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Emma couldn’t breathe. Tears wrapped around her throat, slowly squeezing until they constricted her. Emma usually had plenty to say. She held strong opinions, and never had a problem with letting them be known, whether through a yelling match or a snide throwaway comment. Paul was the one who was always lost for words. Eyes wide and red faced, mouth opening and closing in a feeble attempt to fill the silence. So why was she now the one rendered speechless?
Emma couldn’t breathe. She stared down at Paul’s hopeful eyes through her own blurred ones, her teeth biting the inside of her cheek the only thing stopping a choked sob from escaping her mouth. Paul had brought her out for an ‘early birthday dinner’ at the fanciest restaurant in town, complete with all of her loved ones. Hidgens, Tim, Tom, Melissa, Bill, Alice, Charlotte, and God, even Ted, had all been waiting for her when they arrived, dressed to the nines with bright smiles on their faces. Their faces were twisted into expressions of shock now.
Emma couldn’t breathe as she looked down at Paul, who was down on one knee with a ring box in his hand. After her birthday cake, he had tapped a fork against his champagne flute, the ringing silencing the chatter from around the table. He had started what seemed like a pretty basic birthday speech, making Emma blush as he told the table everything he loved about her. But then he moved around the table to take her hand, and the speech suddenly became more future-oriented, and Emma’s heart dropped as she began to piece together what was happening. All she could do whilst he was pouring her heart out to her was stare in shock, in fear. Her mind should have been racing, but it was only fixated on one thing. Jane. Jane and her stupid binder. Job, husband, house, kids. Jane’s perfect life which had all gone horribly wrong. Emma couldn’t submit to the same fate. It was too scary for her to be legally bound to anyone. Even Paul.
Paul, who she loved with her whole heart. The person she looked forward to seeing everyday when she came home. The person who she could pour her heart out to, the person who wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t comment, just listened. The person who she could mercilessly mock, only to get a fond smile back. The person who, after 2 weeks of dating, drove her to the hospital after she tripped over his couch and sat in the waiting room all night for her. The person who knew her better than anyone, and who she knew better than anyone too. Paul, whose dumb jokes and nerdy face never failed to make her smile. She wasn’t smiling now.
Her chest tightened and her hands began to tremble as she thought about what she had to do next. She closed her eyes, feeling a pool of tears collect and threaten to overflow. She couldn’t bear to look at Paul as she did it.
She shook her head.
Though she wasn’t looking at him, she could still see Paul’s face dropping behind her closed eyes, his look of utter disappointment and defeat burning itself into her mind. It felt like knives carving their way through her heart, a sharp, stabbing pain that caused her to flinch. A strange silence had fallen over the gathered crowd. She could hear every breath, feel every stare as they watched on with shock. She bit her lip as she turned away, a tear finally breaking through and slipping down her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry,”
Then Emma fled the crime scene, fled the person she had left broken, kneeling on the floor. She ignored the strangled shouts of her name as she ran out of the restaurant doors. The cool night’s air on her skin was a welcome reprieve from a heat she didn’t even realise she was feeling. She started down the stairs, stopping as she reached the street.
Where could she go? Her ride here wasn’t a viable option to take her home anymore. She had to get out, she had to leave. She couldn’t face any of them right now. The roar of a bus made her jump. The bus.
She began to hurriedly walk towards the bus stop down the street. Now that she had been outside for a little while, it was starting to get colder. Her short, strappy red dress was not doing anything against the chill of the winter’s night, so she wrapped her arms around themselves and began rubbing them to keep warm. If Paul were here he would have offered her his suit jacket.
But he wasn’t, and it was no one’s fault but Emma’s. At least her face wasn’t too cold, warm tears now freely flowing down her face as she stepped onto the bus. She didn’t know exactly where it was going, but as long as it was away, it would work. The few people riding the bus at 9 o’clock at night gave her some strange looks, but she hardly noticed. She hardly cared, really. All she could think about was getting away.
Usually when Emma caught the bus, she would wear her headphones and listen to music or a podcast. She hated silence. It made her uncomfortable. She guessed it was because she didn’t like being left alone with her thoughts, She had to fill it with something, whether it be through Spotify or her own loud chatter. But now she just sat on the filthy bus seat, staring straight ahead through the windscreen. The only sound was the rumble of the engine roaring in her ears. It somehow felt loud and quiet at the same time.
A few more silent tears slid down her cheeks. It felt like Jane’s funeral all over again. Wanting to scream and yell and sob and hit something but biting her cheek instead, refusing to let it out. Feeling guilty. Guilty for leaving, for abandoning the only person in this world she cared about for Guatemala.
