat on my shoulder.

Before moving on to the next patient. The next life. The next Ben.

The thump makes me look up as Jared drops the cardboard box onto the table. Lifting the lid, he starts lifting out folders and paperwork, dropping them to the table as he digs through. Silently, I watch as he lifts out several envelopes.

He turns them over in his hands. “The… these are the letters.”

Ben’s letters.

There are two, and Jared hands one over. My name is scrawled on the envelope with a message underneath in spiky, jagged writing that I trace my fingers across, feeling the indent from the blue pen.

I don’t open my envelope, and neither does Jared. He just holds it, his head bowed.

Eventually, he slips it into his pocket and reaches for a folder, flipping through it. “He wanted a simple service, and a burial. I’ll take care of it.”

His voice is choked.

“I want to do the flowers.”

The words slip out before I can bite down on them, hold them in. He looks at me for a moment, before he nods. “Fine.”

He goes back to the file, but I keep looking at him.

Searching for any part of Ben that might still be here, with me. “Do you have any family at all?”

He frowns, glancing up. “No. He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“We were foster kids.” His face wipes of any emotion at all, expressionless. “Grew up in care until we aged out. No family.”

My brow knits. “But that story about your mom...,”

“She died.” He sighs, and it sounds tired. “People do.”

Ben grew up in the system. So did Jared.

And he didn’t tell me.

“I didn’t know that.” My eyes slip down to the table.

“There’s a lot you didn’t know,” he mutters. “You barely knew him.”

The blow lands. I flinch back, pushing myself to my feet.

I don’t know.

I don’t know what to do.

Swallowing, I pull my hair forward. He follows the movement, his eyes lingering on my scar. “I should… maybe I should go.”

This isn’t my apartment.

Ben isn’t here anymore.

And I suddenly feel the absence of him, of his smile, his warmth, his heartbeat, so keenly that I could scream. There’s an emptiness in my chest, a hollowness that aches with the memory of something lost.

Like he took my heart with him when he left.

“It’s dark outside.”

It’s dark in here too.

“I’ll be fine. I… I need to go.”

Jared hesitates, but then he nods. “I’ll message you about the details.”

“Thanks. Do you… do you need anything?”

His jaw tightens. “Nothing you can give me.”

And then he turns away, dismissing me.

I wish I could say that it hurt. But everything feels numb.

Silently, I collect my things, packing them up in my suitcase. I clean as I go, putting away the few items left out.

The couch. The sideboard. The closet. The furniture we bought together.

I can’t look at the bed. At the covers, still rumpled.

I pause in front of the wall. In front of all the places we never got to visit. Jared’s eyes burn into my back, but he doesn’t say anything as I reach for the picture of Brazil and fold it up, slipping it into my bag.

I have surprisingly little to show for what feels like such a big part of my life.

Eleven weeks.

I clear my throat as I walk toward the door. “You… you will message me? About the funeral?”

Don’t lock me out of this. Please.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” My hand shakes as I reach for my umbrella, hanging beside the door. “Bye, Jared.”

A pause. “Bye, Emilia.”

And then I’m gone, too.

I walk to my apartment slowly, dragging my suitcase behind me. My umbrella lights the way, but for once, the darkness doesn’t bother me.

Maybe because I can hear him.

I’m leaving soon.

Do something ridiculous with me, Emmy.

I adore the ground you walk on, Emmy Marsters.

All the little moments, baby.

I shove open the broken door, trudge up the steps before I slip inside and flick the lights on.

We danced in the rain. And when I walked you home, we went inside, and I never left you. Not for the rest of our lives, Em. Somewhere in the universe, there’s another Emmy Marsters, and another Ben Bennett, and they’re happy.

I lean back against my door, my legs slipping out from under me until I sink down to the floor.

So happy, baby.

I place my hand against my chest, trying to feel for my heartbeat. To match it against the memory of his.

But I don’t feel anything.

There’s nothing left of me at all.