The TV was on and they all sat on the couch, talking and giggling while they watched the parade. It was what they did every year. It was her favorite two hours of every single year because Phil wasn't up yet and she could pretend it was just them.

Walking over to the sink, she dumped her plate of pancakes into the disposal. Pancakes didn't taste the same without her sister's laughter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

It's a Faade

Four months after Rachel moved Emery into the new place in Savannah, she drove them to a dance club near Savannah College of Art and Design. The city was in the middle of a warm snap even though it was the end of February, which it was prone to, according to her neighbor.

Emery knew that Rachel was concerned about her not leaving the apartment. She couldn't hide from her best friend that her days were full of desperation and longing for something she couldn't have. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

As they took a left down another tree-lined road, a song came on the radio that forced Emery to lean in to change it. The lyrics of the song invaded her brain about things she didn't like to think about.

Rachel grabbed Emery's hand, stopping it. "Emery, I'm here for you, you know?"

"Yeah, I know, Rach."

The song started playing and Emery retreated into herself. She knew all about monsters, real and imagined. Sometimes she felt like she was a monster. Rachel sang with the lyrics, oblivious to the war going on in Emery's head.

"You don't have any monsters to be friends with," Emery commented. Rachel was quiet and Emery started to apologize. "Rach..."

"Em, your monsters are my monsters. So yeah, I have monsters and I'm coming up with ways to save you on a daily basis."

Emery slumped in her seat. Rachel saved her too many times to count and all she'd done was this...be depressed, a leech, and a downer. "Sorry, Rachel," she apologized. "I'm sorry for everything. You shouldn't have to save me. You should be a normal college girl that doesn't have to worry about my shit."

They lapsed into a contemplative quiet. Emery tried to determine what to say to her best and only friend and family. She looked down at the dress Rachel had made her wear. The last time she'd worn it, she and Noah had seen one of The Hunger Games movies. Of course she'd worn a sweater over it then because she didn't want to give Noah an eyeful, but she didn't tell Rachel that. A tight smile curled her lips as she remembered squeezing his hand so hard during some parts she thought she'd break his fingers.

"Em?"

"Huh?" Emery was ripped from her painful memories by Rachel. She didn't know which memories were more painful now, the ones of Noah, the friendship they shared and the fun she had, or the ones of Phil. I must be losing my mind.

"We're here." Rachel got out of the car and walked on her six inch heels like a professional over to the short line. She gazed at the burly guy at the door and flashed a seductive smile. Rachel was wearing a tight strapless dress, blood red, with nude heels. Her red cashmere coat covered the sleekness of the dress underneath, but Rachel oozed sex as she walked through the street. The red was such a stark contrast from her black hair and pale skin. She looked like a model. Emery was wearing a short emerald green dress with a deep v-neck that showed so much cleavage Rachel had taped the dress in place, but it had long sleeves just like she needed. She held her gold clutch, which matched her heels perfectly.

Rachel smiled as she sauntered up to the front of the line. She casually opened her coat. "Hi."

"You ladies can go on in," the man drawled, and they both sighed in internal relief when he waved them past the line.

"Thank you so much," Emery answered.

Rachel ran her hand over his massive bicep as she went past and giggled when he grabbed her hand.

"I get off at three," the bouncer said in her direction.

"Good to know." Rachel winked and they entered into a bar that could only be described as decorated by an artist on acid.

The hallway was dark, but every inch of the wall was covered in original art from the students at SCAD. They checked their coats and walked through the long hall of artwork to get to the bar area.

"Wow," Emery commented, looking from deranged self-portraits to landscapes full of cherubs and demons with Savannah as the backdrop, all in bright hues and smeared down the walls.

Rachel grabbed her hand and pulled her to the bar. They ordered martinis; Emery drank hers within five minutes and they ordered another round.

"So how's school going?" Emery asked.

"It's fine. The classes are boring because I have to take core classes for two years, but then I get to start taking business classes."

