Just Like Her

Chapter 55

*TRIGGER WARNING* This chapter discusses emotional abuse. If you suspect yourself or someone you know to be in an unsafe or unhealthy relationship, please call your local hotline. No judgment, just support.

Tom

Emma nudged the by now tepid ravioli with her fork. I had nearly cleared my plate as I shared with her anecdotes from my day, followed by a long-winded retelling of one of Charlie's and my more ludicrous shenanigans in an attempt to elicit a smile. Getting no reaction at all from her, I began to tell her of the foundation's latest program aiming to burn every book in Britain and force the masses to use e-readers.

Still... nothing.

Not even an eye roll at my blatant attempt to needle her.

"Ems?" I asked softly as I reached across the dinner table to cover her hand with mine.

She startled at my touch, jumping slightly in her seat. "Hm?"

I stroked the back of her hand with my thumb. "Where are you tonight, love?"

"Here," she sighed and then shook her head. "Sorry."

"You've seemed... off all evening."

"Sorry," she repeated with a tight smile as she set down her fork and reached for her wine glass.

I frowned. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I..." She took a sip and shrugged. "I don't know, sorry-shit!"

I frowned as Emma pulled her hand out from under mine. "Did something happen with Cynthia today? Did she say something to upset you?"

Emma shook her head adamantly. "No, of course not."

"You could tell me if she did," I encouraged her, scooting forward in my seat.

"She didn't-"

"I would want you to tell me-" I insisted.

"She didn't say anything! She just..." Emma's words trailed off as her gaze met mine. I could tell my eyes revealed my concern by how her voice softened then. "She just asked me about my ex is all."

"Ah," I said as I fell back into my seat and then reached for my own drink. "We haven't exactly had the talk, have we?"

"No," Emma mumbled. "We haven't."

I watched as she took a large swig of her wine, nearly draining her glass. "Should we?"

Emma gnawed on her lower lip before finishing the contents of her glass and setting it carefully on the table in front of her. "Cynthia..." she began but stopped to clear her throat.

"Cynthia," she started again, "thought he was abusive."

I nodded slowly, my mind drifting back to the night before Emma had left to Kerry and I had asked her if someone had hurt her and Emma had practically leaped from my lap, scrambling to get away from me.

I don't want to associate your touch with him, her trembling voice rang in my ear.

She'd changed the subject then, and I'd let her out of fear of pushing her further on it. Admittedly, that same cowardice had stopped me from returning to the subject later, even when she'd returned from Kerry.

That night, her eyes had been glossy in panic. I recognized a similar sheen to them now, yet she seemed closer to me somehow. As if she were resolved to use a superhuman feat of strength to stay... to let me in.