CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dom’s phone rings. He looks to the screen and his eyes narrow, his face growing angry. Giving me a hug, he walks quickly to his car and drives off with spinning wheels and a screech. I shake my head. That’s just Dom. He’s wild. I hope he finds a girl one day who can settle him down, if not, she will need to match his wild ways.

I take a seat on the front steps of my brother’s house. It’s not long after Dom leaves that I sense him behind me. Watching me for a long moment, I pretend I don’t realize he’s there and then he speaks. “Let’s go.” Kanye stalks past me. I stand and walk after him. We climb into his truck and are silent the whole drive home.

When we arrive, I jump out and dash up the steps and unlock the front door. I want to jump into the shower and avoid the explosive conversation I can see growing inside Kanye.

I open the door, walk in and when my foot is on the first step, Kanye’s hand grips my elbow and turns me toward him.

His face is soft but it’s fixed with a determination.

“No matter what twisted game your mind is playing on you, always remember I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. You decide to let those negative feelings you have for yourself out, let me know. I’ll be here before and after you’ve told me what you really think of yourself.”

He doesn’t get it. “Kanye, look at us. Yet another argument, another time I’m standing here rejecting you. I’m a lost cause. I’m too far gone. I can’t overcome this. It’s too much, too hard. The more time you spend with me, the more you’re going to see how ugly I have become. You live your life through days, weeks, and years. Moments, moments are all I have. Getting from one to the next is exhausting. I want you to remember me as the strong and proud Emily, but you keep seeing me fall down. There is only so much you will take before you want to leave this nightmare behind. You’ll beg me to let you go.”

“Never,” he fires back straight away. “Whatever you think of yourself, I think the exact opposite. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You are my strong, proud, and beautiful Emily. No matter distance, time or personality changes we go through, you are mine and I am yours. I’m sick of fighting it. I’m sick of waiting to claim what has always been mine, what will always be mine.”

Rattled to the core, I’m once again shocked by his words. That’s what it will be then, left for him to find out on his own. And when he leaves, I will know it’s because he saw what has grown and festered for so long, my ugly, scarred soul.

Kanye takes in my resigned expression and cups my cheek.

“Baby, I love the woman inside here." He touches my chest over my heart. "I love her spirit, her sarcastic nature, her fucking beautiful positivity. And although you haven't shown those things, I know they are in there."

"Walk away, Kanye. Just leave me be and don't look back," I whisper; however, at the same time, I turn my face into his comforting hand. I’m begging him to leave, but my body is unable to let him go.

"I can't,” he says softly. "And I never will. I’m here through thick and thin. I’m here to save that beautiful, bruised soul of yours.”

I finally let my tears go and sobs soon follow. Kanye catches me as I fall to the stairs. He cradles me in his arms as I say over and over again, “You will leave. You will leave. You will leave. And then I won’t have a soul at all.”

Kanye rocks me and matches my repeated words, “I love you. I love you. I love you. I’ll save your soul.”

A small icicle breaks off from my heart. I try to catch it before it falls, but it shatters into a million pieces. That small part of my heart is exposed and the pain is excruciating. Slithers of emotions seep in through the gap. He loves me. He will understand. He will always love me. Until he sees me for who I really am. Doubt creeps in and washes over me repeatedly until my breath is stolen and I’m drowning in it. I can’t risk it. I’ve lost too much of myself already.

I push away from Kanye and quickly climb the stairs. I race into my room, rip my clothes from my body, and climb into the shower. I sink to the floor and cry into the water.

Echoes of my broken heart surround me in the small bathroom. I wonder if God is watching, he knows what he has done to me. What his decided fate has put me through. I beg him to give a reprieve, to give me hope.

***

Kanye

I watch as the love of my life runs from me yet again. But I won’t let her. I follow her up the stairs and watch as she strips her clothes, rushes into the shower and drops her body to the floor, crying into the water.

Her sobs echo around the room. My lungs constrict and I struggle to breathe at hearing my girl in so much pain.

Every day she fights me, I fail. This is my purpose on earth, to be with this woman, protect her, and create a life where she can be happy, but I’ve failed.

I sink to the floor, my back against the wall next to the shower and I place my hand on the glass where Emmy rests her body.

I sit, touching the glass that’s touching the love of my life and pray to God to give her strength and courage to keep fighting her demons. And to give me the strength to keep saving her.

