Love Jason

Chapter 8

Emily's POV

2 months later...

Two months had raced by since I first took the stage at Chris’s bar, each night a whirlwind of music, laughter, and unspoken desires. Despite my initial reservations, I found myself inexorably drawn into the pulsating heartbeat of the bar, where every note I sang felt like a piece of my soul laid bare.

Chris and I had grown inseparable, our friendship blossoming amidst the dimly lit confines of the bar. Yet, beneath the camaraderie, an unspoken tension lingered—a tension I dared not acknowledge, for fear of shattering the fragile facade of our friendship.

“You mean, for only you,” the voices in my head sneered, their taunts a cruel reminder of the turmoil I sought to bury.

“Whatever, I am going to keep my fragile heart safe. And besides, he’s my boss. I’ve sworn off workplace romances since Ethan,” I muttered to myself, the memory of past heartbreaks a bitter echo in the recesses of my mind.

“I got you something,” Chris’s voice pierced through the cacophony of my thoughts, his words a jarring interruption to my inner turmoil.

I glanced down at the small velvet box he placed before me, a surge of anticipation coursing through my veins.

“Don’t tell me you’re proposing,” I teased, my attempt at levity masking the fluttering of nerves in my stomach.

“Would you be serious for once? It’s a gift,” he replied, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“A gift? Chris, you really shouldn’t have,” I murmured, my heart swelling with gratitude as he unveiled the delicate gold necklace nestled within.

“But I wanted to. I wanted to mark these two months with something special,” he confessed, his gaze raw with vulnerability.

“Thank you, I will not take it off,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion as he fastened the necklace around my neck.

“That’s my wish,” he smiled, a tremor of uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

“Emily, there’s something I need to ask you,” Chris began, his words heavy with unspoken longing.

“Chris, can it wait? I have to go perform,” I interjected, a surge of panic threatening to engulf me.

“Of course, it can wait,” he acquiesced, his disappointment veiled behind a forced smile.

“Great, thank you for the necklace,” I said hurriedly, eager to escape the weight of his unspoken question.

As I launched into my performance, the familiar melodies enveloped me like a comforting embrace, temporarily shielding me from the tumult of emotions swirling within.

But as the final notes faded into the air, reality crashed back with a vengeance, pulling me back into the suffocating grip of uncertainty.

“Did you enjoy my performance?” I asked Chris, my voice strained with a desperate longing for distraction.

“Of course, you know I always do,” he replied, his gaze lingering on mine with a silent plea.

“Thank you,” I murmured, seeking solace in the cool embrace of my drink.

“Emily, about what I wanted to ask you,” Chris persisted, his words a raw confession of his desires.

“Chris, I have to go. I promised Layla I wouldn’t be late,” I interrupted, my voice betraying a hint of desperation.

“But—” he protested, his expression clouded with disappointment.

“I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I declared, fleeing from the uncertainty threatening to consume me.

As I stumbled through the deserted streets, the darkness pressed in around me, a tangible manifestation of the chaos churning within.

“This is a bad idea. Remember what Chris said; the city isn’t safe at this hour,” the voice in my head admonished, its warnings drowned out by the pounding of my heart.

Bracing through the dim-lit corners, hoping to get home soon, I suddenly heard it – gunshots. And they sounded so close by.

I shivered in fear as chills ran down my body, and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run, but a distant cry of a man shattered the stillness, drawing me inexorably closer.

With each faltering step, the urgency of the moment eclipsed my apprehension, propelling me toward the source of the desperate cries.

The voice brought me to an injured man, who was shot and was quickly losing blood.

I froze for a second, not knowing what to do. But you cannot blame me; I have never been in this kind of situation before.

I quickly snapped out of it as I rushed to the man.

I knelt beside the wounded stranger, igniting a fierce determination to offer whatever solace I could.

“Pressure. I have to apply pressure,” I whispered, my hands trembling as I pressed them against his bleeding wound.

In the hushed stillness of the night, his words pierced through the darkness, a poignant reminder of the fragile thread that binds us all.

“Amara... Mara, my love, is that you?” he murmured, his voice a plaintive cry in the darkness.

“Amara?” I whispered, my heart wrenching with an unspoken ache.

I quickly called the ambulance, and I stayed with him trying to keep him alive.

So with each passing moment, the gulf between us widened, a stark reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead.

But as the wail of sirens pierced the silence, I knew that, in that fleeting moment, our fates had intertwined, forging a bond that transcended the boundaries of time and circumstance.

As we arrived at the hospital, chaos enveloped us, the urgency palpable in the air. Without hesitation, medical personnel whisked the injured man away, his life hanging in the balance.

"Is he your husband? Because it is only relatives that are allowed through," the nurse's words cut through the frenzy, her gaze probing, demanding an answer I wasn't prepared to give.

"He is my husband," I blurted out, the lie slipping from my lips before I could stop it, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

"Okay, come with me then," the nurse instructed, her tone brisk as she led me into the labyrinthine corridors of the hospital.

"The doctor will let you know when the operation is done," she stated matter-of-factly, her words echoing in my ears like a grim prophecy.

"Husband!" the word reverberated in my mind, a harsh reminder of the deceit I had woven, the tangled web of lies threatening to suffocate me.

"What is wrong with you, Emily? You know nothing about this man," I berated myself, my fingers trembling with a potent cocktail of guilt and fear, as I prayed fervently for the stranger's survival.