-4-
Jade
After rushing Roman out the door, I collapse onto my bed, trying to soothe the burning in my lungs and keep my dinner down. What the actual fuck. I'm literally going to die from embarrassment. I feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyes and my throat starts to burn as I bring my hands up to my head, wrapping my fingers in my hair. You've got to be kidding me.
I finally get the balls to send my manuscript off to an editor and that editor just happens to me the maintenance guy for my new apartment?! I also just so happen to break the faucet in some freak accident and he shows up here in the middle of the night to save me, and ends up seeing my sex toys sprawled out across the bed?! This can't be my real life. I pinch myself on the arm lightly, just to double check that I'm not currently having a nightmare. Unfortunately, it confirms that I'm awake and this is very much so my real life.
Fuck.
Opening my laptop, I pull up my emails and find his response to the manuscript. I hadn't even seen it yet since everything went insane right after I sent it the other day.
Roman,
Holy fuck. I am so incredibly sorry for everything that happened this evening. I hadn't gotten a chance to read your email yet. My life kind of fell apart right after I got the guts to send you the manuscript.
Anyway, I'm sure that meeting is off the table now. Plus, I'm absolutely mortified at what happened here. So, I just wanted to apologize to you once again.
Thank you for taking the time to read the manuscript, though. I really do appreciate that.
-Jade
I hit send before my heart has the chance to explode. On an exasperated sigh, I shut the laptop and let the first tears spill over. Once that happens, there's no chance of redemption. The wave has finally landed and I collapse in on myself, curling into a tight ball on the bed, sobbing until there's nothing left for me to give.
***
27 texts.
18 missed calls.
12 new voicemails.
As I rub the sleep from my eyes with the backs of my hands, my mind struggles to focus on the screen. Nobody even has this number.
Opening the phone, I see that the calls and texts are from a familiar number. Dawson. How the fuck did he get this number? I literally just got the phone and didn't give the number out to anyone yet, other than here for the apartment. I've just been using it for Facebook and a bit of YouTube at this point. The distance has kept me slightly sane.
Clicking on the messages, I notice they get more desperate as time goes on. Especially once he sent a few and didn't get any response from me at all.
Jade, I need you to call me back.
This is important.
Jade, please! Call me back right now!
Fuck, Jade. Just answer the damn phone already! I really have to talk to you!
They continue in a similar style, the last one coming in just about an hour ago. I don't even bother to check the voicemails before I type out a quick response.
What do you need?
Before I can even lock the screen, Dawson's number is flashing on my phone.
"What?" I answer, trying to keep the venom from my tone.
"Emily is dead," he states, not even bothering to lead into it gently. The silence stretches as I try to begin to process what he just said. Everything just feels blank though, like nothing is even real right now.
"What?" I repeat, barely above a whisper. When he doesn't respond for a few seconds, I wonder if I said that out loud at all. "I'll be at the house as quick as I can," I say, ending the call before he gets a chance to answer.
Ten minutes later, I'm pulling up outside his house. Our old house. Shaking my head to clear the thoughts, I open the car door and make my way to the house. I do my best to brace myself, not sure what to expect.
My hand touches the knob but the door is flung open, revealing Dawson on the other side. "Thank god you're here. I'm freaking out and I don't have a clue what to do," he rushes, pulling me in for a quick hug, squeezing the air from my lungs.
I push back against him, freeing myself. "Slow down. What the fuck happened? What do you mean Emily is dead? Where is she? What are the police saying? Holy hell," I word vomit, trying to keep my head from spinning. Feeling dizzy, I lean against the doorframe for some support. I'm barely remaining upright at this point.
"They're not really saying anything. That's the problem! They won't talk to me at all! They asked a bunch of questions and then basically ghosted me," he shouts, rage boiling to the surface now.
"Start from the beginning. Go slow," I instruct, hoping to find some answers. Or at least get some clarity on what's happened since I've been MIA the last few days.