I tried to run, but he was on me with the fury of a psycho, beating me and pushing me into a corner,
blackness wrapping around me. I thought he would kill me for sure, but then there was a thud … a low,
empty thud, and he stopped. His face turned blank, his eyes glazed over and zoned out and he
crumbled to the floor to reveal my mother standing behind him. A huge, twisted, wooden sculpture from
the wall unit, held above her head. She glared at me, her eyes red rimmed, her face white and
bloodless; it’s what I saw in that look that will always haunt me; worse than what he had done, what he
had been attempting to do that had finally ripped my heart right out and stomped it to death. The
anguish on her face, the accusation in her eyes as all I could see was—
“What did you do, Emma?”
I close my eyes against the fresh torrent of tears as I try to push that memory away again and again,
but her face stays insistent. My mother always blamed me for Ray leaving. I was eighteen by then, no
longer a child. No longer her sweet innocent little girl, but she saw me as a capable woman who must
have given him some sign that I wanted it. She felt betrayed by me; it’s the one thing I’ve never been
able to admit to myself. Her jealousy and blame. If she believed that of me, then, why wouldn’t I?
All of this with Jake … Has it been because of me? Because I led him to believe I wanted these things
from him?
How can I recall these things and feel like I asked for them? I didn’t ask for them … I didn’t ask him to
try to rape me, but deep down, somewhere inside, that child is nodding at me and she’s saying: “Yes,
Emma, yes you did. Why else would these men, one after the other, try to touch you? Try to take you?
You must have done something, Emma. Your own mother believed it.”
It’s the guilt that I forever shy away from, the shame and misery of my internal battle. It’s what she
programmed me to accept.
Is this what I do to Jake? Do I make him want to push things further between us? Like them, will he
take what he wants, then leave me broken on the floor, the way my mother was left. I was left.
Jake isn’t capable of such things, but I must be doing something for it to turn out this way.
What has Jake done to me? Why is he doing this to me now?
My mind is a messy scramble of thoughts and emotions, half of which make no sense and I’m dying
inside.
I didn’t drink before Jake Carrero, I didn’t like how it made me feel. Like I lost control. I never kissed
men ever, because all it did was bring back memories that make me feel ill. Never wanted anyone
sexually, or even felt turned on by anyone before Jake.
I never opened up and told anyone the things I’ve told him. I never kicked back and just let go, relaxed
and had fun, before him. Never took my hair down, let alone cut it. I never cried, and now I can’t seem
to stop.
Jake has slowly unraveled me, and he has no clue. He has no idea the depth in which he has infected
me, changed me. That damn Carrero and his effects on me can’t be reversed.
I keep people at arm’s length, even Sarah … She’s my best friend, yet I’ve never told her anything that
would justify that title. I don’t blame her for drifting away, because I’ve never given her a reason not to. I
know everything about her, yet she knows very little about me. Only what she witnessed at being
around me. I was always a closed book.
We drifted apart, and I was glad. She was my focus, my person to protect and care for, in place of the
mother I was leaving behind. She gave me a purpose, someone to take care of, and when she no
longer needed me, I pulled away. I didn’t want her looking at me and remembering who I was.
It suited me that I got a job that required devoting all my time and attention to organizing someone
else’s life. It’s what I needed, control, calm, organization, safety, and security. Independence and self-
reliance. I could focus on someone else’s existence and deny my own. Sarah never really knew the
real me, she’d always seen the facade. Everyone has always seen the facade.
Everyone except Jake. He broke through the layers.
Men have always made me nervous … despite moving away and starting over. Men have a way of
making that wall go up. I don’t trust them, I never have. I don’t trust anyone except myself. Well, I
didn’t.
Until Jake.
Do I trust Jake? I did … In my own way, but now?
Knowing what he’s gone to do, I don’t know anymore. I deserve it. He’s been patient and he tries in a
way no one has ever tried, to see through my brave facade. He saw it right from the start, he said as
much. I don’t want him to see through it, because if he did and he found this Emma, what would he
see?
Insecure, troubled, and emotionally all over the place. What would he do?
She’s a broken little girl who flinches when men raise their hands, even though she’s practiced
remaining cool. She’s scared of getting so close to anyone, even a friend, in case they rip her heart out
like her own parents did. Her first start in life was learning that she could rely on no one. That no one
loved her.
I can’t even relax and let anyone else look after me, I’m the only one I can rely on. But I let Jake … so
many times, he’s taken care of me. It hurts to remember the countless ways he’s done so over the past
months, but that Jake has just walked out on me, gone to hurt me in the cruelest way. Wiping the slate
clean and ripping the floor from under me.
