EMILIA

    It hurts, God, it hurts to hear her say that.

    But I also know exactly what it’s like to love someone who never chooses you.

    And I think of Liam, who I can never choose. My chest twists and that wound he left starts stinging again. O

    So I take a breath and say the only thing I canb. /b

    “…Okay,”

    “Can we please talk about this mess now?

    I hear a loud thud, like something heavy just hit her desk. Yep–she’s bdefinitely /bbin /bher home office. Because Tessa, unlike normal human beings, thinks stress is a hobby and work is therapy.

    Sometimes, I wonder if she throws herself into work because she’s chasing the stable life her dad never gave her…

    Or if it’s just her way of coping- trying to fill the emptiness he left behind when he made her feel like she was never enough.

    “What the hell happened?” she snaps. “I swear to God, I’m going to kill that bastard.”

    1 pause, chewing on my bottom lip. There’s no easy way to say bthis/b. No cute joke to soften the blow.

    So I do the hard thing. The real thing.

    ‘I want to file a report,‘ I say, ‘For sexual assault.”

    Silencei. /i

    Like

    –

    scary silence. I can’t even hear her flipping bpages /banymore. Just this weight hanging between us like thick fog.

    “Tess?” I whisper. “You there?”

    Her voice finallyes through, small and bshaking/b. “You… he…?”

    /4

    It’s not even a full sentence.

    But I know her. I’ve been fluent in Tessa for years.

    “Yeah, I say, and my voice doesn’t break. “He did. And for a hot second, I was going to just let it go. Like always. Like how I’ve let everything go. Every shitty thing people have ever done to me. Sweet little Emilia. Quiet. Forgiving. Easy to forget. The perfect pushover.”

    The words taste bitter. But God, they’re true.

    I press a hand to my chest because it’s starting to ache – not with sadness, but with this deep, pulsing need to finally do something. To not just sit there and swallow the pain like it’s breakfast.

    To not be a victim. To stop ming people for hurting me and start taking responsibility for letting them.

    ‘You’re what you tolerate,‘ I tell myself. And that hardens my resolve. (1

    “No more,” I say, voice steel–edged now. “Zane made me think I was small. Like I didn’t have the right to speak up or fight back. But screw that. I’m done ying doormat.”

    —

    I sniff once and blink back a tear. Just one. It slides down, but I wipe it away quick not because I’m weak, but because I don’t want to waste another second crying when I could be

    getting justice.

    “I thought about it,” I continue, quieter now. “About how every time something like this has happened to me, someone else had to save me. Or I’d just… move on. Pretend I wasn’t

    hurt. Let them win.”

    “But what if I didn’t let him get away with it?” My heart is beating fast now. Not from fear,

    but fire. “What if I put it on record? Even if he doesn’t go to jail, even if I’m not the first… I

    can make sure I’m thest.”

    ‘I can make sure the next girl has something. Anything. A paper trail. A warning. Something to dirty his stupid perfect image.”

    There’s a soft sound on the other end of the phone. It takes me a second to realise-

    Tessa’s crying.

    I hear her soft sniffles echo in that big, empty office of hers, and all I want is to hold her tight. Just wrap her in the kind of hug that says I’m here and bI’ve /bgot you, even when the whole

    world feels like it’s falling apart.

    And that’s when it hits me – every single time I kept my mouth shut, every time I smiled through the pain, I wasn’t just hurting myself.

    I was hurting her.

    Tessa. My best friend. My ride–or–die. The girl who’s been knocked down more times than I

    can count, but always got back up – even when it was just me there to help her dust off the

    pieces.

    I should’ve done this sooner. Not just for me. But for her. For all the girls who’ve been silenced. For everyone who learned to live with pain like it was something they deserved.

    “People are gonna call you worse names than a puck bunny, Emmy,” Tessa whispers. Her voice is all cracked and tired. “No one’s gonna believe you.”

    “I don’t care if they do,” I say, voice steady. “It’s not about them. It’s about making his life

    hell. It’s about putting this stain on his record so he can’t hurt someone else and just walk away clean.

    11

    It’s about you, I want to say, who’s always given so much. Fought so hard. To get no justice, no reward. Nothing but scars that won’t heal and a fight that won’t end.

    There’s a pause. Then-

    “God, I hate you,” she mumbles. “I don’t do tears. What if I’m pregnant? Shit.”

    Iugh – actuallyugh- and it’s wild how good it feels. “Even if it’s that Lyle bastard’s baby, I’ll still be the coolest, most extra auntie in the world.”

    ‘Damn right you will,” she says, with this deep breath that sounds like she’s finally letting go of something she’s been holding onto too tight.

    Then her voice softens. Breaks just a little. “You’re the bravest person I know, Em. And I love you. So damn much. I’ve got you, okay? Every second. Every heartbeat. We’re gonna burn that asshole’s world to the ground. Together. Once you’re back, we’ll walk into that police

    station hand in hand. That’ll teach the bastard.”

    And just like that, the tightness in my chest loosens.

    When Tess ends the call, I dial a number I know by heart, one that haunted me each night for years but I was never able to call.

    18:13 Fri, 22 bAug /b

    I’ve only started worrying about him changing his number when he picks. “Hello?” He grumbles.

    It’s barely 4 AM, but I’d be more surprised if he was asleep. My heart clenches at the sound

    of his voice.

    At the fact that Luther will never get to hear it again.

    “Hi, Adrian,” I gulp. “It’s Emily. Emily Vanderbilt.”

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