Page 10 of Fixing Emilee

Unknown number: Emilee, it’s Tiffani from sixth hour. We have never talked before, but I’m here if you need someone to talk to. Get better soon and let me know when you return to school. I will be there to help you.

Unknown number: I wish I had said something the day I saw Christian put that fish in your locker, but you just took it out and threw it away. I didn’t know it affected you so much. When you return to school, you can sit with us at lunch. Don’t worry. We have your back, girl. Oh, this is Bev, by the way.

Unknown number: I saw Parker today and asked how you were. He told me you were in the hospital. I hope you get better soon. I’m always here if you need someone to talk to. Conner

I sit here staring at the messages, stunned. I can’t believe what I’m reading. The tears finally fall down my face. Tiffani is a shy girl in my parenting class, so I can see her messaging me, but Bev and Conner are the most popular people in school. Not going to lie. Reading his name almost sent me into another panic attack, but I fought it off. I decide that I need to send them all a thank you text. Before I can stop myself, I ask Bev if she can go to the principal and tell him what she saw that day.

Instantly my phone buzzes with an incoming message.

Unknown number: I went to the principal with Parker the day after his fight with that asshole. I hope what I told Mr. Clark helps you. Are you coming back soon?

Him? Why is he trying to get them in more trouble? Wouldn’t he want to protect his girlfriend and their mutual friend? A fight? He got into a fight with them. I can’t deal with figuring out what is going on, and I don’t know if I even want to open that box.

Me: Thank you. I plan on coming back Monday.

Closing out of the messages with her, I see his name. I have multiple messages from him. My hands get clammy, and my heart starts to pick up speed. Can I read what he wrote? Should I or should I just delete them? My curiosity over why he messaged me wins, but I need help with these. I gather up my phone, pillow, and blanket before going to knock on Levi’s door.

“Come in.”

“Can I lay in here with you?”

He doesn’t answer, just slides over and pats the bed next to him. I lay down and show him the messages I’m about to open. “Are you sure you want to read them? After what happened when I just mentioned his name, maybe it isn’t a good idea.?”

“No, I don’t know if I want to read what he has to say, but I don’t know if I cannotread them, you know?” I answer honestly. “What do you think?”

“Sissy, I think you should read his messages. We have all learned the past couple of days that things are not always as they seem,” he replies, putting his arm around me and bringing my head to his chest. Shutting my eyes, I click on his name and wait a minute to open them. I only get through a couple before I can’t see the screen anymore. Levi takes my phone and reads the rest to me.

My man: Where are you?

My man: Emilee, I’m coming for you. It’s not what it looked like. I promise.

My man: I need you to know that I will get the evidence I need for you to believe me. I can’t be without you. It’s killing me knowing you are hurting, and I can’t hold you.

My man: Baby girl, I didn’t give her the messages. I would never do that to you or to us. Your words are precious to me, and I could never share them. The other messages were all fake. I have never played you, I promise. Also, that kiss was staged, she kissed me. I know I should have stood up to her before it got this far, so I apologize. You will never know how sorry I am. I know you told me you were dead to me, but that is far from the truth. Please, baby, listen to these two songs. Please!

Levi’s shirt is soaked with my tears by the time he gets done. I don’t want to believe he’s a bad guy, but he is. I can never forgive him for helping them hurt me, and I don’t believe a word he said. Someone could tell me the sky is pink, but until I see it, I won’t believe them. Levi hands me my phone, and I click on the first link without thinking. The room fills with the sound of a piano as “Falling Like the Stars” by James Arthur starts playing.

Why is he doing this to me? Hasn’t he already hurt me enough? He can’t really mean this. This has to be another cruel trick, but I don’t move toward my phone to stop the song. He might have broken me, but I still love him. As the song finally ends, I wipe my eyes looking up as Levi picks up my phone and clicks on the following link. “Bubba, I don’t think I can.”

He pulls me in tighter to him and says, “You need to, sissy. I’m telling you he isn’t a bad guy.” My head is a jumbled mess. My heart is telling me that I can trust Parker, but my mind is kicking her, telling her to shut up. I trusted my heart too many times and got burned. It is time to lead with my head. That doesn’t stop me from repeating Calum Scott’s “You Are The Reason” until I fall asleep.

Levi sends me a picture of Emilee asleep with her phone in her hand, showing what song is playing, followed by a text.

Levi: Parker, she finally read your messages, and I made her listen to the songs. She’s still hurting and healing. Give her some more time. Don’t give up on her. I know she loves you, and she will forgive you.

Me: Look at my beautiful girl. Thank you, man. Hold her tight for me until she allows me to do it.

CHAPTER FIVE

After spending a fantastic Sunday with my family, talking, healing, and enjoying being around each other, I was determined to return to school on Monday. However, standing in front of the bus, I couldn’t get on. I tried, but my vision started to fade, and my chest felt like someone was squeezing all the air out of my lungs again. Thankfully Levi was with me, and he was able to help me get through the attack. He reminded me I was taking a huge step and stumbling was okay. Mr. Gold and my grandparents thought it would be a good idea to take the whole week off and try again the following Monday.

I spent the last week keeping up with assignments Levi brought home, going to therapy three times, and spending time with my nana. She took the whole week off work to spend some much-needed time with me.

Therapy is different from what I thought it would be. With five sessions under my belt, it has gotten easier but, at the same time, more difficult. It’s easier because I was fighting it so hard before, when I was sure talking about anything wouldn’t help, but it has. The tricky part is that Mr. Gold wants to start discussing subjects I’m not ready for. Two subjects to be exact, my mother andhim. The journal he gave me has been my lifeline. At least one-third of the pages are already full of my thoughts and feelings. On Friday, we started discussing how I can’t control the way someone sees me or treats me, but I can control how I react to them. It’s a hard lesson to swallow, but it’s one that I need to learn. When Sunday night rolls around for the second time, I feel confident that I’m ready to tackle school.

The muscles in my legs are twitching, and the impulse to turn and run away from the building lurking in front of me is strong. It’s only been about two weeks since I threw open the doors in front of me, determined to never come back. When the world starts to tilt, and I start getting lightheaded, my eyes shut automatically, and I count to thirteen in my head. I try to even my breath out like Mr. Gold taught me, taking steady breaths in my nose and out my mouth. I repeat the words “I am not what has happened; I am what I have overcome” in my head. Over the weekend, I downloaded a book calledReconby Katie Rae to take my mind off my setback, and that quote stuck with me. I have to find the strength inside of me to open the doors and walk through. This is my life, and damn it, I want to start living it how I want to. It’s time for me to take back my senior year and make it the best time of my life.

There are only three months before graduation, and I want to enjoy every day I have left before leaving this town behind. I have tried my hardest not to pay attention to today’s date. But no matter how much I wish my brain would not remember how today marks five weeks since “he who lies” sat down beside me, it does. Sometimes it feels like it has been longer than that, but sometimes it feels like only yesterday. While my eyes are shut, I picture that thought as a letter. I crumble it up and toss it into a fire. Watching it burn and turn to ash makes me feel somewhat better because I have not even begun to unpack my feelings about him, and I’m not ready to do that yet.

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