Letting people in just takes away your defenses and they learn how to wound you deeply, like Jake has
done now. People say they love you, but they don’t … it’s the ones who apparently love you, that cut
the deepest.
So why let anyone love you at all? Why care about him leaving you now? Stop caring, stop crying. Go
back to numb, it was always better that way. Loving no one, letting no one in. Let him go close him out
and never trust him again.
* * *
I finally emerge, like an exhausted shell, hours before dawn. I watch the ocean lap up and down on the
distant beach in the moonlight; the boat is still and quiet and I feel so alone. I wonder where he is, and
it slices across my heart cruelly; I wonder who “she” is.
Don’t do this to yourself, this isn’t worth it.
I push it away and try not to dwell anymore. I create a new little black box in the recess of my mind and
push everything in there … I’ll label this one “Jake” and file every single hurtful memory in there. Every
kiss, every touch, every tear.
Then I won’t just close the lid; I’ll lock it tight and throw it into the deepest part of my crazy mind. That’s
what I do when life throws me so much pain and misery. I move on. I stop myself from caring anymore,
and that is exactly what I will do to him.
He wants to uncross the line, well I will erase the line and build a fucking steel wall, to keep him on the
other side. He wants PA Emma back, that’s what he will get.
***
He’s been gone more than two days, and I’ve tried his cell so many times. He’s monitoring his calls and
I get voicemail almost immediately. I know he’s declining my number and it hurts more than I can bear.
I don’t want to email or text, so I don’t, because my pride is bruised, and I won’t beg. I don’t know what
to say, I only want to hear him and know he’s still there. I want to know what the hell is going on in that
head of his, to know why he’s being this way, and what happens when we go back to work together.
I’ve been swimming and reading to distract myself and eating with the others; I’m getting used to them
and although Marissa and I give each other a wide berth, I’m starting to warm to the rest of them.
Leila, as always, is a joy to be around, but I’m melancholy and would rather my own company. We went
shopping on the mainland yesterday and I loved what having a girly friend felt like again. I made sure I
abused Jake’s credit card shamelessly, somehow it felt a bit like payback, not that he would care. More
money than sense; he would not even blink at it.
She showed me how she does her beachy make-up and gave me some tips on how to wear my hair;
she’s the girly girlfriend I’ve never had before, and she’s a good distraction. Sarah was never much into
female things and shopping.
Daniel seems to have changed somewhat, in that he’s treating me respectfully now he’s back on board
and fully recovered. I don’t know where the shift happened, but I’m warming to him. We have had many
an enjoyable conversation about movies, books, and politics, which surprised me. He seems to have
heard from Jake, seems to be in the know, and gave me a knowing look over dinner last night when
Marissa continued to press about his absence.
Daniel is an odd one. The playboy, sleazy persona, all round party guy, seems to have slipped a little
after his near drowning. He’s been reserved, less laid back. I wonder if this is a Jake-less Daniel, or if
the near-death experience has maybe given him something to ponder. He seems somehow, sad.
Pensive.
I miss Jake in a way I’ve never really evaluated until now. Even when I’m not working and have time
off, he’s always on the other end of the cell, sending me frustrating texts and pointless jokes. Sending
me songs that make me laugh or have some vague meaning in the title or lyrics. His presence has
always been looming, until now.
I’m getting the cold shoulder. He’s freezing me out and it really hurts; I know he’s punishing me, but I
don’t understand why. I can’t stop thinking about him, my mind wandering over memories of him, his
face, his body, his mouth on mine. It’s only been days, but the inability to talk to him is making it seem
like weeks. I’m so done with crying in bed over him. He’s supposed to be my friend, yet he’s acting like
a prize “A” asshole.
Margo emailed me asking about my trip and I broke as I read it. She’s enjoying retirement, only not as
much as she thought she would, and she enquires about Jake; I think she misses him. I think she
misses being part of the sixty fifth, and her husband has a newfound love of golf, which she hates. She
asks a dozen questions about her golden boy, obviously suffering from lack of Carrero charm and I
honestly cannot tell her the truth.
I know how she feels.
I reply as breezily as I can, being vague and not mentioning that he’s left me here. Not mentioning that
we have ceased to communicate and send it on into the depths of the Interweb. I hover over Jake’s
personal email address in my contacts list and then close my laptop sharply.
No, I won’t lower myself to that.
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