EMMIE
I have no idea how I manage it, but I keep a lid on everything that’s bubbling up inside me until I pull my helmet on and sit on my bike.
The second the engine rumbles to life beneath me, I shatter.
Hot tears fall from the corners of my eyes, flooding my cheeks before soaking into the padding of my helmet.
Loud, ugly sobs rip from my throat, which I try to contain for fear of someone hearing me.
I need to get out of here. I need to get away from him or anyone else who might come after me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and it doesn’t stop.
It’s Dad, I know it is.
Mr. Davenport will have called him already and told him the consequences for what I did this morning.
He’s going to be livid.
Sucking in a deep breath, I push forward, pick up my feet and ride out of school without looking back.
If I’m lucky, they’ll decide to make the suspension permanent and I’ll never have to step foot back in here.
I open the throttle the second I’m off school grounds, and although my bike doesn’t blow me away with its power, it’s still better than nothing.
I don’t pay any attention to the turns I take or the crossings I probably jump as silent tears continue to cascade down my cheeks, blurring my view of the streets before me.
I’m empty.
Walking away from Theo like that shattered something inside me. Something I hadn’t realised wasn’t already broken.
But seeing that look on his face for a second time, the utter hopelessness that nothing he could do or say would change my mind… Despite knowing that’s true, why do I wish deep down that he’d at least tried? That he’d reached for me, dragged me back into his body and fought for me?
Stupid fickle romantic heart.
That isn’t what Theo and I have. This thing between us isn’t a deep, soul-searing, life-changing forever love. It’s toxic, painful, and tainted with lies. It’s nothing but a fucking disaster, and walking away is the right thing to do. I just need to hope that the club lawyer pulls through and gets me out of this without too much drama.
My phone continues to vibrate in my pocket, and it’s not until I finally come to a stop in a gravel car park at the back of a playground we all used to hang out in in Lovell that I finally pull it from my pocket.
Twenty-five missed calls from Dad.
Six from Sebella and nine messages.
“Fuck,” I breathe, finally pulling my helmet off and wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands.
Leaving my bike behind, I head toward the swings, take a seat and open my messages.
Emmie: I’m sorry. I fucked up. I know. I’m okay, I promise. Just riding to clear my head. I’ll be home later.
Emmie: I’m sorry. x
Dad: Please be careful. Love you.
Another sob erupts at his simple message.
“Love you too,” I whimper, ignoring Seb and Stella’s messages and resting my head on the chain of the swing as I move back and forth.
I’ve spent hours here over the years. It’s where we used to come with bottles of cider after skipping school. It’s where we used to party before we found an old, abandoned warehouse a couple of miles away that offered us some shelter. Hell, it’s the place I lost my V-card a few years ago after one too many bottles of said cider.