Chapter 64
Emily's POV
The emergency room wasn't the same one from that night senior year—different hospital, different neighborhood entirely—but something about it pulled me right back.
The fluorescent lights cast the same harsh greenish glow over everything. The plastic chairs were bolted to the floor in the same rigid rows. Underneath the sharp smell of antiseptic I could detect that same organic unpleasantness they never quite managed to cover up.
I remembered Ethan sitting in his truck outside my building that night, trying to convince me to let him take me in to get the cut. He'd been so scared it wouldn't stop bleeding. But he wouldn't force me. Would never force me.
He just kept his voice soft and reasonable and patient until I finally agreed.
He'd been so careful with me then. So respectful of every boundary even when respecting those boundaries clearly went against every protective instinct screaming at him to just grab me and drag me to safety whether I wanted it or not.
Sometimes I thought he was almost afraid of me. Afraid of pushing too hard and watching me shatter or disappear.
And now he was gone. Now I'd pushed until he had no choice but to walk away and I'd never hear that careful, patient voice again. Never have him ask me what I needed instead of telling me what he thought was best.
I followed Alex to the check-in desk.
A tired-looking nurse took his information with the kind of professional detachment that suggested she'd seen much worse tonight. She handed him a clipboard full of forms. Told him someone would be with him shortly.
In emergency room time that probably meant anywhere from twenty minutes to two hours. Depended on who else showed up bleeding or broken.
Alex filled out the paperwork quickly. His handwriting was still neat and precise despite the injury and the late hour and everything else.
I hovered nearby feeling useless. My arms were wrapped around my torso because I couldn't seem to stop shaking. I didn't know what else to do with my hands.
When he handed the clipboard back to the nurse she glanced at me. "Are you family?"
"She's with me," Alex said before I could answer, which wasn't actually a response to the question but apparently satisfied her enough that she didn't push it.
"Someone will call you back shortly," she repeated, and turned her attention to the next person in line.
Alex moved toward the waiting area and I followed because what else was I going to do? He took a seat near the back. Away from the clusters of other people waiting for their turn at medical attention.
I sank into the chair beside him. The plastic was cold through my jeans. Uncomfortable in that specific way that made you constantly want to shift position but never actually find anywhere that felt better.
"You don't have to stay." Alex's voice was quiet. "I'll be fine. You should go home and get some sleep."
"I'm staying." The words came out more forceful than I intended. "At least until they take you back. Make sure you're okay."
He looked like he wanted to argue but something in my expression must have convinced him it wasn't worth the effort. He just nodded and settled back in his chair.
We sat there in the artificial brightness of the waiting room. Surrounded by the ambient sounds of suffering and bureaucracy. Crying children. Hushed conversations. The occasional loudspeaker announcement calling for doctors or nurses whose names I didn't recognize.
I tried not to think about Ethan.
Tried not to replay the moment he said we're done in that cold, final voice. Like all the words had been building up inside him for so long that when they finally came out there was no emotion left. Just exhausted resignation.
Tried not to see the way he looked at me like I was a stranger. Like he couldn't believe he'd wasted so much time and energy on someone who turned out to be exactly as selfish and cold as I'd always feared I was.
But the more I tried not to think about it, the more the memories forced their way to the surface.
His face when he accused me of cheating.
The hurt behind his anger when he pointed out how I'd been pulling away for weeks.
The desperate hope in his voice when he asked are you breaking up with me? Like he was still holding out for some universe where I'd deny it and we'd find a way to fix everything.
And I hadn't denied it. Hadn't even tried to argue or fight for us. Just stood there making excuses and deflecting until he finally did what I'd been too cowardly to do myself and ended it.
You wouldn't. Because that would make you the bad guy, right?
He was right about that too. About all of it.
I'd been letting the relationship die by inches. As long as I didn't actually break up with him I could tell myself I wasn't the villain in this story. Could maintain the fiction that I was a good person who'd just gotten caught up in circumstances beyond my control.
Not someone who'd deliberately chosen ambition over love. Over and over. Until the choice became irreversible.
My chest hurt.
It was a sharp, persistent ache right behind my sternum that got worse every time I breathed. Like someone reached inside and carved out some essential piece I didn't know I needed until it was gone.
I pressed my hand against it reflexively. Trying to apply physical pressure to an emotional wound. My eyes were burning with tears I was too stubborn to let fall.
Was this what heartbreak felt like?
This hollow, scraped-out sensation like I'd been gutted and left empty? This constant loop of replaying every moment looking for the place where I could have done something different? Even though I knew it wouldn't have mattered because the problem wasn't one specific mistake but rather a thousand small betrayals that accumulated into something irreparable?
I thought about my mother.
About the way she stayed with my father for ten years despite the violence and the fear and the slow erosion of everything she used to be. I always told myself I'd never understand that choice. Never forgive her for prioritizing her marriage over my safety. Never let myself become the kind of person who'd accept being treated like she didn't matter.
But maybe she stayed because leaving hurt too much.
Because even a terrible relationship felt less frightening than the yawning void of being alone. Because at least when you were with someone—even someone who hurt you—you had a purpose. A role to play. A reason to get up in the morning beyond just surviving.
Except that wasn't fair to Ethan.
Drawing that parallel. Comparing him to my father even for a second.