Chapter 33

Rage and hatred shoot through me at a hundred miles an hour, and I can’t contain them. I clench my fists and march away from him, stamping. I’m reeling, but I’m terrified that he may do as he says. Before I break something over his head, I need space before teen Emma and her erratic emotions burst forth and ruin my life.

What if he does? What will he find out?

I pale and fall instantly weak at the thought. I don’t want Jake to find out about my past. About how damaged I am. About my time in a children’s home. And why. He would never look at me the same again.

“No, I wouldn’t. I would rather you wanted to tell me,” he shouts. Despite his admission, I can’t even begin to calm down, but it makes me feel slightly reassured, hysteria holding its breath despite my seething anger in full roar. A warm tear rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away furiously. I don’t cry. I never cry. I hate crying. It’s so weak and vulnerable and makes me feel inadequate and worthless; I bri