Final Room

06 | emerald haywood

CHAPTER SIX | EMERALD HAYWOOD

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          "Are you sure Xavier is okay with not having you on a leash?"

          I don't want to tell Betty that's not really an okay question to be asking someone, especially a person you've only just met, but I'm too big of a coward to ever voice my opinion, so I don't.

          I shrug. "I think he's just happy to get me out of the house for once. Going out just to take Sidney for a walk doesn't quite suffice. My mom probably expects things to go back to normal just because this is a new place, no strings, no memories attached, but that's my whole life back there in Chicago, you know? I can't just pretend like that doesn't exist. I can't pretend nothing happened. Not like . . ."

          I leave the remainder of that sentence lingering in the air, suddenly aware I'm running my mouth to a stranger I met yesterday. I don't know the extent of her knowledge regarding Xavier or his move to Alaska, but she knows about me, possibly past The Incident, so there's a high chance she knows at least something. I don't want to pry and force that information out of her, but I'm not sure how I feel knowing someone in the world might know my own brother better than I do.

          Betty sighs, lacing her arm through mine, and my heartbeat instantly skyrockets, though I can't understand why. She's a lot shorter than I am, even while I'm wearing sneakers. "I understand. You had to leave everything behind to come here. It can't be easy to let go."

          I stiffly nod. Everything I've ever had to let go of was ripped right of my hands—Emma, Zach, Cecelia, my life—and this is the one decision I've made for myself. Though I didn't come up with it myself, I was still given a choice regarding what I wanted to do, and I chose to join Xavier in exile. It's not a great exile if we're together and part of me insists he'd much rather not have me here at all, but I can't be the only thing disturbing his peace.

          He has a surrogate annoying little sister that isn't me, after all, and I'm like an alien force threatening to destroy his new life.

          Betty is taking me for a walk around the block, the only thing I'm currently comfortable with. I tell her about my acceptance email and how I've already asked Chicago to email them my transcript before time flies by and I miss out on the new student experience for the second time in my life, and she's surprisingly understanding. After her comment from yesterday, the one that tipped me off about her knowing more about me than she probably should, I expected my bitter jealousy to overcome any other emotion I could feel around her, but she has proven me wrong.

          I don't dabble in the true crime craze. Cecelia liked it, but I was never into the videos and podcasts she spent so much time trying to convince me were good and interesting. I've never understood the point in exploiting the pain of the victims and their families—who are rarely ever contacted for episodes—for profit. I've been told this kind of entertainment sometimes even helps solve previously cold cases and brings awareness to things that were being swept under the rug, but I'm on the other side now.

          I've had something terrible happen to me. I've also done terrible things—ran away when I could have dragged someone to safety, smacked my old friend with a baseball bat just hard enough to leave him disoriented—but I don't want to be used as material for entertainment without my permission. The case is solved, but I don't want to see or hear anyone else sensationalize or blame my friends or praise Him for what He did. Unfortunately for those people, I read what they say online. Once it's out there, it's there forever.