Five years later…
Embry’s POV
I rubbed my hands against the fabric of my trousers, the anxiety building within me at the large crowd of people. Pulling at the collar of my shirt I tried to ease my breathing, this wasn’t my first book reading, but I always got very nervous at them.
When I did these, I put my work, my inner thoughts in front of everybody to judge. I put my experience, my trauma before their scrutinising eyes. So far the audience seemed to be interested in what I was saying, in work that I had actually published. Something I never would have thought would be happening. But the book had been published for a month now and the reviews were beyond me.
I suppose everything with Noah had its purpose in my life, its reason. It led me here. Led me to a dream of mine I had long forgotten under the weight of everything. My dream of being a writer. A silly hope I had when I was a child, one I never gave much of a second thought to.
Taking a sip of the water, I cleared my throat preparing myself to answer some of the questions. I hated this part. To think of an answer that would satisfy the readers, it was far too much pressure. “What was going through your head when you finally escaped?” I peered to look at the young woman who asked the question, sending a small smile her way.
“To be quite blunt about it a lot of curse words” I smiled as the audience laughed, “well I suppose after I hit Noah with the pan and was going to the police with Mr Rodriguez, the man who helped me escape, it kind of felt like those moments when you leave the house and freak out about having not turned off the oven or something.”
“I was quite panicked that Noah wasn’t actually knocked out and that he was right behind me, or that perhaps I was just running into a trap, but most of all, the most prominent thought running through my head was home” I finished, straightening my posture and looking out to the crowd of people.
I watched as my manager picked another raised hand to ask a question, “this is a bit of a follow up question to the previous one, but what was going through your head when you heard that Noah had been arrested?”
“Well, I had been in the police station for quite a while answering all their questions so I wasn’t actually aware he had been arrested until about a day afterwards, but it didn’t particularly feel real at first,” I swallowed, composing my thoughts.
“But then you know, a week had passed and it was confirmed he was going behind bars permanently, and then a year, and I think it was just one of those things where I would never really feel like it was a sure thing until I experienced it happening, so there was definitely a lot of doubt” I nodded.
“You never name any of his family members, why is that?” I swallowed harshly at the question, God did I hate that question. “Well, legally I am unable to use their names and for some of his family members anyway it was more of a way for me to respect their privacy. Despite what I’ve written and shared about my experience, the most I was able to receive was a restraining order from the rest of his family, which I think is a real disappointment to the justice system and to others like myself who look towards it for safety” I frowned, thinking about that aspect of my situation.
“Why did you give your book that title?” A man towards the back of the room asked. “Oh, yes the title, so as you all know the title of my book is ‘Everything Happens For A Reason’, I suppose I chose it as I have a history of using that phrase and letting it be of comfort to me while growing up when small upsetting things would happen. And then of course, I got taken, and well I feel like it’s a very hopeful phrase, but I definitely found myself using it as motivation to keep going during the months Noah had me.”
I smiled gently, “ehm, and well now I’m here in front of all of you with over 100, 000 copies of my book sold so I don’t particularly think that they were just empty words, and I also just want them to kind of, I suppose shed some hope for those going through similar things, or for those who have gone through similar things, I mean that is why I wrote and published my story. At first it definitely gave me a sense of power over what had happened, as though me writing about it certainly made it seem like I was giving it a good reason for it to have happened.”
I pressed my shaky hands to my side as the questions and answers continued. I had definitely built more confidence with all of the press and interviews after I escaped but there was also that gnawing anxiety that just came so naturally to me.
I could feel my energy draining with each person that came up for a signature, no matter how many social events as such I attended I never managed to stop my introverted nature. “Thank you so much, have a nice Halloween” I smiled, internally cheering as I saw there were only three people left in the line.
I greeted the young girl as she meekly approached me with shaky hands. “Hi sweetheart” I reached out to take the book from her hand, “what name should I sign on it?” “Emmy- Emmy Abrams please” she gently lifted her head, meeting my eyes.
My stomach dropped as I met her eye line, it was one of those things I could recognise, that look in her eyes. I could tell this book meant more to her than it would to many others because it was almost like I was looking at a reflection of myself after I had escaped. She had been through something similar to me. She understood me.
Quickly signing a small message on the front page, I handed it back to her. “I think you’re very brave” I gently spoke, her eyes widening, with a look as though she could cry at any moment. “Thank you, I really- really appreciate this,” she quickly nodded and hurried out of the shop.
Running my hands tiredly down my face, I let out a sigh as the doors to the shop were finally closed and my day was officially over. “Embry, before you go, I have your fan mail and gifts from earlier today” I smiled at my manager, thanking her as I headed out to my car.
Finally getting into my apartment I kicked off my shoes, my body aching from all the standing and sitting on a stool I did today. Making my way to the kitchen to make tea, I did my routine of blowing a kiss to the photo of my mom and dad on the hallway wall. A painful sting came to my heart at the reminder of my dad passing away last year. But at least I knew he was with my mom again, something that made it all not so sad to me.
Dropping my weight onto the kitchen chair, I began opening the letters people had written to me. I always made sure to keep everyone of them as they made everything feel worth it. Often they were letters thanking me, letting me know that by sharing my story I had helped them, which at the start of this whole thing meant so much because it made it much less scary.
Flicking on the kettle to boil water, I smiled at the package of a vinyl someone had sent me. Popping it in the record player, I dropped the needle down, pulling out the note stuffed at the bottom of the package.
Dear Little Bug,
I remember you always talking about wanting to be a writer but I thought you had lost your passion for that dream. Well I suppose you do love to prove me wrong. I loved the book by the way, you make an amazing writer and should be proud of yourself. I’m glad I could be an inspiration for your writing. I also heard about your dad and I just wanted to say I’m really sorry, I know you had your ups and downs with him but I’m sure it still hurts nonetheless. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there for you in person but well you know… I know you had your reasons and I forgive you for what happened. I saw you in one of your recent interviews and I must say I was taken aback by how you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. I sent you a record too for your player, I heard the song and it immediately reminded me of your book, of you, so I thought you might like it. I was at the book signing today and seeing you in person well, it was a lot better than through a screen. I noticed how confident you seemed up there, how mature and grown up, you’re admirable as your fans like to say.
I’ll see you soon, little bug.
I still love you too.
I could barely register the song playing on loop as I re-read the letter over and over again. Little bug. There was no doubt about who this was from, I mean I had never mentioned the pet names in the book, feeling that was too much, too triggering.
It seemed that no matter where I went or who I became, Noah was always there waiting. Watching.
He was obsessed with me, and to him that obsession was the most beautiful thing in the world.
THE END.