Blasphemous (17 page)

Chapter 15

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”

-
Laurell K. Hamilton

Emma

On my way back home, I had to stop on the side of the freeway because I couldn’t stop myself from crying. I was probably there for over half an hour, silently weeping my wasted love away.

The next day, I pretended I had the worst hangover on record and hid out in my room, crying over pictures of Bass and me together.

Sleep was hard to come by and, if I did manage to get some shuteye, the maximum I got was for a few hours; then the crying resumed. It was difficult to stop, even though I was exhausted from crying.

Drained and plainly weakened with everything, but there wasn’t much I could do. No matter how I tried to amp myself up and pretend to be happy, I ended up feeling worse.

School was no different.

When Monday rolled in, I had a hard time concentrating on any of my classes. I was spacing in and out of it, reminiscing my time in Greece. After my second class, I decided that maybe it was time I took some time off. Maybe for just a semester, I could just hide for a little bit longer.

My advisor understood my situation. I supposed these things really did happen quite a lot around college students. So, after signing paperwork, stating that I was dropping my entire semester’s classes, an hour later, I was officially a dropout—somewhat.

Maybe other people might call it a dumb move, but what was the point in attending all these classes when I could barely wrap my head around anything? Concentrating while studying anatomy and chemistry really wasn’t working for me.

My parents made me promise that, no matter what I decide in the future, I will still get a degree, one way or the other and I planned to keep it that way. This was simply a mild hiatus, diverting ones attention to something much more filling—the soul enrichment kind. It wasn’t that I needed help, but more like guidance—a purpose in life again—because I seriously felt lifeless inside; waking up without direction or expectation.

I needed those, badly, too. I didn’t want to be one of those living and breathing bitter, cold-hearted bitches. Judging people wasn’t really my forte, but it happened once in a while. One of my main vices was observing people and, from what I had gathered thus far, people who got their hearts broken—insert Lindsey as an example—had a hard time letting go of that memory where they got hurt. No, I take that back since hurt was too mild to describe what these people went through. Eviscerated, pillaged, that would be along the lines that would suffice the experience. As much as I loved my friend, I didn’t want to be that way.

I couldn’t count how many men she had hurt because of what happened to her in the past. If it were possible to achieve a decent place where I hold a teeny grudge and still be somewhat friendly, then I would try to get to that point.

Each day, the deep, barbed pull to go further into my depression was tempting. Too tempting in fact, that I was getting scared because ninety percent of the time, I almost made it happen.

I had to find a way. A way to find a small light in the gnawing black hole that was crying my name every second, inviting me to enter its chambers and keep it company. It was devious since I felt comforted by its warmth and acceptance, but I knew once I stepped foot through its door, the way back out was not a guarantee. I didn’t want to get lost and be forever in the dark.

What made me want to stay sane was the thought of my loving parents. I couldn’t, for the life of me, give up and throw my life away. They had supported me through everything I had ever done. The only way I could repay their love was not to disappoint and embarrass them. They were amazing and, for that, I was forever thankful.

Entering the house, I was greeted by a sunny Trista. To this day, I still get surprised when she acted this way. I suppose that I got used to seeing the crying and the everlasting pained woman I once knew. Heck, if Trista could do it, I could do it as well.

“Hi,
Tris,” I greeted her as I placed my things on the kitchen counter and poured myself lemonade.

“You’re home early. What’s the deal,
yo?”

I downed my drink before I faced her, sitting on a stool and writing what seemed to be an essay of sorts. “I’m taking the semester off. School’s just… you know, not what I need right now.”

Trista paused, looked up and shut the lid of her computer. “Go on. I’m waiting for you to continue.” She was looking at me expectantly.

“Continue what?” I asked
, confused as to what she meant.

“You said school was not what you needed right now. I’m waiting for you to tell me what you think you need.”

Oh, that. Heck, do I know? “I haven’t got a clue yet.”

“What do you feel like you need?”

Bass.

Of course, I didn’t voice that one out loud. Instead, I tried to explain what I was going through. “I’m going through a shitty period. I know that there’s really no cure for this type of pain, but I just want something that would make me feel…
less
… like death? Does that make any sense?”

She studied me as if understanding where I was coming from, but I was surprised what came out of that feisty mouth of hers. “Get your purse. We’re going for a drive.”

“I just got here. I want to go in my room and rest.”

“Fuck off,
Em. Get your purse and let’s get out of here!”

“Goodness, calm the hell down.” I glared at her, surprised at her militant attitude. “What the heck,
Trista!” Complaining, but gathering my purse as she waited on me, foot tapping before she barked another order to follow her out.

Why was she acting like a bipolar bitch? I fumed while
Trista started her car and joined the traffic on Main Street. I was glancing out the window, wondering what Trista’s problem was when she broke through my concentration.

“You should know, more than anyone, the crap I went through. If there
was another person that could understand you right now, that would be me. I didn’t mean to be such a bitch about you coming with me earlier, but you needed to snap the fuck out of it, Emma. Focus on something. If not school, then acting, work, dating—something. I can’t stand seeing you every day with red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes. If you can’t do something about it, then let me try to help.”

