The Truth About Unspeakable Things, Emily Myers [bookstand for reading TXT] 📗

staircase, I give Julian one last glance. He’s just finished his third and final song of the night. Finally looking up to the crowd, everyone cheers and gives him a standing ovation. He smiles, and it is a gorgeous smile. It reaches his icy eyes, creating small lines. And with one swift movement, those eyes lock with mine and unlike earlier, I don’t look away. Neither does he.

* * *

Outside Mimi’s, I walk quickly in the direction of home, fumbling for my cellphone in my purse. Kat and I have a rule that if either of us is out at night alone, we call each other. Attackers are less likely to act if the person is on the line with someone who could call for help. Finally, I find it, but am disappointed to see I only have ten percent battery remaining. Really, Emma?

“Hey, sexy! Wait up!” I turn to see the red-faced guy from the bar along with two equally intoxicated friends following behind me. They have sickening grins on their flushed faces that only tell me one thing. Run!

I walk quickly and hook a right, scanning the street for neon Open signs.

“Public place. Public place,” I say to myself. Nothing. Everything is closed. My throat begins to close as panic takes over. I gasp, lifting my hand to my throat as if it will allow me to get more air. It doesn’t.

I look behind me and see the three of them round the corner. No! I turn forward and, pushing through the panic, take off running through the scarce puddles of light. The few drunken pedestrians wobbling along turn and watch me. Unfortunately, even if they wanted to help, they couldn’t.

As I run, I remember back to last week. I read about this girl, a few years younger than me, who’d left a bar alone. Her body was found discarded in a dumpster, beaten and mutilated. She’d been . . .

Beaux straddles me, forcing me into the bed with all his weight. My blood turns to ice as his eyes go dark. He looks at me with a ferocious lust that is foreign, angry, and . . . evil. I barely have enough air left in my lungs to breathe, let alone scream, as . . .

“No, no, no!” I scream. I lift my hands to my head as if to zap the memory from my mind. My vision starts to fade. My ears begin to ring. All I hear are the three men’s heavy footsteps, their sadistic laughter, and my labored breaths.

I gasp for air as my legs grow heavy. Blood rushes to my brain as my endurance wanes. For obese drunkards, they move quickly. I hook another right and . . .

“Woah!” he says.

“Ah!” I scream, tumbling into the warm body of a stranger. I shove him with the little energy I have left to create distance and ready my fists for . . . Julian?

“Emma? You okay?” he asks, reaching out to steady me.

“I . . .” I begin but can’t force out the words. Oh no. I stumble toward the brick wall of the nearest storefront for balance.

“Emma?” Julian moves with me, placing his hand on my back for support. “Emma, what’s happening?”

“Run,” I choke.

Once more, our eyes lock. Though my vision starts to blur, I see a ferocity in him that both surprises me and extends a level of comfort I haven’t felt before. His forehead crinkles. His bright eyes blaze. And suddenly, he moves from my side, leaving his violin case at my feet.

My stomach twists in stabbing agony as Julian leaves me. I force myself to turn in his direction, hands on my knees.

He stands with his arms crossed and the same steel in his eyes he just shared with me as he stares down my approaching stalkers. I want to tell him to run and that it’s not worth it. There are three of them and two of us. And considering I can’t even stand straight, I can’t imagine being much help if it comes to a fight.

What is he thinking?

“Gentleman,” he says as they inch closer. Their clumpy footsteps grow louder as they approach. I can’t see them, but I see their shadows, quite large shadows. I gulp down the salvia pooling in my mouth and try to force myself to a standing position.

“Hi, uh,” one begins. “Have you seen our friend? Blonde headed girl, black t-shirt, nice ass?” They chuckle.

My chest tightens as they speak, and I manage to take a step back.

“Yeah, you’re no friends to her,” Julian says. “Now, I suggest you head back the way you came. We don’t want any trouble, do we?” he asks, letting his arms drop from his chest to his sides.

His fists ball and clench, putting the muscles of his forearms and biceps on full display. The simple movement reveals his tattoos in a way I didn’t notice before. There are more of them—a lot of them. The flickering flame of the gas lantern above him illuminates the images on his arms in a way that’s mysterious and . . . intimidating. The question is, will they take the warning or are they too wasted to care?

I hear mumbles that I can’t make out and finally, the shadows turn and disappear. I realize then I’ve been holding the little breath I have and give in to the exhaustion of my muscles.

I exhale and drop to the aged concrete beneath me, resting my head against the cool brick of the building behind me. If I had the energy, I’d hate myself for leaving the house, for putting myself, and Julian, in this position. But as it is, I don’t have energy for anything other than regulating my lung’s exertion and ignoring the smell of dirty seawater and sewer that invades my being.

Beaux opens my bedroom door. Light pours into the room, illuminating his frame as he exits. He walks tall, calm, and disconnected. Kat screams and throws a lamp at him. It shatters into a million pieces as it hits the hardwood floor. Beaux pays her no mind, nor the small cut