Trust Me - Sheryl Browne Page 0,11

gullible seventeen-year-old, her instinct had tried to warn her, gnawing away at her consistently. She’d ignored it. She was trying to ignore that same instinct now. But she couldn’t.

Jake was cheating on her.

Her mind reeled. Her heart palpitated unsteadily. He couldn’t be. She stared hard at the message that was screaming at her, telling her he could be. God. Looking upwards, she bit her tears back. He would know she’d been crying. What little make-up she wore would be ruined. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to her beauty regime, made more of herself. She hadn’t thought it was necessary for her to look glamorous when she came into work. Jake saw her first thing in the morning and at every stage between waking and sleeping, even worse for wear occasionally after indulging too much on a night out. After childbirth, during childbirth, he’d seen her then, at her absolute worst. It hadn’t seemed to faze him. She remembered how she’d felt his love like a safe blanket around her when, far from feeling powerful as she’d imagined she would be after bringing a tiny human being into the world, she’d felt vulnerable and tearful and depleted.

It had taken her a while to believe him when he’d told her he loved her; that the woman she’d seen him with all those years ago in the very same bar they drank in together meant nothing to him. As time had gone on, though, and he had been steadfast and caring, she’d felt secure in her relationship again. Finally she’d felt comfortable in her skin, something she hadn’t been since Kara’s death. He had loved her; with his eyes, with his body, he’d loved her. There had never been a day she hadn’t loved him back with all of herself. But if he was being unfaithful, then his love for her had died. She felt the tears rising, her throat tightening. She didn’t think she could bear it.

When she’d walked in on her boyfriend and Kara, she’d thought it was the most excruciating pain a person could possibly endure; until the acrid grief of losing her sister plunged her into a pit of despair so deep she’d thought she would never claw her way out of it. Her parents had never recovered from Kara’s death. They’d split up soon after. Emily saw her father occasionally, less over time. There had been no love in his eyes when he’d looked at her, more sadness and disappointment. He’d never actually said the words, but she sensed that his disappointment was because he’d lost the better, prettier, cleverer twin, leaving him with her, the flawed one. It had all been her fault.

Was this her fault too? Despite striving to be all her family needed her to be, had she never been what Jake wanted? Was she not pretty enough? Not adventurous enough in bed? Was he bored with her? Bored with marriage and the responsibility of fatherhood?

She’d made herself trust him, but had she truly known him? Could two people ever really know each other? She’d never confided in Jake her deepest secrets, the cruel things she’d said to her sister; the fact that she’d been so naïve she’d agreed to meet the man who’d used them both and who would soon be convicted of Kara’s murder. She didn’t know to this day what she’d been thinking. Her mind had been so muddled, her recollection of the day Kara died hazy. Perhaps she’d hoped he would help her remember.

They shared a tragedy in common, he’d told her when he’d contacted her. He’d needed someone to talk to, someone who understood that he’d also been damaged by what had happened. He’d said he needed forgiveness in order to move on. She’d felt for him, guessed he would be hurting; believed him. She’d seen him once. Once had been enough to confirm that he was damaged, but not by Kara’s death.

He’d had a far-reaching impact on her life. Emily had thought that, in a devastatingly ironical way, her experiences had stood her in good stead. They had taught her not to judge people, as she had Kara. Yet here she was judging Jake based on a single email. But was she? He’d said he hadn’t slept with the woman she’d seen him with years ago, but there was definitely an intimacy between them. She was clearly flirting with him, touching his hand as they’d sat at the table, threading an arm around his shoulders as they