A/N: Wow. Chapter 3, and I'm only now switching point of views. For all of ten seconds. But still. It counts, y'all know it does.
And sorry it's taking so long… -sigh-
Chapter 3
She hated the walk home.
Emma glanced over her shoulder at yet another imagined sound—God, this guy was making her paranoid. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? What had she ever done to him, anyway?
She should have taken Paul up on his offer to drive her home. But that would have just been prolonging the inevitable, she knew that. One day, when Paul didn't have time to go out of his way to take her home, she would have to walk home again, and it would be even worse than usual.
That, and dragging someone she'd just met—even if it was Dr. Slaski's grandson—into it didn't seem very fair.
"Look what we have here." As Emma passed by an alleyway—why did shady characters always have to hide in alleys?—an arm snaked out and grabbed her arm, yanking her into someone's hard chest. "Hiya, sweetheart."
Emma stiffened. Oh, God. Not again. "Let me go."
"Aww, come on now. You know you like it when I touch you." His arm moved around her waist. Toying with her. That's what he was doing. He was toying with her.
His hand moved and her elbow lurched back, hitting him in the chest. He let her go, probably more out of surprise than pain. She didn't care, she got out of there as quickly as she could.
"Stupid bitch," he called after her, his voice following her down the darkening street. "One of these days I'm going to get tired of you. You know where you'll be then?"
She was very quiet the next day. Paul glanced at her as she sat in the window, flipping through a journal. He had hoped that they would continue with the photo albums today, but she had come up to the attic, ignored the box they'd been going through the day before, and started going through his grandfather's journals. All without saying more than five words to him.
"Are you okay?" he finally asked, though obviously she wasn't. She didn't respond. He waited a moment, then crossed the floor to stand next to her. She didn't look up. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Emma?"
She jerked away at his touch, staring at him wide-eyed.
"Whoa." Paul held up his hands, taking a step back. He didn't like the look on her face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen anyone look like that—it was scary, especially on someone like her. "Calm down, sweetheart." The endearment slipped out. He didn't use it very often—hell, he'd dated Kelly for a year and never used it once—but somehow it was hard not to use with Emma.
"Please don't call me that," she said in a small voice.
"Yeah… yeah, sure. Sorry." He waited a beat. "What's wrong?"
She turned back to the journal in her lap. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Just… tired."
Paul left her alone for awhile. They worked in silence, until Emma glanced out the window, stood, and said, "I think I should head home."
Tossing down the notebook he'd been looking through, Paul turned toward her. "You should let me take you home."
Emma put the journal away keeping her back to him. "I can get home just fine."
"You could get there a lot faster if I drove you," Paul insisted. If this is what happened when he left her alone, he didn't want to have to do it more than absolutely necessary.
"It's okay. The exercise is good for me, anyway."
She was tiny already. How much more could it possibly do for her? "Maybe—"
"I'll be fine," she insisted. She offered him a little smile, probably trying to reassure him. "It's not like I'm going to get lost."
In the end, he let her walk herself home. But he couldn't stop himself from following her at a distance. It turned out that she lived quite a ways away. By the time he'd walked to her house and then walked back, his legs were aching. And he still didn't know what was wrong.
She was better the next day. Not quite back to normal, but at least she didn't jump every time he came within two feet of her. And the day after, she was practically back to normal. But it didn't keep him from wondering, all the same.
