Too Far

15: Her

Sleep didn't come easily. It hadn't for the past four years, but it really didn't that night. My heart was beating erratically even though I'd been laying down in the dark for two hours. Every small sound had me on edge, even if it was just the bed next door creaking when Emmett shifted. Every bit of me was terrified that Robbie would choose to appear in the night.

Why shouldn't he? One would have to be an idiot to show up during lunchtime to take someone away while she was with two other people. Now would be the prime moment for Robbie storm in—quietly, of course—and kill me or, worse, take me back to Alabama and force me to continue working for him.

Or, even worse, killed Emmett and Katherine and then did the latter just to be on the safe side.

Not that I was all that fond of Katherine. Before, I was keeping both of them safe on the down-low because she was nice to Emmett and he seemed to like her. Now, though? When I had a chance at having an actual life with the boy I loved, even if it was after years of prison? Katherine ought to have stayed in Alabama, only we needed her to help with the plan.

And, of course, because she came up with said plan.

I knew it was just jealousy. I didn't even know I was capable of the emotion until Emmett came into my life; before, I didn't have anyone to be jealous of. Now that he was here, and still the hottest boy within fifty miles, though, I found that the girls who looked at him managed to upset me.

There was something about hope. It woke a whole turmoil of emotions inside me that had been dead before. When I thought I would actually die before I had a chance at a life—and a life with Emmett, nonetheless—those thoughts of love and happiness successfully died and I was happily living emptily while a dangerous criminal told me what to do and when and how to do it.

Pressing my lips into a thin line, I rose from the bed and raked a hand through my short hair. Just to be safe, I pulled on a pair of shorts underneath so I could stuff a gun in. Emmett and Katherine had stolen the small pistol in my purse from me, but I still kept a few in other places.

Sliding the door open, I looked around outside the bedroom and saw no one there. Emmett had put me in the highest, furthest room from the front door just to appease my anxiety. It didn't help, but it was a nice gesture. I didn't deserve him, but I wasn't going to let him slip away from me again. I was older and smarter, and I would spend years in jail before I ran away from him.

I began walking silently through the halls, something I'd done in various foster homes when I couldn't sleep. All save for two, which were my worst foster home experiences. If I'd let myself be plagued with thoughts of Mr. Bole before I "died," I would have shivered at the thoughts. After I'd relentlessly been beaten for doing something wrong in Robbie's eyes on numerous occasions, though, I couldn't even manage to blink at the thought. Bole had been child's play.

Real life was worse.

I let my fingers brush the walls. They felt like any normal walls would, but my mind knew they weren't any walls. This was Emmett's house, and I was here with Emmett. I had some illusion of safety at the moment, but it was all I needed to feel a shred of happiness. When I took a deep breath, all I could think was that my lungs were being filled with Virginia air, sweet and straight from the confines of this town I'd called home for about a year.

"If you're thinking of running away, I could find you in a heartbeat now that I know you," a voice said from behind me. I frowned, turning around to see Katherine. "I wouldn't let you do that to Emmett."

"I wouldn't do that to Emmett," I said quietly, feeling guilty that this girl who barely knew me knew that I had run so easily.

"You have on more than one occasion," Katherine said, crossing her arms. Her long hair swayed with the movement, her brown eyes watching me, calculating the possibility of me running, or of me getting killed or of our plan working. She wasn't easy to read.

But I was a good reader.

"I'm done running," I whispered. "I'm done trying get away from my problems. It's time I face them for once."

"Or you figured out you'll be safer in jail than you would anywhere else," she said, smirking.

I stared at her for a moment, then let out a small chuckle in spite of myself. "I suppose it would be a bonus."

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, like she was surprised I'd even chuckle. I was, too; I'd learned at least two years ago that there was no point in laughing. When you were done laughing, you still felt just as crappy as you did before.

"You know, I think about this whole..." She shrugged helplessly. "'Situation' a lot, yet I can't help but wonder how you got to this point."

I leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. "I can't, either." I didn't know why I continued to try to live. I was sure most people would have given up on life at this point. "I think I would have been a lot more at peace with my own murder at Walsh's hands had I not met Emmett or Selena."

"With what I know about you, I find that hard to believe."

"You know less than you think," I said in amusement. People sometimes wrongly assumed they knew a lot about me just because what they knew seemed to be a lot. Sadly, though, they were getting a small slice of the world's biggest pizza.

"I know enough." Her eyes glittered dangerously, a silent threat telling me she knew enough to get me in a lot of trouble. I almost shrugged and laughed; I was already in a lot of trouble. "I don't think two meager people could make you be okay with dying."

"They're far from meager," I murmured, smiling at the thought of the two humans I'd come to love. "I realized that, if I died, I would have died without actually knowing what it was like to have a life with a real family."

"And what? You knew when you were no older than eighteen that you would grow old with Emmett?" She snorted. "Please, when I was eighteen, I—"

"You were in a trafficking ring, not knowing what love was because the only men you were around were monsters," I said brutally, straightening. She obviously didn't expect this, as she sucked in a large breath of surprise and her face contorted with anger. Yet she didn't lift a finger to hit me or anything; she stayed perfectly, stonily tense. "I know about you, Katherine. Your life has been just as hard as mine, and I respect that you still manage to have one that is more normal than I could ever dream of."

"Normal is an understatement," she said, inclining her head. "I strive for the most boring, ordinary life a college student could have. So normal and boring, in fact, that most people think I grew up in Tennessee with two loving parents and a cat named Whiskers."

"Such a generic name," I purred, unable to hide my amusement. "If you were going to make up a story, why not name him something crazy?"

"Like what?" She laughed slightly. "There aren't a lot of crazy names for cats."

"Why make up a story?" I asked, my small smile disappearing.

She shrugged. "I found that, even though there are benefits to people knowing how you've suffered, nothing can outweigh the amazing idea of everyone treating you like you're a normal girl rather than some damaged girl who has been through what I went through."

I leaned back. "Then you went about it the smart way." She frowned, tilting her head in confusion. "No matter what story you put up, nothing can be normal about coming back from the dead."