Broken Rules(40)

“Didn’t you hear me?” I try again in confusion. “I have to talk to you.”

Vivian holds back a snickering laugh, not saying a word. I march right up to Emmett and tug at his arm. Suddenly, he flips around, almost knocking me over as he flings my hands off of him. His eyes are bloodshot and glassy. The look of rage in his eyes surpasses anything I have ever seen in him before. The intensity of it sends me stumbling backwards, bumping into an end table.

I don’t know what happened while I was gone, but judging by the way Emmett’s looking at me, all of his sudden anger is channeled towards me. I wonder if maybe it’s because he saw me leave with Malcolm, but the longer I stare back at him, I know this is about something much bigger than that.





18





Chapter Eighteen





I am cornered against the table lining the back of the couch where Vivian sits, with Emmett glaring at me in fury, having no clue what exactly I’ve just walked into.

“You’ve got some nerve showing back up here,” Vivian sneers from behind me.

“What is she talking about?” I ask him, refusing to acknowledge her directly. “Emmett, please. Tell her to go or take me to your room. I need to talk to you.”

“To tell him what?” She stands up from the couch and huffs over. “That you’ve been fucking Malcolm?”

My lips part to tell her how wrong she is, but before I can get out a single word, Emmett flies across the room suddenly and swoops his arms across the fireplace mantle, sending a flurry of vases and frames crashing to the ground with the loud, startling sounds of breaking glass. I flinch and push further against the tabletop, practically sitting on top of it.

“What!?” I cry. “No! I would never…”

“Check your phone, Ophelia,” Vivian tells me, with a tired and irritated voice. “The whole school knows now. It was sent to everyone.”

I want to argue back, but I’m too confused—and afraid of Emmett’s unexplained seething rage. I fumble for my phone in my bag and look to see the notification for a text from an unknown number. I open it to see a photo has been sent to me and every other student at WJ Prep. I remember Lily telling me about the app—one that Malcolm helped design, no doubt. It served as the Elites’ blacklist and had the ability to text every single person in the school, letting them know if someone had fucked up and was expected to be treated like shit now. But it hasn’t been used since the Elites were taken out. Until now.

The file takes impossibly long to load, but my heart sinks in horror as it finally pops up on the screen. It’s a photo of Malcolm and I on his couch, but it is nothing like what actually happened. I am topless, with one of his hands cupping my bare breasts. Our mouths are locked together, and the rest of our bodies are out of view, but imagination fills in the blanks. We are obviously having sex. I try to blink the image away, but it stares back at me boldly.

“No…No, no, no. This isn’t what it looks like,” I stammer, shaking my head cluelessly.

I fly into a panic. How the hell could this have happened? Even if it were a photo of me from back at his place before I came here, I was definitely never topless and definitely never kissing him back. The position could be slightly similar to that of me warding off his advances, but everything else about it is wrong. I feel a crack in my mind as I race to piece it together.

“Emmett, that’s what I was coming to you for.” I fly to him across the room. “I was with Malcolm and…”

“Obviously you were with him!” Vivian smirks. “We can all see that, Ophelia.”

“Not like that!” I shout, my voice cracking into fearful tears. “We were just hanging out and then…”

“Don’t listen to her shit, Emmett.” She cuts me off, walking over and putting her hands over his arms in comfort. “You don’t need this right now.” Her eyes cut back over to me with an accusing stare. I’m the outsider now. I’m the one who has betrayed him.

“Fuck off, Vivian!” I snap. “Did you do this!? Are you the one who made this photo and sent it to everyone!?”

“She was with me the whole time,” Emmett says coldly, refusing to look me in the eyes.

“Now who’s just making desperate attempts for Emmett’s attention?” she taunts. “Pathetic. You’re so jealous and insecure…you have to run off and fuck some other guy while your boyfriend is sitting over here worried sick about his family.”