"You sure you don't want to go into law?" Emery joked.

"Oh, yeah, that'd be great. Maybe I'd go into business with my dad." She took a sip and shook her head no.

"Well, at least you'd be able to handle your boyfriend's shit," Emery said.

Rachel waved off Emery's comment. "Dad's got that covered."

"He okay with you and Derrick yet?"

"Define 'okay.'"

Emery laughed.

They ordered another round of drinks then stalked around the dance floor to find a space. The bass of the song filled Emery's mind, reverberating through her bones. She let her body move with the beat and threw her hands in the air. She and Rachel danced with each other, legs intertwined, hips grinding against each other.

The song changed and Rachel motioned she was going to get them more drinks; Emery followed her and sat on a stool. She was moving her feet around in circles, working her ankles in order to ease some of her discomfort. Wearing heels to dance was such a dumb decision.

"Yeah, but you look hot as hell," Rachel screamed over the music.

Emery laughed. Rachel read her mind as usual.

Rachel and Emery clinked glasses together. "Cheers!" they yelled together.

"To Emma Simpson," Emery muttered.

"To Emma Simpson, a fucking survivor."

Rachel also always knew what she needed and when she needed it. While it was comforting, it was also annoying as hell.

"Can I buy you a drink?" A random guy had come to stand between them and was staring at Rachel.

"I don't think my girlfriend would like that," Rachel answered.

Emery shrugged, playing along.

"Oh fuck, really? Can I buy you both drinks?" The guy's eyes were wide, like he was a three-year-old in a toy store.

"Of course." Rachel batted her long lashes at him.

Another round of drinks down and they were back on the dance floor. Their new friend danced behind Rachel. Emery laughed at his obvious lack of any sort of rhythm.

Emery had closed her eyes and was rocking her hips to the beat when she felt strong arms wrap around her from behind. Her breath hitched as a man joined her movements perfectly. She didn't know if it was all the alcohol or the fact she'd been so lonely, but she didn't even open her eyes to see who it was, she just let herself be held.

Although she couldn't see him, the man was much taller than her and his body felt solid. Strong. She could feel his hard muscles pressing against her in sync with his movements.

When Emery turned to dance face-to-face and was met with a classically handsome face, she stopped dancing. He had light brown hair, cut close to his head but a little longer in the front, carelessly tousled. His eyes cut into her. They were piercing and blue, but it wasn't the color that was so inviting, it was the way he was looking at her. His face looked like it was etched in stone, with a strong jaw and perfect nose. He leaned into her ear. "You want a drink?" His voice was low and very Southern.

Emery decided people from Savannah had their own accent, which was a little different than a normal Southern accent. It was as if the words danced on the tongue before deciding to fall out of mouths so that anyone around them could hear the melody.

She nodded. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bar.

His smile revealed a perfect set of white teeth. "What would you like?"

"Um..." She looked back at Rachel, who was laughing and still dancing with the no rhythm guy. "Martini, please, vodka."

"What kind?"

"Vodka," she repeated.

"No, what kind of vodka?" A smile skated across his lips, then he licked them, which caused her eyes to stay focused on his lips.

"Whatever," she answered, chastising herself for staring at this guy's lips and thinking about what they could do to her. She was obviously way too lonely.

The guy pulled out his wallet and waved the bartender down. "Hey, Eddie. Two martinis, extra dirty, Grey Goose, please."

"No problem, Tim," Eddie answered, pulling out his shaker.

Emery was suddenly uncomfortable with this stranger still holding her hand. She pulled her hand out of his and pretended to run it through her hair as she looked back at the dance floor. She felt his warm breath on her ear.

"I'm Tim."

Emery looked back to her dance partner and examined Tim. He had on a tight blue v-neck sweater that showed off his muscles and jeans that hung perfectly at his hips. Her eyes travelled down to his shoes. He was wearing rounded toe cowboy boots. She smiled. Emma Simpson would smile. "I'm Emma." She stuck her hand out and he took it, shaking it politely.