Damn, she really did change. This was a different
Trista and I was just so damn proud that she had finally emerged out of that horrid experience as a new, enlightened woman. “I know you meant well, Tris. Thank you for trying, even though I’ve been so distant with everybody lately.”

She gave me a sweet smile before she took my hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Make an effort,
Em. Be progressive; fighting this is progressive. That’s what counts at the end of the day.”

“Which book or movie did you get that line from?” I wondered out loud.

“It was actually Taylor who told me that when I was down and out. Now, I’m giving you that piece of advice. Just hang in there. It’ll get better.”

That made me smile. Of course, Taylor was there for her. He became her rock during that tough time.
Trista was lucky and she knew that, too. 

When my phone started ringing and I saw it was Barbara, I went to cut off the sound system and took the call. “Hello, Barbara.”

“Hi, Emma. Do you have an available day early next week? There’s a new project I want to speak to you about.”

“Great! Well, I’m free Monday for lunch or dinner, you pick.”

“Does a Monday lunch date at Katsuya in Hollywood sound okay? Say, twelve-thirty?”

“Sounds fantastic. See you then.”

“Thank you, Emma. Goodbye.” Barbara hung up before I had the opportunity to respond to her.

Well, it didn’t matter. At least, well I hoped, my career was going to be okay even though my love life was in the gutter.

“See! You’ll be okay, Emma,” Trista gleefully exclaimed after I told her what Barbara’s call was about.

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” I muttered, praying that my friend was right.

Five minutes later, I was confused when Trista parked at the hospital. When she started to unbuckle her seatbelt, I just silently stared at her, confused as to what the fuck we were doing at a hospital for crying out loud. When she offered help, I thought it was along the lines of a therapist or something, not a fucking hospital. What did she expect me to do? Get my brain examined?

“What?” She looked at me like I was stupid, not getting her drift. “Aren’t you going to move your chunky ass out of the damn car? We’re here.”

“I wasn’t aware that either of us had a doctor’s appointment.”

“Stop asking questions and just follow my lead, cool?”

Not really. “Whatever, Tris,” I said, shaking my head as if she’d lost hers already.

Quietly, we strode towards the entrance of the hospital. I was surprised that she didn’t look for directions, but went straight to the bank of elevators as if she’d done it frequently. When the elevator dinged at our stop, I was caught off guard when she led us to the maternity ward.

Okay, this was getting weirder by the second.

“
Tris…” I trailed off after her, but whatever was supposed to come out of my mouth disappeared from thought after I saw her stop and stare through a window. When I finally reached her, she didn’t acknowledge my presence, but kept on staring at the rows of newborn babies. She had this facial expression of pain and, at the same time, awe. It was hard to explain, but it was the best I could do.

I felt for her. I could only imagine the crap she went through, but never fully understood the entire capacity of how hard it truly was because a woman wouldn’t and couldn’t comprehend the situation unless one had gone through the same ordeal.

“I started coming here after Greece. It was right after I met this kind priest while I was out jogging in the morning, staring at the sunrise, crying, but I didn’t realize I was until he handed me a handkerchief.” She paused, still not breaking contact with the newborns. “I was that empty inside that crying became second nature to me, but I think, that morning I was crying for everything I had lost—Tristan, the baby, my wasted love on Harry and Taylor.

“I barely exchanged words with him that morning, but after he left, I felt like something had lifted off me, like as if his words helped me come to terms with my past.”
Trista started to move again towards the elevator and took us to another floor. “The next day, I found myself in this very spot. It was my way of healing, I guess.” She glanced at me, dewy-eyed, but with a real smile on her face. “The past can’t be unchanged. Your life might seem useless to you right now, but others are fighting to keep theirs. So, I thought, why not help each other and try to keep both?”

That was when
I understood what she was talking about.
The Children’s Cancer Ward
. “Come on, I believe they are in need of volunteers to read and spend time with the kids.”

An hour and half later, I felt lighthearted. I left the hospital with a smile on my face.

Forward, I was finally in the present.

Chapter 16

A week later…

“There are some things you’ll never get over, but if you use all of your strength, there’s nothing that you can’t get through.”

- Sonya Parker

Emma

“Excuse me?” I looked at my agent, Barbara, to repeat what she just told me.

“I pulled some strings and got you a spread for GQ Magazine. The shoot will be on Monday at ten in the morning at a house in Pacific Palisades. Will that do?” she said as she took a bite of her seared, spicy Tuna.

Hell, that’s a major mag. My brain was suffused with all kinds of thoughts, trying to digest the news. “I’m guessing it’s going to be a risqué shoot then?”

Barbara paused and eyed me for a second, possibly thinking how stupid I was because I should know what the magazine was known for—hot women and hotter than hot poses. “Sweetie, it’s GQ. It makes sense when you’re going to be debuting yourself in such a provocative movie. Besides, people are curious to get to know you. There’ll be an article along with it, so it’s a fantastic opportunity.”

I wasn’t sure if I was good enough to pose for them, but if Barbara thought it was a great idea, then I would pursue this opportunity. “Yeah, you’re right. Monday sounds perfect.”

“Excellent!” Barbara exclaimed, smiling as she took hold of her phone and started an email.

I had a week to figure out how to do sultry looks without looking like a hardcore wannabe.