I bow my head, while my palm stays flat to her back. I take in every cry. I take it on. I inhale her pain, hoping it gives her a lighter burden to carry around.

Her cries slow and almost stop. I want to think it’s because she can feel me here, but I don’t dare get my hopes up.

***

Emily

After being in the shower for a long time. I turn the water off and turn around expecting to see Kanye there. I swear I could feel him in the room with me. Maybe my prayers were answered and God zapped me with a last dose of strength to help me get through a moment I felt would never end. But what about the next moment.

I exit the shower and wrap a towel around my body. My mind screams at me to cut. No! I grab hold of the bench and push my palms down painfully hard. Let this be enough. Please, don’t go there again. I push down on the bench harder, a sharp cramp runs through my hands and up my arms. I let go of the bench and rub my palms together. I stare down at the draw I know holds the shavers. My fingers itch to open the draw and pick one up.

My reflection in the mirror catches my eyes. My pathetic, worthless self staring back at me.

“You worthless piece of shit. As if any other man would want you anyway. You’re used goods. Nobody wants dirty second hand trash.

I pull at my hair and hiss to the mirror. “Stop it! You aren’t here. You don’t control me anymore.”

Without one more single thought, I open the draw and pick out a shaver. I snap the plastic away. Cutting my thumb in the process, but I don’t feel the cut, I only see it. I pull the razor free and run my cut thumb over the blade, slicing my cut even deeper. I breathe out with relief. I control this cut. It’s mine and mine alone to create, to heal or to keep cutting deeper.

I take a step back and sit on the toilet lid. I pull the towel up and lean my foot on the shower glass window. I bend my knee to the side slightly and there they are, out in the open, all my cuts. Three long lines.

I point the blade side on ready to cut down the second line. I slice the end of the sore open, and as soon as I feel the skin part my pulse races and my mind clears, but it doesn’t last long. I watch as blood bubbles to the surface and shame rolls through me like a tidal wave. Usually, this is where I keep cutting to keep the feeling of my heart accelerating and my mind clearing. However, this time the shame is like thunder rumbling through my body. My hands tremble. My throat grows thick and I hear roaring in my ears from my pounding heart. Shame, I’m filled with it.

What am I doing? What have I done to myself? I’m letting the devil win. I’m helping him. At that moment, the bathroom door opens and I’m frozen. The door doesn’t even open fast, it opens painstakingly slowly, to the point I’m screaming in my mind to hide the blade, to hide the scars, but part of me, a stronger part than my mind wants to get caught, wants to be found out.

But I’m not ready for the hurt and fear that crosses his features. That look has my leg lowering and me cowering on the floor in between the toilet and the shower, hiding myself, hiding my secret. Praying he disappears, knowing he won’t, but still stupidly hoping.

Silence stretches on for what feels like forever. It's torture. I wish to hear the door slam shut as Kanye realizes how far gone and broken I truly am.

The slam never comes. Instead, his strong, warm arms pick me up and carry me to the bed where he sits me in his lap as he leans against the headboard and he cries into my neck.

His gruff voice vibrates through my body. “Hold me, Emmy. Hold me so I don’t destroy everything in this fucking room.”

With shaking hands, I drop the razor to the bed and wrap my arms around his body. Kanye’s silent tears fall on my naked shoulders.

Sitting in this position with Kanye, I realize yet again that I am the reason he’s hurting. Yet, the weight of it doesn’t fall hard on my shoulders like it did before. My mind instantly goes to Marco, Donovan and all those faceless men which have blurred into one. They are why Kanye is hurting. They created this woman I have become. I’m just not strong enough to fight the downward spiral I’m on. That’s a lie. You’ve fought the spiral for five years. Did I? I think I may have, barely, but I’ve come out weak, useless. I need to find my strength again. I need to dig deep.

I pull back from Kanye, a sudden urge to see Dr. Zeek comes over me. “I need to see my therapist,” I announce.

He lifts his face to mine and my heart dies as I take in his red-rimmed, glassy eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Please know I am trying.” I shake my head. “No, I am going to start trying, I realize what I’ve done to myself is wrong, and I’m going to try and stop,” I say softly.

I track a lone tear that falls from Kanye’s eye and a sob rips from my chest. I promise myself in that moment, he will never see me this weak again. Because I can’t bear to see him this tortured ever again.