“Will you please just stay out of this?” I beg. “I don’t even know why you’re still here!”

“Because I care about him. In ways you obviously don’t.” She rolls her eyes like a dutiful person sweeping in to clean up my mess.

I want to slap her, but it wouldn’t help anything right now. I look back to the photo again, wishing I knew how to explain it and realizing nothing may help right now.

“Emmett, you have to believe me…that message…” I shove Vivian out of the way and try to force myself into his line of sight.

“I can’t look at you right now,” he seethes, pushing me away.

“Emmett, please!” I plead, grabbing for his arms and face, trying everything I can to pull him back to me.

With a vicious roar, he growls and firmly grips my shoulders before hurtling me off of him down to the ground. I fall back and land on my ass with wide, stunned eyes. I try to get up quickly enough to try again, but he is already storming out of the room and up the stairs.

“You better go,” Vivian commands before running after him.

I am frozen, unable to move. I hear more crashes coming from Emmett’s room, and I hate myself for unleashing this side of him in such force. I feel so guilty, I have to keep reminding myself that I didn’t do anything. Nothing happened with Malcolm, and I know that. But how can I argue with what is staring me right in the face?

I imagine being sent that image but of Emmett and Vivian together, and I think I might throw up. It’s hopeless. There’s nothing I can do to convince Emmett the photo isn’t real, and I am beyond certain of it because I don’t think he would be able to convince me if the tables were turned.

I hear the echoes of Vivian knocking on his door, trying to coax him to let her in. His voice shouts back indistinctly, but I can’t make it out. All I know is he’s not letting her in, which gives me some small comfort. I am still right on the ground where Emmett left me by the time she comes running down the stairs and out the front door. I let out a heavy exhale as I hear her car starting and peeling away.

Finally, I reach for the edge of the couch and use it to pull myself up. I half expect one of the housekeepers to stop me as I round the corner of the stairs. I feel like an enemy in this house now. No matter how innocent I know I am, I also know how guilty I look.

From memory, I find Emmett’s door and knock gently. It’s quiet inside now, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse. “Emmett?” I call out gingerly. “Will you please talk to me?” There’s no response. I flatten my palm against the door and wait, but after a few minutes I accept that nothing I can say will fix this. I need more than words. I need proof, and there’s only one other person who can give me that.

I force my breathing to become slow and intentional, trying to control each and every exhale so I don’t feel like I’m hyperventilating. I slowly slide down the wall until I am seated safely on the floor. I don’t know how long I sit there. It’s so hard to walk away, knowing that Emmett may never speak to me again. He has to come out eventually, and part of me wants to wait here until that happens. But seeing him is no guarantee that he’ll believe me.

“I’m going to go now,” I sob softly, my forehead collapsing against the frame. “I know you don’t believe me and I’m sorry for that. But I’m going to fix this. I swear to you nothing happened with Malcolm, and I’m going to find some way to prove it to you.” Still nothing. “Okay?” I try asking hopelessly. I don’t know how long I linger outside the door before finally forcing myself to walk away. But Emmett never budges. Things are completely fucked up beyond repair.





19





Chapter Nineteen





I stop myself from calling a cab as I walk along the dark sidewalks in Emmett’s neighborhood. I can’t stand the thought of making small talk with a stranger right now, and I think the awkward silence would be even worse.

I ignore a few worried texts from my mom, not even beginning to know how to respond. It’s almost two in the morning now, and she’s furious. I can’t even begin to think of any decent excuses for why I didn’t come home four hours ago when I said I would. Then the phone rings. I try to ignore it, but another one quickly comes through.

“Ophelia!?” her voice calls out across the line in a panic when I reluctantly answer.

“Mom,” I sniffle, not knowing what to say.

“Are you okay? Where are you!”

“Could you come get me?” I ask hesitantly. I don’t want to, but I don’t have any other choice. Although it would serve me right to walk the entire way back to my house in the cold. “I left my car at school.”