Over the Edge

Ch.38-Always

~Rhys~

I had never wanted another human being dead more than I wanted to see Mike Packer's body in the ground.

After taking Emma to my little safe haven in the woods, she proceeded to curl up on the couch and fall into a state of catatonia; she said nothing, did nothing, reacted to nothing. 

Nothing I did helped. I offered her food, begged her to speak, but she seemed to have collapsed within herself. 

One full hour, she remained just like that. 

And then another.

And another.

I painted, to release inner anguish and burn the time, and try to be patient, but it was becoming impossible. Eventually I travelled back into the main room, equal parts relieved and alarmed to see her off the couch and crouched on the floor, fingers near ripping her hair out.

"Emma . . ."

She was crying. Sobbing, actually, and the sound tore at my insides. "Leave me alone."

"No."

“Don’t come near me!” she screeched, shooting to her feet and darting around the couch, having that as her obstacle between us. Her eyes were wild and scared. Of what, I didn’t know. Me, herself . . . The world.

It sent such an abrupt and fierce protective urge racing through me I nearly tipped over from it. You can save her, that voice stated. Nothing else ever has to hurt her.

And nothing else ever would.

I launched myself over the couch. She stumbled away, gasping when she hit the wall behind her. Nowhere to go. Stuck. Trapped.

"He'll be back," she whispered frantically. "He always comes back, and he always finds me."

"He won't find you."

"Yes he will!" her hands gripped the sleeves of my shirt desperately, needing me to understand. "He'll find me, Rhys! He'll . . . He'll . . ."

"Hey," I snapped, grabbed both sides of her face. Panic flared in her eyes, and I knew then what had happened. I knew what she had been going through for the past three hours.

She remembered.

I just didn't know how much.

"Don't touch me," she said, slinking down the wall. "I can't . . . I can't trust you. I can't trust any of you. He'll probably be back and I need to get away from here . . ."

"Emmalyn, for the love of God, would you just listen to me?" I shouted, way louder than I inteded. She flinched, and I hated the fear in her eyes. 

"Mike Packer is in jail," I told her. "He's going to be tried for rape and attempted murder. He won't touch you. I will not let him near you, understand?"

She just stared, uncomprehending, eyebrows dipped.

"He's in jail," I repeated. "And he cannot get to you."

"No," she whispered finally. "No, no, no. He . . . He was there, I . . . I saw him. Nobody came to save me. Nobody. And he escaped, and . . . I need to get out of here!" Before I could grab her arm she darted into the bedroom. I followed after her, watched as she searched for something I didn't know. Maybe she didn't even know what it was, either.

"Emma."

She mumbled to herself.

"Emma."