Page 67 of Hurt Me Not
“So it was really like a fucked-up, romantic murder spree?”
I fought the urge to hide my face in my hands. I had heard all the rumors. Creative as they might have been, they’d also been wrong.
First off, my scholarship said that I had to maintain a 3.6 GPA, not be at the top of the class. Second, I didn't even know who he was until he cornered me in a classroom with a bloody knife.
I wanted to scream it at them. If they thought it was fucking romantic, I’d happily trade places with them. And the more I sat there, the more they whispered about it, and the less I could take it.
Emerson wouldn't allow anyone to talk like this to her. She would walk through the space with her head held high. She’d probably even spill a drink or something on the girls’ heads for being annoying.
That brought a smile to my face, and like I had conjured her up, my phone buzzed.
Emerson:I'm hungry and off work. Dinner?
As I checked the time, I realized I hadn't been there for two hours. I had been there for almost four.
I grabbed my stuff hastily, putting it inside my bag with two words in my mind as I prepared to walk past them.
Fuck it.
I felt like the whole library quieted down as I passed. I knew my face was bright red, but I didn't care. I held my head high and didn’t even acknowledge them.
That was the Emerson way. Truth be told, she would make them pay, but this would do for now.
I faked it until I made it all the way out of the library, and I didn't stop until I reached the drop-off zone, where Emerson, of course, was already waiting for me. She never waited inside the car. She always got out and leaned against the passenger door, almost as if she wanted me to talk to her before going in.
I gave her my best forced smile.
“What's for dinner?” I asked.
She didn't respond at first, analyzing me the way she always did. I tried not to show any of my unhappiness, but I knew she could probably tell something was off. She hadn't been kidding when she said she could see me. There was nothing I could hide from Emerson, and after the stalker, there was nothing to hide anymore anyway.
But for the first time, she didn't poke me about it.
“Sushi,” she replied as she opened the car door for me.
There was a small gasp behind me. Apparently, the two girls who had been talking about me found it necessary to follow me out of the library.
“I'm going to guess and assume those are not friends of yours,” Emerson deadpanned.
“No.” I lifted my chin. “They were actually talking shit about me. They know about the incident.”
When I turned back to look at Emerson, my heart skipped a beat in my chest.
She was staring at them like she could kill them with her eyes only. There was malice and hatred there, more than I had ever seen from her. And I had seen her stare at her piece-of-shit father as punches rained down on her.
It was… comforting in a way to know that she was ready to go to bat for me.
I touched her arm.
“Let's go get dinner.”
Without another word, I slipped into the passenger seat. She hesitated for a moment, still staring at the girls as they nervously turned around to head back to the library. Only when they were gone did she close the door and make her way to the driver’s seat.
“I can deal with them if you want,” Emerson said, the sudden hiss of her words causing me to jump while sipping the hot tea, burning my lips.
When Emerson said sushi, she hadn’t meant one of those cheap conveyor belt places that I had grown to love during my time in New York. I always thought it tasted just fine—in fact, I preferred it because I could pick my own pace.
She took me to an extravagant private dining space that overlooked the city. There was no menu, given that the chef was a few feet away cooking for only the two of us. We had already had three different plates before she decided to engage in any type of conversation.
