CHAPTER156
The warmth of his breath on top of my scalp moves away; he’d been resting his face in my hair the whole time as I was breathing him in, painfully familiar.
“Emma, this … us … it’s toxic. We just fight and feel angry with each other all the time.” He sounds defeated while my head is screaming at me to say it, to open up and tell him … tell him that how I’ve behaved, how I’ve reacted and held back, is all in the past …tell him that I want him to see the real me. I want him to finally get through my walls. I want to show him the constant inner chaos of my fucked-up mind. But I can’t.
Old Emma still has control over my mouth, and she’s mortally wounded. Old Emma is recoiling in fear of rejection because he is already hurting me and pushing me away.
He pulls away from me, leaving me vulnerable, and sits me back down on the chair behind me. The look on his face stills every word I have brimming in my mind that I want to say, so cold, as though he’s shut a door and he’s trying to gain distance. I know that look. It’s my look. Nothing I say will make a difference now. His mind is made up.
“We don’t work anymore.” He turns and walks to the windows and stares out, his body tense as he places a palm against the glass, his focus fixated outside silently for what seems like an eternity. That powerful body outlined against the skyline tortures me.
“We can talk about this, Jake,” I finally manage, my voice broken and childlike. I want to get up and walk to him, throw myself back in his arms and beg.
Tell him, Emma. Tell him you love him.
“No. There’s nothing to say.” The iciness in his tone kills my voice completely, shutting down the words I long to let out, a scolding so harsh it silences them. “It’s done, Emma, it’s arranged. Clear out your things today. Take the rest of the day off, then report to the HQ offices first thing tomorrow. You’ll work for my father from now on.” His tone is cruel; my Jake is gone, and only the version who left me on the boat remains, ripping my heart to shreds. I shake my head, a new wave of tears building up inside of me. The panic, hysteria, and chest-crushing pain return tenfold.
“Jake …” I can barely talk through the crippling suffocation.
When will this ever end? It hurts so much.
I’m like a bottomless sea of tears that I can never empty. His shoulders sag and he moves closer to the window, stiffening, his breath forming a small steamed area in front of him.
“Don’t make this harder on both of us. Just go,” he utters so softly and so surely that my breath catches in my throat, stilling my tears as that numb barrier sweeps over me.
I really have lost him.
There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t. He’s closed the door on me. It’s ironic; after months of me refusing to open my heart and his always being wide open, it’s now shut in my face and locked tight. I’m too late.
I wait a moment in the hope he’ll look at me, but he remains where he is, pensively staring over New York, refusing to move. He wants me to go; it’s in every tiny tense cell of his body, I can practically taste it, and yet I’m frozen to the spot. My head is reeling and I’m desperate to say so much, but my mouth stays shut. I’ve lost everything that mattered to me. I lost Jake. He’s all that matters to me.
I stand slowly, limbs shaking, my self-preservation kicking in as I forcefully steady myself and turn deliberately. Concentrating so hard on not crumbling, I walk slowly, each step agonizing as I pray he stops me, but he doesn’t. When I finally open the door I pause, inhale heavily, and take a final turn to look at him once more. He hasn’t moved. His stiff posture is still the same, still emanating hostility.
“Will I see you again?” It’s an impulsive question, my voice filled with fear and longing.
“I don’t think so, Emma. What’s done is done. It’s better this way.” His tone is lifeless, empty. It rips the last shred of my soul out and lets it loose on the wind, leaving a space full of fire and hurt. I can’t bear to look at his strong, tall body anymore, held tautly against the New York skyline; this will be my last memory of him and it’s unbearable. I turn and pull the door closed behind me, walk through to my own office and shut the door which always stands open. Then, concealed from everyone, I sit at my desk and break down within the circle of my own arms.
I’m completely numb when I finally say goodbye to Rosalie. I’ve packed my personal things, and she’ll send anything else to my new office in Carrero Tower later today, the HQ across town. I’ll have no excuse to ever come this way again.
Jake stayed in his office the whole time I packed up, and no matter how many times I stared at that door willing him to come to me and beg me stay, he did not. My heart is broken into a million pieces and I’m amazed that it hasn’t killed me, that it still beats, that I’m still upright, yet I’ve nothing left to live for.
I manage to leave via the stairs. I don’t want people to see my scrubbed-clean, raw face and puffy eyes. My hair hides most of it as I walk from the building with my box file containing everything that is personal to me, everything that connected me to him, even his dumb novelty souvenirs from our many trips.
“Miss Anderson?” I’m startled out of my sorrowful reverie by Jefferson, Jake’s driver.
“Yes?” I ask quietly. I must look nothing like my normal self, but he smiles at me gently, a hint of sympathy in his wrinkled gray eyes. He’s been there so many times with me and Jake, yet I barely know the man, rarely acknowledged him, the elderly-looking man with a warm face and impeccable manners. This will be the last I will see of him too. So monumental.
“Mr. Carrero told me I was to wait for you and take you home, Miss.” He leans forward relieving me of my box. I haven’t got the energy to argue, so I allow myself to be ushered into the back of the SUV and driven home, back to Queens, back to the emptiness of my own room and my own bed. Back to a Jake-less life and an endless, empty future.
Sarah isn’t home when I open the door to the apartment. I don’t even care; I don’t want to see anyone. I dump my belongings on the kitchen counter and, as I move through to the living room, I set about taking off every piece of PA Emma that is on me, hating her, loathing her. Anger builds from some deep place and takes over as I turn to hysterical clawing to decloak my nemesis.
I hurl my shoes across the floor in rage then rip off my jacket and skirt, throwing them down dramatically and kicking them away. Panting and wild with exertion, I strip off, piece by piece, every clothing item, every jewelry item, even stockings and lingerie, and stand naked in my own living room bawling my heart out. I want to rid myself of every cold, controlled, ice maiden piece of me that contributed to me losing the only man I have ever wanted. I want to scream and rip my own hair out by the roots one strand at a time.
I reach for the quilt on the couch and wrap it around me, trying so hard to bring back the memory of being in his embrace. I feel like I’m dying, the pain is so acute, so overwhelming; all I can do is crumple onto the couch and let it overtake me.
I’m making up for a lifetime of bottled-up tears and emotions, a lifetime of pain and rejection, of heartache, abuse, and neglect. Jake cut through all of it and found a beating heart somewhere in the darkest depths of me. He kept trying to bring it to the light, and I fought him every step of the way."
