NOVEL NEXT Chapter 42: Apathy
Emberline was tired. The kind of tired that dug into her bones, weighed down her heart, and made the very act of breathing feel like a task too cruel to endure. Everything felt like a pain, there to torture her and make her pay for her sins. She had rage, confusion, and sorrow all bubbling in her head, making her head heat up like a pot left on the stove for too long. And Nicholas—oh, how the mention of his name made her want to scream, shout at the top of her lungs. She hated him; she hated how easily his name came to the tongue, how everyone talked about him non-stop, how he was the total opposite of how people had portrayed him to be. Oh, how easily he made Emberline mad. Everything about him made her angry.
But more than anything, she hated how much she needed him.
She couldn’t help it anymore. Wilkes was circling closer, his threats no longer idle. She had to confront Nicholas. She had to demand the emblem and make him see reason. Even if it made her look foolish. There were some underlying reasons for the ongoing fiasco, but she couldn't help it; she had to at least try. She stood from her seat and ran to the door, determined in her mind to get everything done by today.
She walked down the street, jumpy as if she would be robbed or perhaps come across Sergeant Wilkes, the thought of which seemed far scarier than the former. Each shadow looked like Wilkes; every stranger’s glance felt like an accusation. She had reached Mrs. Marshall's street. But she no longer thought of it as Mrs. Marshall's street; it was now Nicholas Vial's street.
She hesitated at the stoop, contemplating if she should go or not. She made a quick entrance before she could entertain a thought, quickly climbing the two sets of stairs before landing on the floor where he had his apartment. Emberline felt a rush. She did not know of what—a rush of happiness? No, she did not feel happy at all. Of anger? She felt as though she had left all her rage at her doorstep. She was just agitated, her hands were shaky, her head dizzy.
When she reached the door, it stood ajar. That wasn’t right. Nicholas locked his door. He always locked his door. Her fingers trembled as she nudged it open wider, her breath catching in her throat. The room beyond was silent, the kind of silence that had a weight, a presence.
“Nicholas?” she called, her voice small, hesitant. “It’s me. Emberline.”
It didn't make sense. He would lock the door before. He had locked it the day she came around. Why would he leave the door open like this? So many questions buzzed in her mind, making her head numb. She stepped inside; she knew she wasn’t here to sneak around anymore, but she couldn't help but tiptoe. The silence was loud. "Nicholas?" she called. No answer.
"Nicholas, it's me," she said, but she felt that it wasn’t enough. "Emberline," she clarified.
No answer again. She stepped further in, her hands brushing the cold plaster of the walls as if searching for proof that he’d been there, that he’d been real. The chill seeped into her fingers, and she shivered. The cold walls made a chill run down her spine. It was as if a ghost was still present in the place. She was paranoid, and the thought of a murder happening in these very walls made it no better.
She looked over into the living room where the boy had been murdered. She cringed, and an uneasiness in her chest arose. The room was neat, almost unsettlingly so, as though it had been prepared for her arrival. Her eyes fell on a note sitting on the table, the only thing out of place.
“Take a look around if that’s what you want, but do close the door as you leave.”
Emberline felt offended. The calm arrogance of it stoked the embers of her anger, and before she could stop herself, she crumpled the paper in her fist. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. How could he know she’d come back? How could he assume so much?
The street felt colder when she left, her legs carrying her faster and faster until she was running, her rage building with every step. Did he think she was predictable? Weak? The questions piled up in her mind, each one heavier than the last. She squinched her nose as if she had smelled something spoiled. But today the only thing that had been spoiled was her amour propre.
Did he think she would return? Who did he think he was? Is that why he had left the door open? How did he know she would return?
All these questions felt like fuel to a blazing fire. The more she thought of them, the more they added to the burden of her existence. She walked without any particular destination in mind, but out of sheer habit, she landed in the marketplace, surrounded by people. But even in the midst of all these people, all that noise, she could not swallow her tears. She was overwhelmed; anyone could tell, but she refused to acknowledge it. She was glad nobody here was bothered by her presence, not enough to see the tears swimming in her eyes.
Why would he degrade her like this? Did he even mean it for her?
The thought of Nicholas leaving the door open for someone other than her made her even more mad. She was not well-rested; she was aware it could have contributed to her mood, but today it was very difficult to withhold her emotion. She wanted to just see him, tell him everything that bothered her so she could get it off her chest. She felt that he would understand. But he was not at his place. Perhaps he was at the university. Yes—she would ask around, she would find out.
Though her relief was short-lived. A man pulled a woman, and in the midst of the crowd, he put her down. "Criminal!" he shouted. "Thief!" he bellowed, his fists raining down on her as she squirmed beneath him. She protested, shouting in response, but made no effort to escape.
"Criminal!" he shouted again.
Emberline felt nothing for that woman; she did not want to defend her. She did not want to help a woman who would not help herself. She did not want to help a criminal. She wanted her to suffer the consequences of her actions.
The woman deserved it, didn’t she? If she hadn’t done anything wrong, she wouldn’t be there, crumpled on the ground, waiting for the crowd to pass judgment.
And yet, as Emberline turned away, for the first time today, she could identify an emotion inside her. This one was apathy.