Page 74 of Beyond the Lines
“Or,” she continues, “I could go get us both a cinnamon cider and some Doritos—because heartbreak calories don’tcount—and we can sit here and not talk about whatever you don’t want to talk about.”
“I think I’d prefer that to your jokes,” I can’t help but crack a small smile. “You’re the best, Em.”
“Of course I am.” Em stands, heading toward our kitchen. “And I promise, cross my heart and hope never to find a good Black Friday sale again, that I won’t ask a single question.” She pauses, turning back to me with a serious expression. “Do youknowhowhardit is for someone with ADHD to promise not to talk?”
A small smile tugs at my lips despite everything, and I watch as she bustles around, getting the ciders and the chips. I know a lot of it is performative—the snacks, the jokes—but the care she’s showing, the way she’s trying to make me feel better without prying… it’s overwhelming.
I’ve only known Em a few weeks, but she’s already treating me better than some people I’ve known forever. And by the time she returns with two ciders and the chips, I’ve managed to sit up, though I’m still wrapped in my blanket like it’s the only thing holding me together.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me a cider. “Liquid therapy.”
I take a sip, and it coats my tongue, erasing the taste of Declan. “Thanks.”
“No problemo.” She settles next to me on the bed, careful not to spill.
We sit there for what feels like an eternity, drinking and munching on Doritos. I can positivelyfeelEm’s pent-up energy, her almost overwhelming desire to talk, to ask questions, and to get answers, but she keeps to her word and doesn’t say a word.
But I do.
“It was Declan,” I whisper, surprising myself.
Em’s eyes widen, but true to her word, she doesn’t ask anything.
“We…” My voice catches. How do I even explain what happened? “We were working on our art project in the library, and I thought he hated my drawing, and I got upset, and I stormed off—” I break off, unable to continue. “But then he followed me and?—”
Em’s palm comes to rest on my knee, a silent gesture of support.
I continue, my voice barely audible. “One minute I was running away, escaping into a bathroom, and the next he was following me, kissing me, and then we were…” I trail off, my cheeks burning. “In the bathroom, Em. In thefuckingbathroom…”
Em’s eyebrows arch, but she presses her lips together.
“I know it was stupid,” I say, tears welling up again. “After everything with Chris, after how Declan lied to me about who he was, and after what he said about my art—I should hate him. I told myself I hated him.” A tear spills over, tracking down my cheek. “So why did I…?”
My voice breaks completely then, and Em sets both our bottles on the nightstand before pulling me into her arms. The dam bursts, and I find myself sobbing against her shoulder, ugly, heaving sobs that shake my entire body, but still she doesn’t talk.
“You can talk, Em,” I say, with an ugly, sobbing laugh. “It’skillingyou.”
“Thankgod!” she says, even as she soothes and strokes my hair. “It’s OK.”
“It’s not OK,” I choke out between sobs. “I promised myself after Chris that I wouldn’t be that girl again. The onewho falls for pretty words and ignores all the red flags. And now here I am, completely losing my mind over a guy who—” I pull back, wiping furiously at my tears. “And he’s Mike’s teammate!”
“Did he pressure you?” Em asks, her tone suddenly serious. “Because if he did, I don’t care how big he is, or who he’s friends with, I will end him.”
“No,” I say. “That’s the thing… I wanted it. It felt… right… even though it’s wrong forso many reasons…” I press my palms against my eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Em says firmly. “Attraction is complicated. And sometimes our bodies make decisions before our brains catch up.”
“But after Chris?—”
“Chris was an asshole who lied to you about not having a girlfriend,” she says. “That’s a completely different situation.”
“Declan lied too,” I point out. “About being on the hockey team.”
Em gives me a skeptical look. “Is that really the same? Did he have a secret girlfriend he wasn’t telling you about?”
“No, but—” I shake my head, fresh tears spilling. “You don’t understand. The scariest part is… I don’t think it was just physical. When he touched me, when he kissed me—” I break off, remembering the intensity in his eyes, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. “It felt…more.”
Em pulls me back into a hug as I dissolve into tears again. She doesn’t say anything else, just holds me while I fall apart, and I’m grateful for the silence. Because how could I possibly explain that beneath all the confusion and shame and fear, there’s a part of me that wants to feel his hands on me again.
