Page 162 of Debts and Desires
Seventeen Days Gone
Ihad been working relentlessly on the new song that’d been stuck in my head. Not with any guitar parts, though. I wasn’t feeling the musical aspect just yet, other than a few hummed bars, but ideas were definitely flowing. The lyrics were sad, of course, but I was happy with it because at least I was writing. Happy because it was only a few more days before I got to meet Zac freaking Belmont in person. I was so excited about that.
It was still so surreal.
The top two! Me, Emmy Rae, a nobody, made it to the toptwoof a national competition. And I wanted nothing more than to call Carter and tell him the good news.
But I couldn’t.
Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him?
It was those thoughts that prompted me to look at his texts again. Then I remembered the voicemail. It had been two and a half weeks since he left it. Two and a half long, agonizing weeks since I’d been gone. I hated how much I missed him after everything he did. I hoped he was just as miserable as me, if not more.
I waited until Mia left for work, knowing it was going to be rough. I hit play, putting it on speaker to hear it better. When his warm voice filled the room, I sat, closing my eyes. I missed him more than I thought.
Carter was clearly drunk. His words were slow and slurred as he told me how much he missed me, begging me to please come back. And then his tone changed.
“Nah. Maybe you were right to leave. It’s better this way.”He paused.“You know the empty buildin’ behind the garage at home? The one you said’d make a cute little studio? I was cleanin’ it out and waitin’ on the final materials to get delivered. Now I got a buildin’ as empty as my fuckin’ heart that I ain’t gotta clue what to do with. I wanted to give you the world, Emmy, and you threw it back in my face like everyone else.”He let out a long sigh, his voice much calmer when he spoke again.“I’m sorry. I just… I’ll leave ya be. I love you, Emogen. I probably always will.”
I sat there, tears rolling down my face. I ruined everything. Just like I had for all of my life.
No.NO.Carter ruined it, not me. I wasn’t the psychopath that robbed an innocent woman, made a disgusting deal with her, and used her in every way imaginable.
Conflicting thoughts swirled in my mind. What he did was unforgivable, and he didn’t deserve to know why I left.
A few hours later, when I could move without crying, I was up and moving.
I had chosen today to unpack everything. Mia had asked me—more like told me, but made methinkI had the choice—to move in with her and Cal. The three of us cleared out the guest room, rearranging it how I wanted and even painted it. Despite the room being finished, I had still been living out of my suitcases. Until today. I used it as a way to ignore the thoughts about the voicemail. It was working.
The last thing I had to do was put my guitar up on the new wall rack that Mia had gotten for me. I opened my case and smiled as if seeing an old friend. Carefully, I pulled it out and put the strap around me. I strummed, cringing at how out oftune it was from neglect these last few weeks. I went to grab the tuner, but froze. A lump formed in my throat as I slowly took the strap off from around me. I sat my guitar on the bed and reached into my case.
A wave of sickness hit me and I dropped the item like it was a hot coal. I barely made it to the toilet, throwing up. I heaved every time I thought about that notebook—Carter’snotebook—until I had nothing left to give.
By the next day, I was fine. I managed to get up and eat breakfast and drink coffee. I sat out on Mia’s balcony until late afternoon, working on words until my brain stopped braining. Mia gave me the space I needed, only coming out once or twice to offer me food or drink and once to see how I was doing.
For the most part, I had been okay. Until I wasn’t. I felt horrendous again and made my way into the guest room. I don’t know how long I was in there for as I hummed to myself, trying to force the wave of nausea down. My nerves were literally trying to kill me, it seemed. I was sick all the time. And tired.Man,was I tired.
“Hmmm,” I hummed again, the note helping suppress the need to puke. There was a soft knock on the door.
“Em?” Mia popped her head in. How she always knew when I was feeling sick was beyond me. “The humming,” she laughed, and I realized I’d said my thought out loud.
“Ugh, I’m sorry,” I started.
“For what?” She sat down on the bed next to me, but I didn’t budge. I heard the rustling of a plastic bag but ignored it.
“For being a lazy bump on a log.”
“Nah, you’re fine. You’re recovering from something really stressful and I think you’re brave for doing it.” I bit back tears.
“There’s nothing brave about puking my guts out constantly.”
“I actually wanted to talk to you about that…” she trailed. “I have a theory about what might be making you sick.”
“Because my nervous system is tanked right now?”
“Well, I’m sure that doesn’t help but…” she pulled out a box from the grocery bag and handed it to me. My eyes widened as I made myself sit up.
“I’m not.”