"Emma, you are a great dancer." He passed her the drinks he'd just paid for and they walked to the edge of the dance floor.

"Thanks. You're not too bad yourself."

She took a drink and grimaced. Emery wasn't used to having to make small talk with strangers. Emma would be better at this. Emery looked down to see her cleavage glistening with a layer of sweat and turned toward Tim. Snuggling up to him, she put her leg in between his and stood as close as she could. She pressed herself into him and he smiled down at her.

"You're beautiful."

She took a drink. Emma would flirt and touch him. She was Emma. Was Emma beautiful? She didn't know how to be beautiful.

"You probably hear that all the time." Tim cleared his throat, emptied his drink, and set it on a table near them. She followed suit and then pulled him back onto the dance floor.

I never hear that.

They danced for hours to all sorts of songs. They danced for so long that her hair, currently back to its natural blond due to her not really leaving her apartment for four months, was wet and stuck to her forehead. His sweat marks had all run together and his sweater now looked navy. During a slow song, he moved her toward the back of the dance floor, her hands on his biceps. His biceps were muscular and reminded her of Noah's. She pushed Noah out of her mind; Emma didn't even know Noah.

Tim gently pushed her against the wall at the back of the dance floor and leaned into her.

"Can I can kiss you, Emma?" His lips were only inches from hers and his periwinkle eyes sparked with trouble.

"Please," she answered. She wanted someone to kiss her, anyone to touch her.

His lips were tentative at first, his arms tense, and she could feel his erection through his pants. Emery was surprised by his tenderness and it allowed her to open to him. Then she lost herself in the licks and sucks, the tugs and the nips. Her chest was heaving and their hands searched each other, for what, she didn't know. She'd missed being touched.

Emery's sweat-drenched hair clung to her neck and he pulled it up gently, holding it away from her neck. His lips found hers again and he pulled her bottom lip in between his teeth, then ran his thumb over the thin fabric of her dress. His eyes pinned hers again and he smirked as he rubbed circles around her nipples. Her legs threatened to give out or wrap around him. The realization that she felt everything halted the euphoria that was traveling freely through her body. She felt everything.

NO!.

Abruptly, she pulled back and frantically took a step away from him. She looked to the floor, trying to calm her heart and breathing. Shaking her head, she took another step away. She couldn't do this. Emery was not going to allow herself to feel this. She couldn't allow herself. Emma couldn't feel anything.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and then ran to find Rachel.

Emery grabbed Rachel by the hand and dragged her out of the dance club as fast as she could.

"Em, our coats!"

"Please give me the keys. Get our coats. I can't..."

Rachel nodded and allowed Emery to run out to the car.

Emery hunched in the passenger seat. She was so stupid. What was she doing? She couldn't let guys kiss her and open that side of her. There was no time where that would be okay again.

The driver's side door opened and Rachel got in, throwing her coat at her. "What the fuck, Em? Are you okay?" she asked as she cranked the car and pulled into the traffic.

"I just...I needed to get out of there. That guy..." She couldn't finish. Emery looked out the window at the passing downtown area.

"Em? Did that guy hurt you?" Rachel's eyes were blazing with anger.

"Oh, Rachel, no." Emery exhaled, exasperated. "It's best if I just stay to myself, I guess. Get me out in public and I might start feeling things, and that just leads to a big problem."

"Emery, you can't shut yourself off completely. You can meet people and have fun. You can even kiss them if you want." Rachel turned to face Emery at a red light. "That guy asked me what happened to you. He wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I can't. I don't want to kiss people or meet people, because then I may want to not lie to them, and I can't ever do that. I'll never be able to have anything real because I'm not real." She sighed. "This," she waved her hands above her body, "isn't real."

"Em..."

"I'm not real."