She was doing it again. She knew that. New person, or people, same story. She was abandoning them. Emma hated herself for it. She desperately wished she could go back to that restaurant, say yes, and see Paul’s face light up. Kiss him, hug him. She wished she could. But something, some stupid instinct deep inside her, was making her run away. Run away from anything that could potentially tie her down. Take a match and torch any potential for routine, for the mundane. For stability.
The already small number of commuters was dwindling, and Emma realised she couldn’t exactly ride this bus forever. She pulled out her phone, opening her contacts. Seeing all the names she had added in over the years. She bit her lip as she realised all of them had been brought into her phone, brought into her life, by Paul. Melissa, Bill, Alice, anyone who she could call. It was all Paul. Her eyes glanced over one name. Henry Hidgens. Hidgens.
A plan was forming in her head, pushing through the swirling storm of thoughts. An incomplete plan which she hadn’t thought over that well, but a plan no less.
It felt like a dream as she stepped off the bus. Like she was walking through water. Everything was blurry. It took more effort to move than usual. She was sure that if she tried to speak, no sound would leave her mouth. Wiping her face brought back a thick streak of black, making her aware of what she must look like. A woman sitting alone in a formal dress and heels at a bus stop, make-up running down her cheeks. Pathetic.
She numbly boarded and rode and alighted and boarded and rode and alighted multiple buses before finally arriving at her destination. She stumbled as she stepped off onto the concrete sidewalk, her legs weak. She slowly pulled heels off, holding them in one hand as she began to walk up a long driveway. The ground was damp. She hadn’t even noticed it was raining. She didn’t particularly care. In fact, the cold rain on the soles of her feet was a welcome reminder that this was real. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare. She wouldn’t wake up in a hostel in Guatemala. She was in Hatchetfield, and she would have to face the consequences of her actions.
She could already imagine the rumours that would be flying around tomorrow. That bitch Linda Monroe would probably be having a field day. Emma could imagine her obnoxious laugh that she had had since high school. Oh Emma Perkins? She would say, A little fucked up in the head, I think. Just like her sister. Tragic, isn’t it? The only man that’ll have her now is- Jack Daniels. HA- Just the part of the charming ‘small town’ package, Emma supposed. What a condescending piece of shit.
Somehow Emma had made it up the long driveway to the big gate that protected Hidgens’ fortress from the outside world. She walked over to the small keypad on the side of the metal structure, her body on autopilot as she punched the code in. The gate screeched open, and Emma threw one last glance over her shoulder before slipping in.
She headed straight for the small potted plant that sat in the corner of the front porch. It’s name was Chad, Hidgens had told her many a time. She picked Chad up, feeling around the ground under the pot. Her hand closed around a piece of cool metal. Bingo.
The key slid into it’s keyhole smoothly, a lot smoother than was expected for a door to a 20 year old doomsday bunker. The door creaked slightly as Emma pushed it open tentatively. She stuck her head in first, looking for any sign that Hidgens could be home. But the house was dark and silent, save for the blue glow and chirpy voice of Alexa, welcoming her home. Was it home? She supposed it was the closest she could get to it now.
Her vision was getting more blurry as she made her way over to the large kitchen at the back of the house. She blindly walked towards a large cabinet with a glass door, showcasing a vast collection of bottles of various colours. She grabbed the first one she saw and began unscrewing the lid. Deathly slow. Delicate. Cautious. The whole bottle trembled as she brought the neck of it to her lips.
The sting of alcohol flowing down her throat started Emma out of her daze. She had been moving towards the kitchen island, to at least drink seated at a table to maintain some semblance of respectability. But she couldn’t take another step, legs giving, and she found herself sliding down to the floor. She felt her lips twist, and she pressed them together in a final desperate attempt to delay the inevitable.
She felt the guilt rising up, clawing painfully at her heart and leaving an emptiness in her chest. The emotions that had been slowly building up over the course of the hour finally reached a breaking point. It started as a twisted sob. Then another. Emma was shocked that she had managed to even make a noise. But once it started, she couldn’t stop it. She wept and wept. Heavy sobs that shook her entire body. It felt all too familiar. Hunched over on the floor. Salty tears mixing with sharp alcohol to form a bitter cocktail of misery which she gulped down greedily.
As she knelt on the hard ground, head bowed and hair falling in her face, she mourned. She mourned the loss of her friends. She mourned the loss of her family. She mourned the loss of her comfort. She mourned the loss of her love.
She mourned the loss of Paul.