She likes listening to the rain. She always has. It may be damp and messy, but curled up beneath a heavy blanket, her knees pulled to her chest, she likes to listen.
He sleeps beside her, the even sound of his breathing a nuisance rather than a comfort. The days have turned into weeks and months, but they feel as unfamiliar as the day she first moved in, biting her tongue as she squeezed her clothes into her half of the closet, her mary janes mixing with his loafers.
She rolls over, lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, noticing the off-yellow spot she always does when she can't sleep. Carl grunts in his sleep, and she lets out heavy sigh, the sound reverberating from her throat.
He doesn't hear. Nobody hears, though she often feels like she scratching to get out, pounding on padded walls, waiting to be heard. Waiting for someone to listen.
She's not unhappy, but she feels stuck. She's always felt like something's been holding her back. Years of suffering from a mental disorder intertwined by years of incurable loneliness. It felt nice to break free, but perhaps she accelerated too quickly; she finds she's grasping for what she finds familiar, trying in vain to find what feels right.
She loves Carl, but she isn't sure if she's in love with him, and sometimes that scares her more than it should.
She remembers sitting on the swing of her screened in porch, the humidity pulsing around her, but enclosed through the netting, she felt safe from the world pulsing around her.
Her mother would come out, smiling softly, tucking an auburn strand of hair behind her ear. The swing could creak as she joined Emma, her soft sigh mingling with the distant chirp of crickets.
"Do you want me to braid your hair, sweet pea?" her mother would ask, reaching for Emma's ginger locks, but Emma would duck from her gentle hands, looking sheepish as she asked to see them. "They're all clean, I promise. I washed them after doing the dishes," her mother would remind her.
But Emma took her mother's hands in her own, examining them for traces of unseen dirt, a wave of relief washing over her after seeing them for herself. She'd mask the guilt with a soft kiss on her cheek, letting her mother gently run her fingers through her hair.
The lazy summer night would settle around them, only disrupted by the screen door creaking on its rusty hinges. Her father would smile at the two, the creases near his eyes reminding her of the folds of her crisp sheets.
"I'll say goodnight now and let you ladies have your girl time," he'd wink, bending over to kiss her mother's cheek softly. Emma would lean against her mother's shoulder, feeling the warmth of her smile radiating from her.
"How do you know?" Emma would ask. "How do you find the right man to marry?"
Her mother's hands would continue to work at her hair, a chuckle rippling through her body, followed by a sigh. "Well, Emma, there are going to be a lot of men out there who will be good to you, and a lot of men who are going to make you happy. But always remember, fall in love with your head first, then fall in love with your heart."
She can't make sense of her mind, and her heart has been broken and damaged. She kicks the covers off her body, the incessant sound of rain now agitating her. She slowly slips out of bed, feeling the soft carpet beneath her feet as she pads down the hall to the spare room, falling against the mauve comforter.
The drone of the rain is louder without Carl's constant breathing to veil it, but as she crawls beneath the comforter, she immediately falls asleep.
XXXX
"Did you look at the pamphlets I picked up, gorgeous?" Carl kisses her temple gently, grinning at her as he glances down at the open house pamphlets stacked neatly next to her on the table.
She averts her eyes from her computer screen, looking up at him. No. "Of course, sweetheart."
He pulls up a chair, unable to wipe the smile from his face. Ever since he suggested moving into a house of their own, it's all he's been able to talk about. Emma feigns excitement, but she always feels a knot form in her stomach. She never realized how firmly rooted she was until she was unexpectedly plucked from the ground, and now she's not so sure she's ready to repot.
"Any you particularly like?" he prods, thumbing through the stack, spreading them out across her meticulously organized workspace.
"Um, well, I was hoping we could go through them together after dinner," she gulps, refusing to look at the pamphlets as she glues her eyes back toward the screen, hating the way her stomach is flipping.
"Sounds perfect." He stands, reaching over to cup her chin as he presses his lips against hers. He tastes like mints, a comforting flavor, and she smiles genuinely against his mouth. She stands as well, wrapping her arms around his neck, trembling as a sigh escapes her lips. "Is everything alright, gorgeous?" he whispers, his lips brushing her ear.
She nods against his chest, smothering her face as she suddenly feels like crying. He holds her against him, rubbing her back methodically until she can breathe again. She kisses the edge of his jaw before she pulls away.
"Okay, Ems?"
She nods. And she is.
