Untamed, Page 4

  “I’ve been too busy with school and haven’t had time to clean,” I lie, running my fingers through my tangled hair.

  Her eyes narrow on me. “You look like a disaster.”

  “Thank you,” I reply dryly, my head pulsating. I’m too hung over to deal with her shit.

  She points a finger at me and jabs me in the throat. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me. Now get your ass out into the living room. We have some things to discuss about last night.”

  About last night?

  Swimming in a sea of confusion, I trail behind her, following her into the living room.

  She strides straight for the coffee table, shoves the record player out of the way, and snatches up my bracelet. “Now, would you like to tell me where you were last night?” She spins on her heels, facing me. “Or should I tell you?”

  Her face is flawlessly smooth, even more than it was the last time I saw her, which means she probably had more work done. She’s wearing a perfectly pressed blue pantsuit, and her hair is pulled back into a tight bun. Perfection. Perfection. Perfection. The word is written all over her, yet her perfection isn’t real. It’s just a facade, like everything else in my world. Each piece of my life is created to make people believe everything is perfect, so no one will ever suspect a thing.

  “You should probably tell me,” I dare reply, mainly because I’m not about to admit anything she doesn’t know yet.

  She huffs in irritation. “Don’t play dumb with me, Emery. I know you went out last night with that loser guy your father has working for him.”

  “He’s not a loser.” Even though my voice is small, my words are daring. “He’s actually nice.”

  “Nice.” She says the word with such disdain as she wrinkles her nose. “He looks like trash.”

  Anger simmers under my skin. “He’s not trash.” My voice carries more confidence, and suddenly, I find words spilling from my lips. “He just looks different from what you’re used to, and you think everyone who’s different from you is trash, or a loser or unworthy.”

  “Oh, he’s unworthy of what he wants.” She inches toward me, getting in my face.

  I used to hover back, but I discover an inner confidence I didn’t know I possessed. Last night, I experienced so many new things, and if I want to keep going in that direction, I need to be brave and stand up to my mother. “He doesn’t want anything. He’s just doing his job.”

  “Exactly. You’re just a job to him, so cut it with the lovesick puppy love act you’ve got going on.”

  “I’m not a lovesick puppy.”

  “Oh, Emery, what a stupid, naïve little girl, you are. You have a stupid, little crush on a guy who isn’t worthy of you when it comes to family and blood. Besides, he wouldn’t want you if he really knew what you are.”

  “I’m not anything.” My tone is shaky as rage thunders in my chest. “I’m just a person, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You really think that?” she sneers. “You’re so much more than what you think.”

  I swallow hard. “What do you mean?”

  She leans in, whispering, “Ever wonder what those pills are for?”

  I bite down on my lip to stop myself from saying “I already know,” and instead play dumb, shaking my head.

  “Crazy,” she whispers with a pleased grin. “You, daughter of mine, who are so perfectly put together, so flawless on the outside, are the most flawed on the inside. Your mind is flawed beyond fixing. Luckily for you, your father and I have managed to keep that a secret. And unlike your brother, who refused to hide his madness, for the most part, you’ve been a good girl.”

  “What’s wrong with Ellis?” I tentatively ask, knowing more than likely the mention of my brother will set her off.

  “What’s not wrong with Ellis. The boy was born to rebel, to disobey, no matter how hard your father tried to beat the bad out of him. Ellis…” She shakes her head, but I detect a hint of remorse on her face. “Always clouding his mind with drugs. If he would have just obeyed, his life would have ended up so much better.”

  “How did his life end up?” I press for more details, despite how risky doing so is.

  Her features instantly harden. Without warning, she raises her hand and slaps me hard. “Never mention your brother again.” She shuffles back, trembling with fury, but quickly composes herself. “Now, get yourself together before you mess up the arrangement with Evan. If he finds out you’re crazy, Emery—finds out you hear voices—he’s not going to want you.”

  I touch my hand to my throbbing cheek and wince. “Maybe I don’t want him.”

  A sharp, condescending laugh rings from her lips, making me feel about ten inches tall. “And what are you going to do as an alternative? Go be with the guy downstairs?”

  I carry her gaze, even though it goes against everything I was taught. “Maybe.”

  “Well, here’s a little newsflash for you.” She leans toward me again, her breath hot against my face. “He’s not interested.”

  “How would you possibly know that?”

  “How do you think I knew you went out with him last night?”

  “I…” I have no idea what to say. There’s no way Ryler would have told anyone, not when he was adamant about me keeping our outing a secret.

