Page 13 of Black Wave

He stares down at me and grabs my chin more roughly than I anticipated, lifting it, his stature forcing me to look straight up.

“You will always have me, Emma.”

I swallow hard as I verbalize this known truth from my lips. “I know, Julian.”

He grabs my arm and drags me away to a black SUV with equally dark tinted windows. A man exits the driver’s seat to open the back door for us. I get in without hesitation.

What can I do at this point? Not a damn thing.

He gets in after me, and we drive off. There is no one waiting for me. No one I’m leaving behind. I look out the window, seeing the greenery and scattering of bluebonnets along the roadside. I say a silent good-bye to my previous life.

I won’t be coming back. Not now. That girl died along with her family that night. Yet a stronger woman rose from those battered waves, breathing in a newfound purpose. The gale force winds gathered all my broken pieces and rearranged them into a stronger and more punishing life-force.

I am waiting on a black wave, biding my time, until a powerful wave rises in the aftermath of a storm, unexpectedly leaving casualties in its wake, ensuring I will once again be free.

Julian arranged everything at the funeral home in preparation for tomorrow’s services. There is a small service at the gravesite without the funeral mass or typical rosary the day before. I look down at where my family is buried together in a row. They now reside under a large and beautiful Mexican white oak tree. I’m glad the tree will provide shade for them and keep them cool. The thoughts swirling in my head aren’t logical at the moment. I know how things sound, but I can’t help the way my brain is working, trying to process that my parents are no longer alive to feel the Texas heat and my sister is no longer alive to… I don’t get to finish that thought.

“Where will you stay, dear.” Mrs. Mendoza, my English teacher, interrupts my pensive trance, sincerity and sadness lacing her question.

The rumor going around town is that his family feels terrible about my circumstances, and Julian foot the bill for my parents’ and sister’s burial services.

Before I can answer her question, Julian cuts in.

“She will stay with my family. She will be taken care of.”

I close my mouth and fight back the frown forming on my lips. I always seem to be fighting my emotions around Julian.

Mrs. Mendoza looks at me, and as if reading my thoughts, she places a hand on my shoulder and pats it. “It will all work out, dear.” She looks back at Julian, puts her head down, and hurries away.

This seemed to anger him, and he pursed his lips. Not everyone is susceptible to his charm. His grip on my waist tightens, and I bite my lip until I taste the bitter flavor of copper on my tongue.

I won’t make a sound. I won't let him know that he is hurting me. Besides, he knows he is, and he likes it. There is nothing that surprises me about him now that I understand the complete depravity of this character.

I feel another person taking my hand in theirs. The firm grip wakes me from my trance. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” I must say this a hundred times more, or maybe it just feels that way. There is a large turnout, since my parents worked at the school. Many people still come over to speak with me and offer more of their condolences. They talk about my parents in the past tense, which doesn’t seem real. Another half hour goes by, and I can finally see the end of the line. The last person approaches me; the face is familiar, but I can’t recognize where I know them from.

“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am,” the stranger says. He leans over to hug me, but instead, I hear him whisper, “Be ready tonight, Emma.” With that, he walks off without looking back.

I glance at Julian, who seems oblivious to my interaction with this man. Noticing that there isn’t anyone around, he lets me say good-bye to my family at the gravesite for the last time before we walk back to the car.

It was a beautiful ceremony. Julian was the ever-attentive boyfriend in front of people, with a punishing hand that left bruises around the small of my back when no one was looking. Maybe they saw but looked the other way for fear of garnering his attention. Everyone expressed their condolences and praised Julian and his parents for their generosity.

As we drive off, the song “Heart Shaped Box” by Nirvana is playing on the radio. The smooth lyrics of Curt Cobain ring out as I touch the tattoo on my arm and think about how my heart will always be locked away in a heart-shaped box. I am in a lifeless, loveless, and abusive relationship. I just hope someone can hear my silent pleas to save me.

CHAPTER 7

Emma

Itold Julian I wasn’t hungry and asked to be excused from dinner. I was glad to be changed out of that horrible black dress. Donning a pair of leggings, a hoodie, and sneakers, I just want to spend time alone to mourn my family, although I would never tell him that. I enter my new prison and sit on the bed, moving my hand back and forth along the luxurious duvet. I think about the past year with so much regret.

I wish I could undo the day I met Julian. I wouldn’t have waited on him and taken his coffee order. Hell, I would have called out sick and missed work that day. I was so smitten with this handsome, wealthy guy who seemed fixated on me. He kept showing up, and I was so excited when he asked me out.

I remember going home and telling my sister about this amazing and handsome older guy that I had gained the attention of. I was eighteen already and graduating that year, so why not? A million telltale signs about his behavior should have alerted me. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen or heed the multitude of red flags. I was head over heels and over the moon about anything Julian.

I stopped seeing my friends one by one and only hung around with him. He stopped asking about what I wanted todo and even ordered off the menu for me in restaurants of his choosing. My opinions ceased to matter, and it was too late when I noticed what had happened.

Even when we had sex, I rarely got off. It was all about Julian. Sometimes, he would come home so angry and would push me on my knees to suck him off. I was forced to comply as he fisted my hair and I gagged on the punishing thrusts of his cock. The possessive side I found so hot was now abusive because it wasn’t about love. It was only about control.

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