When I Was Theirs

51. Emmy

51

Emmy

M y hand whips out to slam the door closed, but he’s bigger and faster.

Arron wraps his hand around my weaker left wrist, pushing me back into the apartment as he keeps a tight hold on me.

Scream.

I inhale, but his open hand crashes into my right cheek, knocking the air from my lungs as I collapse down onto the couch with a strangled grunt.

Arron follows me down, yanking me upright and pushing me back into the couch with his hand on my throat. That charming, public-persona smile is still on his face, but his eyes look dead as I wrap my hands around his and try to pry him off, my nails digging into his skin. “I’ve spent a lot of fucking time and money tracking you down, Lia. You owe me a conversation, don’t you think? That’s all I want. One conversation, and you’ll never see me again.”

Panting, my eyes flicker around the room. My phone has fallen off the couch, landing a foot or so away. Arron squeezes my throat. “Speak up.”

My face burns where he struck me. “What… what do you want?”

The words come out pathetically small. Cloying, sticky fear crawls up my throat, my spine, keeping me still as he leans in, close to my face.

Arron’s knee presses down over my legs, keeping me in place. His fingers move up to grip my chin, twisting my head to the side as he inspects me like livestock. “Jesus Christ, look at you. You’re a fucking embarrassment, Lia. You used to have style, at least.”

Breathe. Think.

Burning behind my eyes, as his fingers dig into the scars he put on my skin.

You can fold later. Not now.

My eyes flicker past him. To the lamp on my sideboard. To my bamboo shelves, covered in trinkets.

He’s looking around too. “I mean, seriously. What the hell are these?”

His hand clamps down on my throat as he hauls me up, and I choke beneath his grip. Vision swimming, I kick and claw as he pulls me across the floor. “These are fucking weird.”

My words rasp around his touch. “You didn’t come to look at my shelves.”

He glances at me consideringly. “No. I’m engaged again, you know.”

My body locks up. “Poor woman, whoever she is.”

“Or I will be,” he corrects. “As soon as we fix this little issue. Candice Malcombe. You remember her, don’t you?”

I do. She was the head cheerleader. “Aren’t you just a walking cliché?”

He shakes me by the throat, anger breaking through the polite mask. “Shut up, you little bitch.”

I hit the floor hard.

“Do you know how much you embarrassed me?” He stalks across the floor after me as I scrabble backward. I make a lunge for my phone, but his shoe stamps down over my hand, the bone crunching as I scream.

A kick to my ribs, flipping me onto my back.

“Running away like that.” He straddles me, leaning over to look into my face. “Very inconvenient. We managed to turn it into a good story, of course. Everyone felt so sorry for me, with my cheating whore of a wife. After taking my father’s money too.”

To keep quiet.

And now he’s going to do it to someone else.

I stare up at him, panting. “Trust me, they all know exactly what an abusive asshole you are. They just say it behind your back instead.”

He hits me again. Blood floods my mouth as I turn and spit it out.

“I should drag you back,” he hisses. “But then I’d have to look at you.”

Shrill laughter bubbles out of my mouth. Stabbing pain throbs in my side. “I’m exactly what you made me. And I’d rather die than go back.”

And then I take a breath, throwing myself to the side and dislodging him. Arron lands hard on his side as I scramble to my feet and race to the kitchen, yanking open the drawers.

My shaking fingers grab for the knife—

His hands wrap around my throat as he drags me backward, cutting off my air supply. I claw at Arron’s hands as he lifts, black spots dancing across my vision.

“I know what you’ve been doing.” His tone is even as he drags me across the room. I kick my feet out, knocking into the shelves and sending things crashing to the floor. “You’ve been very busy these last few months, Lia. It wasn’t hard to find out, once I saw your photo. Sloppy, really, appearing in a florist advertisement. As if I wouldn’t be checking.”

My feet stamp on the floor, banging it. I’m starting to feel lightheaded, pain and fear pouring in to fill the space in my lungs where air should be.

Make noise. Fight.

Don’t stop.

“Your boyfriend has a drinking problem,” His hands tighten. “Jared Bennett. It won’t be too hard to put together that he lost his temper. Especially after losing his brother like that. Tragic. Of course, you knew him too.”

My nails rip into his cheek, aiming for his eyes. Don’t you talk about them.

Fight, Emmy. Fight.

It sounds like Ben.

I manage to get a finger into Arron’s grip, creating a small pocket of space as I heave for breath. My face is wet with tears and sweat as he pulls me forward, yanking open my front door to the hallway outside.

Hot breath in my ear. “Falling down the stairs, after fighting with your boyfriend. What a sad end to a pathetic little life, Emilia. Just another statistic. A loose end.”

The stairs are three feet away.

Two feet.

A foot.

I have nothing to hold onto as he drags me forward. Only gray, painted walls that scrape beneath my nails, Arron’s face flickering in the light as he leans into me. “Bye, Lia.”

Help me. My lips form the words.

But the stairwell is empty.

Nobody is coming.

The light above us flickers – and goes out, plunging us both into darkness.

I’ve been here before. With him.

Stalking me through the house, cutting off the light to send my fear soaring before he eventually caught me. The storm outside to hide the screaming. A fear of the dark that I’ve never shaken off.

Lamps on at all times.

An umbrella to light up the dark.

Arron curses under his breath. The space around us is pitch black, and he fumbles.

He lets go.

There’s a crack as I hit the very top of the stairs.

My shoulders.

My head.

Gasping, I roll away, grabbing for something to hold onto.

My hand grips something soft, and I pull myself up.

Arron’s startled shout cuts off. There’s a rush of air that whistles past my face, and a thud.

And then… silence.

The only sound is my breathing. Harsh, and fast, and almost bubbling.

There’s a gurgling sound coming from my throat. The floor beneath me is wet.

Get help.

Before he comes back.

Move, Emmy.

Every second feels like an hour as my nails dig into the filthy floor and I pull myself along, dragging my body toward the faint crack of light.

I have to get inside.

My face drops into the floor with a short, pained moan. Agony leaks into every part of my body. Even my thoughts feel scattered and muddy.

I don’t want to die like this. On a dirty, cement floor in the dark.

The phone is on the floor.

You can get to it.

Get inside and close the door.

One inch.

Another.

The tips of my fingers brush the doorframe, and my sob sounds distant as I press against it, opening it slowly and pulling myself through.

So close. You’re so close.

I listen to that voice. Low, and coaxing, and so gentle that I start crying again.

The air changes against my face. Blurry light pushes beneath my eyelids.

Close the door, Emmy.

My feet don’t move the first time. Or the second. I try to push them against the door, unable to see behind me. The click of the door echoes like a gunshot, and I slump.

He’s on the other side. Locked out.

I’m so tired. Every flutter of my eyelashes becomes slower.

And the floor is so warm beneath my cheek. Like a blanket.

Call Jared, Emmy. Open your eyes.

“I did,” I rasp. I called Jared already.

Not for me, baby. For you.

I need to sleep.

Just for a little while.

Just—