Page 91 of Hurt Me Not
“I think… I should go,” I said in a whisper, and it hurt.
I’d become comfortable in Emerson's home, thinking of it as ours. I didn't want to leave. I liked waking up here, going to work with her, and on the odd nights that I was able to sleep in her bed, I found myself enjoying the warmth of her.
I could easily find a place to go, but every other place would feel cold after being with her.
There was so much more I could say. So much more Iwantedto say. I didn't want to let her run me out like this when I knew neither of us wanted it.
I could tell her that I understood. That I watched her father beat her up, that I knew why she didn’t come to school sometimes, that it was clear to me that all of it had made it hard for her to talk about her feelings.
I knew she'd always been that way, and I went ahead and loved her anyway.
But, for whatever reason, none of it came out of my mouth. I just couldn’t bring myself to say any of it.
She was looking at me like she was begging me to stay, but she said nothing either.
It’s over. It’s time to go.
I reached into my bag, took out the key to her house, and placed it on the closest table. My hand found the door handle behind me, and I started to pull open the door as her gaze shifted from pleading to regret.
Say something, Emerson. Tell me to stay. Tell me how you feel.
When she didn't try to stop me, I took my first step out into the hallway before looking at her over my shoulder, maybe for the last time.
“Please send me my stuff. I’ll text you the address.”
Chapter 22
Emerson
The noisy campus was a welcome change from my silent apartment, even if I hated the racket. Students were all around me, laughing with each other, some of them sitting on the various grassy areas in the quad. Others were simply walking to their next class.
I knew I shouldn't be here, but I couldn't help myself.
The house was quiet without her.
Too quiet.
All signs of her were gone. Her desk at work had been cleared out, and I’d been asked a few times if I wanted to hire someone else. Cristian and Leslie looked at me funny but left me alone.
Every time I went inside my own house, I found myself looking for remnants of her. A dirty dish. A discarded sweater.
I’d sent the majority of her stuff to the address she texted me. I made myself go through the pain of boxing them myself only so I could keep a few items, foolishly hoping she would realize stuff was missing and come back. But she didn’t.
The only thing she made a point to tell me not to pack? My fucking flannel.
That hurt even more, but I deserved it.
It had been days, almost bordering on a week, since she had decided to leave.
No. That I’d made her leave. Or that I hadn’t stopped her, at least.
She would've already had her midterms, and I kept wondering how she did. If she was still staying up late. If all the studying had paid off. I could have found that out, but I didn’t want that. I wanted to hear her tell me everything.
The only connection I had to her were the bodyguards I’d hired. They were still sending me updates, so I knew when she arrived at school or left. When she went home and if she went straight there or stopped somewhere on her way.
After a while, I even started asking them miscellaneous things, like what she had for lunch or what she was wearing, and because I paid them, they indulged me, but I knew they were probably thinking I was crazy. They were supposed to be protecting her from the stalker, but for all intents and purposes, I was turning into one.
It was pretty pathetic, but that’s the way I’d always been when it came to Pearl.
