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Why do we climb
to fall so far?
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Come back to me.
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Emilia knew something was up the minute she entered through the front door.
Her home had never been a loud place, but this was a different kind of quiet, as if the entire house was holding its breath.
Dusk had fallen. The clouds were stained a greyish-blue, slashed through with lines of hazy pink. Fog shrouded the trees and draped itself over houses like a great snake, burying its prey within its coils until only the tips poked through.
Perhaps it was the suspenseful quiet, or the dreary weather, but she moved silently, inexplicably afraid of breaking this eerie stillness. Her steps made no sound on the marble, as if the fog outside had drifted in and padded her feet. Upon scouting out the kitchen and living room to find it empty, she was about to dismiss the odd ambience when a sharp whisper caught her attention.
She followed the sound to the mahogany door of her father's study. The number of times she had been here could be counted on one hand. Lowering herself into a crouch, she pressed her ear to the door.
"None of us...happy...can't keep doing this..." It was her father's voice.
"But Emilia...not now...wait...graduate..." Her mother's tone was stern, but threaded with worry.
"...then later...ask the lawyer...divorce papers.."
Emilia froze, her skin blanching ghostly white. She never remembered a time when her parents had gotten along, but a divorce? Clutching the smooth wall, she made for the front door.
She fled the house, tumbled out of their secluded neighbourhood and stumbled onto the street. The word divorce rang in her ears like the clang of a gong. Her throat tightened with tears but she choked them down. I won't cry in front of strangers. She ran blindly in one direction, not knowing where she was going, only that she needed to move, and keep moving.
Will. His name struck her like a lifeline. Yes, she needed to find Will.
Her mind scrabbled for the party address. 66, no, 68 Sycamore Way. That was roughly a fifteen minute walk from her house. Emilia raised her head, panic swelling with the realisation that she had extended that estimate by five minutes.
Swivelling around on her heel, she turned and began walking in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes away from safety, twenty minutes and then she could break down. That knowledge burrowed deep into her skin, worming inside her heart. Her breathing came faster and faster. Twenty minutes. Her gait quickened. Steps became strides, strides became jogging, until she was full-on sprinting down the streets. She tucked her head into the wool of her scarf, hiding her face from view. Emilia barged past pedestrians, knocking into a rotund middle-edged man who yelled angrily about crazy teenagers. She welcomed the burn of cold air as it whipped past her skin and stole the tears from her eyes.
The houses on the side of the street passed in a blur. Gradually, the dull thump of steady bass overpowered the roaring in her ears. She skidded to a halt in front of a two-floor building, complete with a high-sloping roof and beige exterior. Rainbow lights flashed through the windows, red, plastic cups and entwined couples littering the front lawn. Evidently, the temperature wasn't a deterrent to their sexual urges.
As soon as Emilia pulled the front door open, she understood why those couples preferred the chilly outdoors. The house reeked of sweat and beer. She recoiled instinctually, stepping gingerly over the threshold. The room was packed with more bodies than pebbles on a beach, a writhing, impenetrable mass. Grabbing onto a vaguely familiar face, she asked, "Have you seen Will? William Farley-Chan?"
The girl was ruddy-faced, blinking blearily at the stranger speaking to her.
"Never mind," Emilia muttered. She doubted that girl could recognise her own mother if she stood right in front of her. Diving into the crowd, she repeated that question, to a variety of responses. Some offered her a drink, some straight-up ignored her, and there was one boy who now knew her fist quite intimately. After what felt like an eternity of questioning, one teenager pointed her to the kitchen, where the ruckus was loudest.
The house's cramped interior did nothing for the tightness clawing at her throat. She had never hated her 5'4" height more. As her desperation rose, so did the force of her shoves. "Watch it!" An elbow jutted out of the seething swarm of people, sending her careening sideways into yet another body. Emilia whispered a series of apologies under her breath, knowing whoever pushed her was long gone. She felt like a rat in a maze, except the walls were constantly shifting and every path appeared a dead end. Come on, come on!
Right when she thought she might suffocate on the stench of body odour, she squeezed past the final barrier of flesh and hoisted herself onto a granite countertop. Panting lightly, she luxuriated in the glorious feeling of empty space. Then she saw what all the fuss was about.
Of all the stupid games he was playing, it had to be beer pong. She couldn't fathom why throwing ping pong balls into cups like six-year olds was considered 'fun'. Most of the time, games just devolved into participants throwing ping pong balls at each other.
Will was next in line to play. Emilia felt the invisible noose around her neck loosen, and she hopped down to his side.
"Will." She tugged on his sleeve. "I need to tell you something."
"Hey Em." For a second, she thought she detected an undercurrent of irritation in his tone.
"Come on," she urged. Being back on the floor sent a wave of revulsion rolling over her.
It was as if he didn't hear her. "You're late." He scowled.
She pursed her lips to keep tears at bay. "You're drunk," she fired back.
"So what? It's a party."
She couldn't read his expression in the dim lighting.
"It's really-" Her voice caught. "Important."
"Farley, you're up!" Thomas hollered from the other side of the table.
