106
“What?” I blurt out, dazed, my voice detached from my reeling mind, my body frozen to the spot.
“I’ve made arrangements for you to go to our headquarters across town, Carrero Tower, to work on my father’s floor, Emma. It’s for the best.” He looks away and turns his chair to the office windows, gazing over New York as if to dismiss me. His body language is entirely unreadable, straight, and solid, physically closing me out.
I can’t formulate a response, gasping like I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. I try to speak, but only a sob is forced out. Without any warning, I crumble, falling forward into my hands; I lose control, crying softly, unable to stop anything anymore, just a shadow of the person I have played for so long.
Jake can’t do this to me, to us. He can’t break me this way. Not him! Not after everything. He’s sending me away, and it’s ripping me apart inside.
“Emma, don’t, please.” His voice cracks and washes over me closely as his arms come around me, pulling me from my chair. I can’t look up at him. I can only let him guide me and crush me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me so tightly that I can barely breathe. “Not now, Emma, not like this,” he croaks breathily. I don’t understand what he means; all I can do is sag against him and let everything flow out of me, all the anguish and heartache and pain of the last few days while basking in the feel of him.
I try and regain control of myself, my sobs finally turning to soft tears as I calm down. Unable to think of any words to fix this, I take deep breaths and try so hard to be calm again, ashamed of him seeing me so weak.
With immense effort, I finally accomplish a stable state. Still held tightly in his arms, surrounded by his strength and intoxicating scent, I’m taking solace from the cause of my pain, the man who’s a haven to me; but how can he be when he’s told me I’m to be sent away from here, that I’m done working for him? He’s not my haven anymore; he’s my destroyer and the cause of my desperate agony.
“I’m calm,” I finally mutter, numb and empty. Lifting my hand to wipe my face, my makeup smears across its back, but I don’t care. I want him to see how broken I am over this. I have nowhere to hide now.
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 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 get through my walls finally. I want to show him the constant inner chaos of my fucked-up mind… But I can’t.
Old Emma still controls 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 sets 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 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 which left me on the boat remains, ripping my heart to shreds. I shake my head, a new wave of tears building up inside 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 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 constantly being wide open, it’s now shut in my face and locked tight. I’m too late.
I wait a moment, hoping he’ll look at me, but he remains, 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, 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 arms.
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