  “He called your father and told him about it,” my mother continues. “He even told your father that you agreed to keep it a secret from him. I have to say, Emery, your father and I are very disappointed in you—keeping secrets from us.” Her gaze skims the wrappers and soda cans on the coffee table, the floor, and the counters. “The mess you live in, too.” She pulls a face at a banana peel on the table. “What a disgrace you’ve become. Plus, you refuse to come home and clean up the mess you created.” She pauses, as if waiting for me to agree to come home. When I don’t say anything, she seizes my arm and hooks the bracelet around my wrist. Take that off again and you’ll pay.”

  Blink.

  Blink.

  Blink.

  The metal catches in the light again, and I swear to God I see a flash of red glimmering from the silver. When I blink, the light has faded, though.

  With that, my mother turns, her heels clicking against the tile as she marches for the door. “Oh, and Emery. Your father says if you keep receiving those letters, he’s going to drag you home one way or another. It might just be time for you to face the inevitable”

  After she leaves, I sink to the floor and rock back and forth. Tears fall from my eyes, and my breathing comes out ragged, her visit pushing me into depression.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Ellis says. “Be stronger than that.”

  I angle my chin up. He’s standing near the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony, staring out the window with his back to me.

  “She said I’m crazy.”

  “Maybe you are.” He doesn’t look at me as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his torn jeans instead. His messy appearance is so like him, Ellis, the rebel who never obeyed, who wouldn’t comb his hair for my mother. “But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

  “How do you figure?” I sniffle, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand.

  He glances at me, and I’m taken aback by the darkness haunting his eyes. “Emery, everyone is crazy in their own way if you really look at it. You don’t have to let it own you. Be who you are and don’t be ashamed of it.”

  His words strike my heart deep, making me pause to think. Could it really be that easy? Could I just live my life, accepting my crazy?

  “What about Ryler?” I ask, pushing to my feet. “He told Father about last night. Why would he do that?”

  Ellis shrugs, facing me. The sunlight hits his back, causing his body to appear as nothing more than a shadow. “Only he can answer that.”

  “So, I should ask him?”

  “If you think you should.”

  “What do you think? Can I trust him?”

  He smiles sadly. “Always asking the wrong questions.”<
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  I shake my head in frustration. “And you always answer everything in riddles. It makes it difficult to figure out what to ask.”

  “Perhaps, but life has never been easy for you or me. Life has been full of evil, and if you don’t start asking the right questions, the evil is going to be the end of you.” He fades in and out.

  A split second later, I’m standing in the living room by myself with his words echoing in my head. The evil is going to be the end of you.

  It sounds like an omen, that if I don’t figure stuff out, my death may be coming. A death brought on by evil.

  Chapter 5

  The Truth Stings

  Ryler

  The morning after Emery and I go to the concert, I sneak out of her bed in the early hours of sunrise and head back to my place. It took a lot of effort to leave her warmth, and I missed it almost instantly. But I had to get home and put the wall back up between work and want. My job comes first and getting heavily involved with Emery is going to mess that up. We need to be friends somehow. I just can’t figure out how.

  I lie in my bed well into the afternoon, sporadically working on the assignment and wondering about Emery. Does she remember last night at all? If so, does that mean that perhaps she won’t be as cold and distant toward me anymore?

  She’s consuming my mind. Part of me wants to say to hell with my job and just let her consume me; run away with her and never look back. The revelation is striking. The last time I had intense feelings like this was toward Aura, and that got me into a shit load of trouble.

  I can’t let myself get into that kind of trouble again.

  Around two in the afternoon, I slip on a clean T-shirt along with my boots, then head upstairs to check on Emery, like Doc has instructed me to do every day.

  Halfway out the door, I receive a text from Doc.

  Doc: If Emery asks, you told

  me that she went out last night. I know this sounds strange, but she needs to believe that you told me.

  My heart skips a beat as I read the message. I pause in the stairway, lighting up a cigarette as I try to think of how to respond.

  Me: Okay.

  I hesitate, not wanting to ask, but needing to know just how much trouble I’m going to be in.

  Me: How did you know we went out?

  Doc: I have my sources. Don’t worry, Ryler, you’re not in trouble. I know my daughter is hard to resist. I know she’s the one who instigated going out in the first place and you were just giving in to her.

  Me: That’s not quite how it happened.

  Doc: You don’t need to cover for her. I know the truth, Ryler.

  Me: The truth is I took her out last night. It was all on me. I’m sorry.

  Doc: I didn’t text for a confession, Ryler. I simply texted you to make sure that if Emery asks how her mother and I found out about her going out last night—which trust me, she will ask—you are to tell her that you informed me because it’s your job.