He rummages around the cabinets to begin dinner as she returns to the table, completing her work. She knows he could easily be annoyed, seeing as she comes home hours before him and hardly ever starts dinner, but he hums as he pulls out the ingredients for pasta and salad. She watches him, wondering when this scene will feel like hers, instead of her looking in like a cautious observer.
"Ems? What is this?" he asks curiously, holding up the toaster she placed inconspicuously by the stove. She feels flustered as he frowns at it, walking back toward the table.
"Oh! Um...one of my co-workers, you know, gave it to me...as...um a house warming gift. Mrs. um..Mrs. Hoffmeyer." She wants to hit herself as she glances down at her shoes, tracing the tile aimlessly.
She doesn't need to look at him to know that he knows she lying, and she's glad when he places the spaghetti pot on the stove, saying nothing.
XXXX
The smell of nail polish assaults her nose as she sits on the tiled bathroom floor, carefully applying a coat of fiery red to her toes.
It's a pathetic way to be spending a Sunday night, especially with all her work done. Carl had invited her to come out for dinner and drinks with a few college friends of his, but she had politely declined, knowing the the environment and company would only make her queasy.
The radio blares loudly in the background as she attempts to drone out her over anxious mind with no avail. She smacks the power off button as My Life Would Suck Without You begins to play, sighing heavily as she stares at her gaudy toes.
She wonders what Will is doing tonight before she can help herself, and she feels guilty taking solace when she thinks about not being the only one alone.
She growls, glaring at the radio again, trying to remember how she used to survive her lonely nights. She remembers throwing herself completely into cleaning projects, the repetitive task easing her anxious mind. She glances toward the space beneath sink where her cleaning supplies are stored, the cabinet secured with a child proof lock. She could easily view the action as degrading, but she knows that Carl only wants what is best for her. The lock reminds her to think twice before falling into bad habits.
She sighs, sliding down the floor, slumping against the bathroom wall, the lyrics still playing in her mind even though she's silenced them.
XXXX
He usually stops by at the end of the day, even if it's just a quick pass by her office to give her a smile, but she knows she won't be seeing him today.
As the end of the day draws dangerously near, she fidgets uncomfortably, glancing toward the empty corridor. She's been clicking the end of her pen against the desk for the past hour, unable to concentrate as her mind repeats the slurred words engrained in her mind.
She knows he proctors a study hall in the front hall last period, and five minutes before the bell rings, she finds her heels clicking down the hall, her breath catching as she sees him duck out of his room, no doubt to avoid confrontation.
"Will."
He turned, his eyes widening in shock, embarrassment, guilt. "Em...I think it might be best if we didn't talk right now," he manages to mutter.
She bites her lip, rubbing her hands together at her sides. "Will, I'm not mad at you," she says softly. "I'm not upset."
His eyes widen for a moment, but he continues to gaze at her sadly. "No, Em. You should be mad. I was out of line—whether that message ended up getting to you or not, it was inappropriate of me to get to the point of saying those things. I feel awful, Em...I deserved what Sue did...but you did not..."
"Will, we all make mistakes, and we all do things we regret." she looks at him, her brow creasing as she reaches to place a hand lightly against his shoulder. Trust me, I know.
He says nothing, smiling at her sadly as she watches his eyes water.
"Will," she whispers. "Go home. Go home, and let yourself relax. Let yourself forget. You deserve a break." She reaches out to straighten the collar of his shirt, letting her lips curve into a small smile of her own.
"You too, Em. You should go home, too." His voice is hoarse as he forces out the words.
She nods, watching him disappear down the hall as the bell rings.
But she doesn't go home.
Instead, she returns to her office, burying her face in her palms as she wonders where home even is.
XXXX
"I was just about to call you," Carl rises from the couch as the door clicks open, her tired heels dragging across the carpet. "Is everything okay, Ems?"
She can only nod, placing her bag and shoes by the front door. She collapses against the couch, muttering some excuse about network glitches making it difficult to access student transcripts.
He joins her, kissing the top of her head softly. She closes her eyes, her body aching.
"You look exhausted, gorgeous," he mutters, stroking her hair softly. "What do you say we go to bed...our bed," he adds as an after thought, and she can feel his lips form a frown against her hair.
She stiffens. Of course he would notice that her rare trips to the spare bedroom after he has fallen asleep have recently become much more frequent, and her stomach knots a little from his melancholy words.
But she pulls away, a weary sigh leaving her lips as she dares to catch his gaze. "Not tonight, Carl."
Not tonight.