Page 155 of Baby Girl
I’ve been lying to her for weeks. Have I felt like shit the entire time? Yes. But those things of hers are my only bargaining chip with her as Derek. They are the only reason she will contact me of her own free will. Watching her through the screen most nights is becoming more torture than pleasure.
I’d already made the decision to let her know tomorrow that I found her things. I was planning on asking her to retrieve them from the apartment, something about the cleaner having putthem in a cabinet that we hadn’t checked. We’d all be there, a united front, ready to have whatever conversations she needs.
That is clearly no longer going to be an option.
I need to get this back on track, right now.
“Emery, wait,” I demand as I grab her arm and halt her from making any further progress.
Apparently, I’m not done being an asshole.
She glares down at my hand, then snaps her fiery gaze up to mine. “Let go of me.”
Swallowing, I shake my head. “No, we need a moment to talk first.”
Fuck, my heart is pounding.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up at the pain-filled laugh that she all but cackles. “Talk? Now you want to talk? Fuck you, Derek. Seriously. Fuck you.”
She wrenches her arm out of my grip and stalks off down the hallway, leaving me standing there, wondering if I’m too young to have a heart attack and fucking confused as to how she found out I have her missing things.
Emery rounds the corner, disappearing from view, and there is a weird concoction of a scream for joy and an anger-filled growl. The noise kicks my nervous system into overdrive, and I slam the front door before making a dash to catch up with her.
She has her ear pressed to the chest of the bear, eyes closed, and a more-than-serene expression on her face. Is there something special about the bear? Am I missing some crucial piece of information?
Slowly, I approach her until I’m only an arm’s length away, and that’s when I hear it—a quiet thudding.
“Emery…”
“It’s his heartbeat.”
“His?”
“Xavier’s.”
My confusion must be evident in my silence because she opens her eyes as she lowers the now-quiet bear to her chest.
“Teddy is from Build-A-Bear, and one of the accessories was a little heart with a pre-recorded message on it. Xavier had his heartbeat recorded and saved onto the heart.For the nights that I can’t be with you.”Emery alters her voice to sound a little deeper in an attempt to mimic Xavier.
“I didn’t know,” is all I can manage to reply with. The fact that I am completely aware that I have fucked up even more than I had calculated, does not stop the adrenaline that is secreting into my system.
“This teddy bear is mine. Those”—she turns to point at the art supplies on my table—“are mine. You took them from me. You had no right.”
“I know, baby. I know, and I am so sorry. I was already planning on giving them back to you tomorrow. You were going to receive a text message from me—”
“You and your fucking plans!” Her voice raises, and that fire returns, making my heart trip over itself. “You’re stupid fucking plans are what got us into this situation. Oh my fucking god, Derek! Why can’t you just let things happen naturally? Why do you have to manipulate everyone around you?”
My head snaps back at her accusation. “I don—”
“Yes, you fucking do. Everything about our entire relationship has been scripted by you. After our weekend together, which I am sure you planned out down to the very last second, fuck, did you even choose the order of the scenes? Of who got to fuck me first and last?”
When I stand there silent, unwilling to further incriminate myself, she lets out that ugly laugh again.
“Of course, you fucking did. So, first you decided what order everyone got to fuck me in, then it was your idea to keep me in the dark on the plan that kept us separated for three wholefucking weeks. The plan that left me alone and miserable and abandoned in the worst possible way. And whatever the four of you are up to right now, I just know that was your idea, too, right? And this bullshit with my things. What was the plan there?”
I go to answer, but she doesn’t let me. Instead, she puts her bear down and turns to face me, one hand on her hip and the other tapping a finger to her chin, like she is seriously contemplating the options, when we both know it is a condescending tactic to increase my discomfort.
The thing is, it’s working.
