A week after I first catch them making out, Emily tells me she's dating Ian. I'm admittedly surprised because I've never heard of Ian dating anyone – he's had plenty of girlfriends, but never for long.
I don't say what I want to say, which is: what the hell are you thinking!?. I have no idea what she sees in him, what they could possibly have in common, but it's not for me to say.
She seems happy...and it kills me a little, though I'll never admit it. She smiles when she talks about him, with that light in her eyes. She laughs more. She stops dressing all in black. She's like a whole different person.
Emily and I don't talk about our little secret, the one we discussed that first day.
We each have our own way of dealing with it, with the trauma.
For me, it's channelling all my anger, all my pain into football, into improving my game. I know it's my only way out, my only way to get away from him.
For Emily, it's part compartmentalization, part self-medication. She comes to school with alcohol on her breath sometimes and I know those days are the bad ones, the one's she's trying to forget, but can't push into a tight enough box, a dark enough corner.
I don't particularly like the fact that she drinks herself into oblivion, but we both do what we have to do to forget.
Sometimes, I think she might be passively trying to get herself killed. She's just rough enough around the edges that it seems a very real possibility. I don't think she'd actually hurt herself – I can see it in her eyes, that she's afraid of dying, even while she craves its release. I understand it all too well...
There have been days were I've come home in pain and hating myself for letting it happen just enough to seriously consider slitting my wrists. If it weren't for Mama and how much it would hurt her, I'm sure I would have. As it is, though, I'll never do that to her.
Emily, though, doesn't think she has anyone that cares enough. That makes her dangerous. And as much as I try to show her otherwise, as much as I try to tell her, she'll never believe me. And it terrifies me.
She knocks on my door late one night.
Mama is working the night shift, but the frenzied knocking wakes up Sarah and Desi and I know they'll tell her.
Emily nearly collapses into my arms like a ragdoll as soon as I open the door. "Oops!" she says, then giggles a little and I'm not sure I've ever heard her giggle before. I awkwardly manoeuvre her to the couch in the living room with her struggling against me the entire way.
Thinking she's just drunk off her ass, I make her a cup of coffee to sober her up, but when I crouch down in front of her and press the mug into her hands, I get a good look at her for the first time. Her pupils are blown and there's dried blood around her nose...my stomach sinks.
She's saying something to me, but I'm not listening and she's talking too fast for me to understand anyway.
"Emily," I say slowly, "What did you take?"
She either doesn't hear me or she doesn't understand and I realize I'm not going to get anything out of her while she's like this.
When Emily wakes up, I can tell that she's disoriented. Not surprising, considering she's in my bed, in a room she doesn't recognize, coming down from whatever she'd taken.
I can see the relief wash over her when she finally spots me, standing in the doorway with a tray of breakfast for her. I briefly wonder what she thought had happened while she was high, but it's not for me to ask.
"Good morning," I say, sure to convey just how displeased I am in her.
She definitely hears it because she shrinks in on herself and won't meet my eye. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
"I'm sorry," she croaks as I set the tray in her lap. "For...whatever I did last night." She takes the glass of water and drinks greedily.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and watch her for a moment. "What did you take?" I ask eventually.
She pretends she doesn't know what I mean, but I can tell from her face that she does.
"Don't bullshit me, Emily, I'm not stupid. You were high as a kite last night. What did you take?"
"Nothing," she says with a shrug. "Just something to take the edge off. It's fine. Ian only gave me a little, not enough to overdose or anything."
I bite down on my back teeth hard enough that I feel pain shooting down the muscles of my neck. Of course this had to do with him.
She must see the anger in my face because she immediately jumps to Ian's defense. "I asked him for it. I just needed to forget...surely you can understand that."
"No, Emily, I don't understand!" I snap. "I don't understand at all how you can be so stupid!"
I didn't mean that, but it's too late to take it back now. She looks at me, eyes wide in shock for a few moments, mouth gaping, unable to form a response.
I can't resist any longer. I try, really I do, but I can't help it. I've held my tongue for weeks, in spite of my better instincts, but now...I've let things go too far.
"What are you doing, Emily?" I ask, controlling my voice remarkably well.
The question throws her off balance. "Excuse me?"
"With him, with Doyle..."
She looks at me like she can't believe I'm saying these things, shaking her head slowly.
"I know how this is going to end for you...do you?"
"What... What are you talking about?" she stammers, wary.
"He uses women, Emily. Uses them and then throws them away like trash. I've seen it before." Well, I've heard the rumours, the story of Chloe Donaghy, never actually witnessed it myself.
"Stop it, Derek," she warns. She looks like she wants to cry, but she'll never ever let herself be that weak.
"And it's only a matter of time before he gets done with you too," I say. I'm pushing her – I can see it in her eyes – but I have to do this.
Her eyes narrow, but are deadly calm. "You're wrong." Her tone is getting dangerous and I'd be afraid if I weren't dead inside.
"Have you fucked him yet?" I ask brazenly. I'm just trying to get a rise out of her, to make her see. "I mean, I've heard you're easy, but..."
She stands up suddenly, knocking over the tray in her lap, spilling juice and egg yolk all over my quilt, and slaps me across the face with a sharp resounding sting. My eyes water and I'm too stunned to react for a moment. I bring a hand up to my reddening cheek and rub it, trying not to let it show just how surprised I am that she'd actually hit me, even if I did deserve it.
"Fuck you, Derek," she whispers, slow and cold. "Don't ever speak to me again."