CHAPTER126
What the hell did I just do?
His eyes are huge as he falls into the corner of the elevator from 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 and stumble clumsily down a few steps, hurting my ankle and sinking down onto the cold steps to let loose. I struggle for breath as my chest caves in. My head is a jumbled mess of confusion as adrenaline courses through me savagely; 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, and my body turns into a mass of shakes and shivers as the realization dawns on me, like hitting a brick wall. The tears increase, falling thick and fast, as I realize 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. It’s 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 shaking fingertips, tears coursing down my face, 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, then 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 hits 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 if I should even be calling him, but it was automatic, like breathing.
“Are you crying?” His 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?” It’s 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 continue, knowing 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. It’s 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 what floor.” I crumble again in pieces, completely useless. He has no idea how it feels to have him talking to me again, making my heart flourish, pushing a ton of weight away. He sounds like my Jake.
“Listen to me, cara mia,” 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 him to care. I don’t want mad, cold and cruel Jake. I want my Jake to come back, my real Jake. The one who looks after me."
