“What do you really want? Be honest … I might actually give it to you if you are.” I test him. He has the
grace to look uncomfortable at least, and shiftily looks away. I can smell booze at this distance and it’s
the first time I notice the yellow stained whites in his eyes. Maybe he’s a drunk. Maybe it’s drugs. I don’t
care!
“I could do with a little help out … Get back on my feet, you know?” he answers sheepishly, barely able
to look at me.
“You mean money?” I grit my teeth so hard it hurts my jaw. His face flushes and he nods.
“What is my middle name?” I snap suddenly. My frayed emotions kicking in and teen Emma sliding out
impulsively.
“Ummm.” He moves back, blinking hard.
“What is my birth date?” I yell, this time loudly, voice shaking. He gulps and tries to look anywhere
except me.
“Do you even know what age I am?” I scream in his face, fully erupting as his inability to answer
consumes me and my composure dissolves. He looks like he’s going to run. I throw my hands up in
exasperation and turn away before I truly explode.
“How much money do you need to get the fuck away from me?” I am so beyond mad I can barely think
straight, heart pounding through my chest and head aching badly. I just want to curl up and cry right
now. Body in full trembles.
“If it’s like that, then as much as you can spare.” He whispers, there’s a hint of success in his tone that
hits like a final spear in my chest. Splicing agony.
I’m floored. I can’t even formulate a response; It rises up inside of me like a volcano about to blow out
spectacularly. All-consuming, pushing down any rational thought, after the week I’ve had, the month
I’ve had. The heartbreak I have sobbed through. The lack of self-worth because of men like this
shithead right here.
I spin and impulsively slap him hard across the face, with the force of all my pent-up emotions of the
last week and all the shit Jake has put me through. The strength of the impact stings my hand and I
recoil, gasping in shock as it reverberates like a throbbing pulse through my wrist, shaking me back to
sense.
What the hell did I just do?
His eyes are huge, and he falls into the corner of the elevator with the sheer force of my smack. I’ve
never actually lashed out and hit anyone just like that, with unprovoked violence. I can’t talk. I’m in as
much shock as he is at what I just did. I just shake my head, words catching in my throat as I stifle a
sob and run for an escape. The doors are still open, and I blindly move with speed, immersed in a
surge of hysteria.
I head for the stairs, kicking off my shoes erratically and hurtle past a couple of shocked suited women,
in passing. I hit the stairwell in its gloomy darkness, tumble clumsily down a few steps, hurting my ankle
and sink down onto the cold metal to let loose. My chest caving in, and I’m struggling for breath. My
head is a jumbled mess of confusion, adrenaline coursing through me savagely and I wail with pain as
the tears begin to cascade.
I clutch at my head yanking my hair as though to calm the chaos.
I just assaulted a man in the elevator of my high-profile workplace!
I’m pretty sure security have cameras in there and I’ve probably just broken about ten laws. I can’t get
up. I can’t make my legs work. My breathing is labored as the sheer panic at what I have done sets in
and my body is unresponsive to my commands.
Why did he have to come here? Why did he have to ask me for money? Why couldn’t he just leave me
alone?
My mind spirals out of control, my body turning into a mass of shakes and shivers, the realization
dawning on me like hitting a brick wall. The tears increase to fall thick and fast, realization I have
literally, single-handedly destroyed my career, over someone who was always supposed to love me.
Why did he have to do that? Could he not pretend, even for one minute, that I was worth more than
money? Genuinely want to know me?
As much as I hate him, it still crushes me to know that the only value I have, to my own biological
father, is in how much cash I can give him. I break down fully, howling, and falling to pieces. I can’t
breathe, this pain is too much and now to top it off, I’ll be fired for sure. The only worthwhile thing in my
life, and I go and do something that is sure to get me dismissed.
Blinded by tears, all logic gone, I pull my cell out of my jacket, without thinking, I dial Jake’s number
with vibrating fingertips; tears coursing down my face and my nose running wildly. I can’t think straight,
I just need to feel grounded again, to feel safe. I need to hear his voice. I need my Jake to do what he
always does and bring me back from the brink of hysteria.
It rings twice, and he answers … even seeing it’s me.
“Hello.”
Oh my god—he answered.
I cradle the cell tighter to my face, stifling my sobs to try and talk. The wave of relief hitting me hard like
a punch in my gut and I am momentarily stunned that he actually picked up.
“Emma?” he seems concerned before I even speak, he must be able to hear my heavy breathing and
pathetic sobs and sniffs. I’m hardly quiet.
“Jake I … I.” I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t get the words out. I don’t want him to be mad at me
anymore, I need my friend, I need my Jake. I’m so desperate for it that it physically hurts. I have no
idea what to say, or that I should even be calling him, but it was automatic, like breathing.
“Are you crying?” that shocked tone is a welcome relief.
“Please don’t fire me.” I sob, it’s the only rational thing which forms in my head. I’m wiping my face with
my sleeve, but it’s pointless as the tears are falling fast and endlessly.
There goes my make-up.
“I’m not going to fire you … Emma. Is that why you’re crying? Is that what you think? Where are you?
What’s wrong?” He has my Jake’s normal voice, his tone concerned; a little more than concerned. He
sounds worried. It makes me break more so; I miss him so much, it’s killing me.
“I hit him …” I whisper painfully, ignoring his questions. I’m ashamed of my own admission but I can tell
Jake the truth. “In the elevator.” I know I’m barely coherent. I need to calm down, take some deep
breaths, bring the hysteria to a more manageable level.
“Hit who? Emma has someone hurt you?” his voice is panicked, he sounds odd, angry; but not at me.
The same anger he had before he beat Ray to a pulp. I wonder if he thinks Ray’s come back and it
softens the pain. Knowing he cares.
“Yes … No … Yes.” I’m so confused. He hurt me, just not physically. But it hurts so much.
“Emma?” his voice becomes strained, he’s trying to keep his emotions in check, he’s trying to get me to
talk sense and pick out the details he wants. “Where are you exactly?”
“I’m in the stairwell of Carrero H..H..House,” I stutter and sniff loudly, gasping in much needed air. “I
don’t know.” I crumble again, in pieces and completely useless. He has no idea how it feels to have him
talking to me again. The way my heart has flourished, pushing a ton of weight away. He sounds like my
Jake.
“Listen to me, Miele,” he soothes gently. “Look around, there should be a sign with the floor number, at
every entrance.” He’s tense, and I’m glad … I want him concerned. I want his care. I don’t want mad,
cold and cruel. I want my Jake to come back, my real Jake. The one who looks after me.
Just his voice is calming me down and the tears have stopped spilling so vehemently. I take a deep
breath to steady myself, patting my face on my sleeve, not caring about the mess that it leaves. I look
above me, up the small flight of stairs I’m sitting on and locate the white sign high on the wall over the
exit.
“Floor thirteen,” I sniff and swallow back the tears that are lingering, gaining some control, and wiping
moisture from my chin with the back of my hand.
“I’m going to send security to get you, stay on the line Emma, I’ll be one-second. I promise. I won’t
leave you,” he pleads gently, and the irony is not lost on me.
I cradle the cell to my ear as though my life depends on it, the only contact I have with him, and the
version of him that I have been pining for. My line goes quiet; I’m calmer, but I can’t stop the fresh tears
pouring down my face silently. This time they’re tears of relief, because he’s come back to me. Jake is
being Jake.
“Emma?” He finally returns, and I let my breath out, unaware I have been holding it in the tense
gap.
62fb1bb41dcb31934bd49bda