CHAPTER TWENTY

He did it, he finally did it, he popped his cherry, his virginity was taken, he finally had sex. Emerson couldn’t help but wonder how it would make Mason happy to know he had finally engaged in the activity he so strongly advice him to, but that ship has sailed, and he couldn’t bring himself to be mad about it.

He lied so many times to Mason, denying his relationship with William every single time, but Mason saw through all his bullshit and called him out. His lies did not stop his friendship from breaking apart. Maybe if he had come clean about his feelings-Mason was his friend, right? He would have understood.

He still would have hated you. Emerson shrieked in on himself at that.

“What does it matter, the deed has been done.”

Now what? Emerson did not know, being forced to have sex with Olivia did nothing to change the way he felt for a certain silver hair, he still wanted to be close to William, kiss him, hold him, yet he felt disgusted with himself, he felt used, Olivia finally had her way with him. Emerson was not angry or mad at Olivia or Elvis in actuality he did not know how to feel, he was numb, laying in bed as he stared at his plain ceiling.

In the days that followed, time seemed to crawl as Emerson isolated himself in his room: nursing his wounds, impervious to Benjamin's pleas and his mother's comforting words. The day after the incident, John returned from work, only to find Emerson still barricaded in his room. He hammered on Emerson's door, demanding entry, but Emerson remained unresponsive to the world outside.

Surprisingly, it was Elvis who sided with Emerson, trying to pacify his father, even though it appeared that he did not really care.

“Dad he really is fine,” Elvis voice rang out as they both saunter pass his room. “He’s probably just seeking for attention again, you know how he is.” He signed. “I think we should let him ride it out.” Then Elvis voice faded completely, regardless to say that was the end to that conversation and John never when further to prey into what had cause this. As it always was Elvis can never do anything wrong in his eyes, he had said Emerson was find and that was the end of the matter.

At one point Emerson had convinced himself he deserved what he got, and he actually started to believe Elvis words.

“Don’t worry, I know it may not seem like this now but with time you’ll see.” Elvis words played in his head like a broken record. And after the first day he crumble his thoughts process falling in line with that of Elvis.

Maybe he just needed to wait like Elvis suggested, maybe this feeling will pass, and he could actually become normal, like his father and Elvis so desperately wants him to be.

But why did he feel this way.

For the first time in a while, Emerson's mind was completely empty - devoid of thoughts, voices, or even William. There was just nothing, he wasn't even angry, he couldn’t bring himself to be.

Time raced by, and everything merged along the line. His door had been forcefully opened by his father, who glanced at him, sighed, and left, instructing his mother to figure out how to mend her broken son. As he laid in bed; thought adrift, his attention was captured by Benjamin’s hesitant voice, and through his peripheral vision, he detected Benjamin’s recent return from school. Benjamin leaned heavily against the door post.

Regardless of not wanting to engage in conversation, Emerson found himself studying his brother’s appearance. His eyes were downcast, absentmindedly tugging at a loose thread on his pants. Benjamin clenched his fist and then released it, mustering the courage to finally meet Emerson’s gaze.

“Hi,” he uttered, visibly uneasy. Waiting on Emerson reply, several seconds past and it became clear that Emerson was not going to respond to him, Benjamin cleared his throat.

“Uh…” He hesitated, clearing his throat for the second time. “Someone has been asking after you.” He shuffled on his feet. “…said his name was William.”

Emerson's stomach churned; he had been avoiding all of William's attempts to reach him. Silence hung in the air as Emerson kept his gaze fixed on Benjamin. He was aware he was making Benjamin uneasy, but Emerson could not bring himself to care at this point.

“About the other day.” Benjamin voice filled the air, slow, almost like he was unsure about what he wanted to say. Emerson swiftly stood up, but his movements were lethargic, and his joints grumbled at the sudden exertion. Benjamin was surprised by the gradual rise of Emerson, his eyes tracing each slow motion until their gaze met.

Benjamin swallowed hard and uttered, "I'm sorry." However, before the last words could fully escape his lips, Emerson had firmly closed his door. He wasn't angry; he simply didn't want to hear anything about what had happened.

He gazed blankly at his door, realizing his brother would now perceive him as someone incapable of helping themselves. The prospect of witnessing pity in Benjamin’s expression repulsed him, and for some unfathomable reason, that gutted him.

Suddenly, the voice resurfaced, taunting him for reaching out to Benjamin and seeking help. Why didn't you keep silent and handle it like the man you're expected to be? With eyes squeeze shut, Emerson turned his head to the side as if shaking off those words. His grip on the handle tight, slowing he breathed out letting the moment pass before he opened his eyes again, only for fresh set of words powered by the voice to fill his head; Now the memory of what happened will be forever embedded in Benjamin’s mind.

Emerson registered the pain seconds later, which drowned out the inner voices. He gazed at his bloodied fist and bruised knuckles, then his eyes slowly ascended to the fresh dent on his wall.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A faint creak could be heard as someone approached his door followed by his mother's worried voice calling out.

In no time his door opened.

"Honey, what's wrong?" His mother's confused and slightly panicked voice filled his room. Emerson took slow steps away from the door, first one, then the other. Turning to face the room, his eyes surveyed the surrounding; his bed was on one side along with his end table, a study desk on the opposite side, and a standing shelf beside that. A window was right above his bed, and a closet stood on the other side.

“Did you do this to yourself?” Her eyes shifted between the wall dent and her son’s bloodied knuckles. “Please talk to me” she pleaded reaching for his hand, panic washed over Emerson, and he withdraw going as far as to seat on his bed creating as much space he could keep between them.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, gripping his sheets tightly. Glancing at his mother, he noticed Benjamin’s form lingering by the door; no doubt the sound of his fist colliding against the wall had drawn his attention.

His mother’s gaze shifted between her two sons, reflecting a sense of loss and confusion evident on her face. It was the first time Emerson had spoken to any member of his family since the incident, asserting that he was fine, that he was okay.

She sigh, still worried about him but choose to push it aside rather asking. “Why don’t you go shower and then we could have dinner?” Emerson could only manage a nod.