  It feels like there’s a threat hidden in his words, a do-or-else-you’re-dead sort of thing. Not seeing another alternative other than refusing and risk losing everything I’ve built over the last eight months, I text that I agree to do it. Then I put my phone away, and finish off the cigarette while mentally cursing myself.

  I kick the wall a few times, wishing I could scream until my lungs burst. God, I fucking hate this double life. I want out, but I have to finish first; otherwise, I’m walking back to a life almost as equal shitty as this one.

  One of my neighbors walks out in the middle of my meltdown and gives me a horrified look. Unable to verbally apologize to him, I stop beating the wall with my foot. Then I collect myself and drag my feet toward Emery’s place.

  It’s mid-June, and the temperature is in the nineties. The sunlight blares down on me as I ascend the stairs and heats up the fabric of my black pants and T-shirt. For a moment, I wish I was a shorts and tank kind of guy, wish I was a different guy in a different life, but changing my clothes isn’t going to make that possible.

  When I reach Emery’s door, I feel weighted down by what I’m about to do. I pause, mentally preparing myself before using the key to get inside. I slam to a stop the second I step foot into the living room.

  Emery is sitting on the sofa, staring at the coffee table with her hands on her lap, and her back is as rigid as a board. There’s nothing on the table, though, except a half-eaten bag of chips.

  I walk around so I can catch her eye. When she looks up at me, I move my hands, “Is everything okay?”

  She shakes her head with her eyes fixed on me. “No, I don’t think it is.”

  Something’s off. I think about the text Doc just sent me and wonder if that’s what might be behind this.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She stares at me hard and I grow fidgety underneath her overpowering gaze. “My mother came to visit me,” she says with her attention fixed on me.

  My expression plummets. “Sorry. That sucks. I know how much you hate your visits with her.”

  “Do you?” She searches my eyes for something.

  “Well, it always seems that way.” I fiddle with the leather band on my wrist, wondering what the hell has caused her deep assessment of me. “I mean, I’ve seen her visit once and leave your house another time, and both times, it seemed like seeing her shook you up.”

  She bites down on her lip so forcefully the skin around her mouth turns white. “Did you tell my father we went out last night?” she sputters.

  My body locks up and begs me not to answer, but fear of going against Doc burns in my throat, right beneath my scar. “I had to,” my hands lie for me.

  Instead of yelling at me, she folds her arms and sinks back in the sofa. “Okay.” Her knee restlessly bounces up and down as her teeth sink deeper into her lip, drawing blood.

  I round the coffee table and stand in her line of sight. “I had to. It’s part of my job.” My eyes plead with her to understand, but how could she? All she knows is that I work for her father, nothing more.

  “Okay, I understand.” She rises from the sofa and starts for the hallway, brushing past me. “I’m going to go work on the assignment.”

  I open my mouth, wishing I could call out to her, but not a single sound passes my lips. She shuts the door, disappearing into her room.

  I grit my teeth, wanting to scream. But like always, the silence wins.

  Over the next few days, Emery and I manage to finish our Creative Writing partner project without actually working together on it. We fall right back to our old routine of barely speaking, only it feels worse this time. After dancing, laughing, and getting drunk, then spending the night together, I was reminded of the spark between Emery and I, reminded of what I was missing out on over my choice to keep working as an informant.

  When Wednesday rolls around, we drive to the University of Wyoming together, per her father’s instructions. The drive is quiet and painful. Ten times I almost break down and tell her that it wasn’t me, that I didn’t betray her trust—that her father made me—but I’m starting to realize that the sole fact that I listened to her father in the first place will cause Emery to distrust me.

  By the time we make it to the classroom, I’m sweating bullets from the stress. I’ve barely slept more than a few hours a night, spending a lot of time writing in my journal about my future, about my wants, about Emery.

  Emery, Emery, Emery, she fills my head too much.

  Consumes my thoughts.

  I’m getting in too deep.

  I need to get out,

  but how?

  How can that happen?

  When I don’t want it to end.

  Don’t want her to go.

  Thankfully, being at school offers a distraction from the tension between Emery and me. We still have to sit by each other because Doc has made it pretty clear I’m not to let her out of my sight.

  “I think we’re going to fail the assignment,” Emery mutters, frowning at her paper on the desk.


  I jump from the sound of her voice. I think it might be the first time she’s spoken to me since she asked me if I told her father.

  I pop my knuckles then lift my hands in front of me. “We’ll be fine,” I sign when she looks up at me again. “You’re a good writer.” I offer her an encouraging smile.