More Than We Can Tell
: Chapter 17

The walk home feels miles long, even though we only live five blocks apart. I keep wanting to go back, to make sure he’s okay. My hand tingles from where his fingers wound through mine.

He told me so much about his life—but everything that happened in the rain shows that a lot is still a mystery.

Was that boy his brother? He didn’t mention a brother during all the talk about his father and the years of abuse he must have suffered.

My head is so twisted in knots. A week ago my entire life made sense. Now nothing makes sense.

I’ve never seen boys fight before. The movies make it seem exciting, with clear stakes. A good guy and a bad guy. This was dirty and frightening and I didn’t understand what was going on at all.

And now I’m walking home alone. At least the rain has slowed to a drizzle.

I shiver and jog a little. My body needs to spend an hour in a hot bath, just to soak the cold out of my bones. When I turn the corner onto my street, even Texas lags a bit. It’s been an exciting night for her.

Both my parents’ cars are in the driveway. The lights in the main level are on.

I almost fall over in the street. My father is home? At a decent hour?

“Come on, Texy.” I sprint for the door, bouncing up the porch steps.

They’re just inside, sitting in the living room. They both look up in surprise at my entrance.

My mother frowns. “Emma. What on earth happened to you?” Her eyes go to my shoes, which are streaked with mud from the adventure in Rev’s backyard. “Have you been out in this storm?”

Where did she think I was?

“Yeah.” I’m breathless. “Got caught in the rain with Texy. What’s going on?”

She exchanges glances with my father. “We’ve been talking things over, and we both agree some changes need to be made to keep the peace—”

“The peace?” I say.

She nods. “Among all of us.”

“Catharine.” My father’s voice is a low rumble. His tone is mellow. Calm. “Why don’t you let her go get changed first.”

Calm. It’s so foreign in this house that I want to lie down and bask in it.

“Okay.” I fling the leash at the hook by the door and kick out of my sneakers. “Okay. Just give me a few minutes.”

The bath can wait. I jog up the stairs and strip out of my wet clothes.

Some changes need to be made to keep the peace. Among all of us.

She could break out a detailed chore chart and I’d be okay with it. I’ll cook every day if it means the sniping will end. We’ll have to eat macaroni and cheese for every meal, but whatever. I’ll vacuum every night if it means my father will come home at a decent hour.

They’re proposing a change. I can feel it.

Maybe I can show OtherLANDS to my father. Maybe he’ll finally have a few minutes to spare.

He’ll be so proud. He’ll be so proud.

I have to brush a tear away. I don’t know what he’ll do, but it’ll be amazing.

They’re still not yelling. No one is drinking. I can’t believe this.

Maybe they’ve been with a marriage counselor all day! Maybe they’ve learned to effectively communicate.

I don’t even know if my clothes match, but they’re dry. I almost fall down the stairs to get back to them.

Once again, they stare at me in surprise.

I need to be chill. “Sorry.” I drop onto the couch. “I’m just happy that you’re both here.”

They exchange glances again.

“Emma,” says my father, and his voice is gentle.

“Emma,” says my mother.

And then the room shifts. Tilts. Changes.

Something here isn’t good.

“What’s going on?” I say.

“This isn’t working,” my mother says. Her voice is deathly quiet.

“We can’t do this anymore,” says my father.

My heart is pounding in my head. I can’t hear what they’re saying. I can’t hear anything.

“Emma?” my mother’s tone takes on a familiar note of impatience. “Emma, do you understand what we’re telling you?”

“You just said you wanted to make a change. You wanted to keep the peace.”

“We do,” says my mother.

“We’re getting a divorce,” says my father.

I watched Rev tackle that boy in the rainstorm. The boy was running, and Rev plowed into him, full out, and brought him down.

That’s what this feels like.

I don’t know how I’m on my feet. I think I’m going to be sick.

I try to speak, but my mouth is too thick.

“I’m going to take a few things and stay with Kyle,” my father says. Kyle is another guy who works for Axis Games.

“Don’t do this,” I whisper.

“I’ve told your father we’ll have to put the house on the market.” My mother’s lips are pursed. “We can’t support a mortgage and an apartment—”

“Could you wait before we start talking about money?” My father heaves a sigh and rubs at the back of his neck. “She doesn’t need the details—”

“Well, someone has to worry about the details,” my mother snaps.

“Of course,” my father scoffs. “You’re so good at details.”

“And it’s a lucky thing for you, or we’d have nothing. I’m going to carry you through this divorce just like I carry you through everything.”

“Can’t you get one of your doctor friends to write you a prescription for something that would make you less of a controlling—”

“Don’t you dare call me names in front of my daughter.”

Her daughter. Her daughter.

“I’m not your daughter,” I snap. “I’m his.” I look at my father. “I can pack a bag, too.”

He looks taken aback. “Emma—sweetheart—I’m going to Kyle’s. He doesn’t even have a second room. I’m sleeping on the couch—”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

My mother makes a disgusted sound. “You are not going over there.”

“I don’t want to be here,” I yell. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to be here with you.”

Her face pales a shade. She looks stricken. “Emma—”

“Catharine. Stop.” My father looks at me. “Em. I’m sorry. You need to stay here. When I replace a place, we can talk—”

“She is not coming to live with you.” My mother has recovered and her voice is full of ice.

Even now, she’s trying to control me. Even in this. I can’t speak.

My legs don’t want to move anymore. Maybe I can go back upstairs and do this again. I can come back down and we can have an entirely different conversation.

I saw this image online once. It was a picture that said, If you’re seeing this, you’ve been in a coma for twenty years, and we’re trying a new way to reach you. Please wake up.

I stared at that meme for a full minute.

I’ve never wished for something to be so true.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

My parents are still bickering. I’m still here. Or not here.

“Can’t you—” My voice breaks. They don’t even hear me. “Can’t you—can’t you go to a counselor?”

“We’ve been to a counselor,” my mother says.

“You’ve—what?”

“For the last year,” my father says. “It’s not working, M&M. We have to do this.”

The nickname is like a punch to the face.

Now I’m awake.

“Don’t call me that,” I seethe. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Emma—”

“You’re both so selfish.” I turn for the stairs.

“Come back here!” my mother yells.

“Let her go,” says my father. “Let her process this.”

I hate him. I hate her.

I HATE THEM.

My room is cool and silent. Lights flicker on my routers. Texy barrels in beside me and shoves her nose under my hand.

I ignore her and fling my laptop open.

There are my text messages. The message my father never answered.

The tense messages with Cait. She lives with parents who are so in love with each other that it makes me want to vomit when I’m over there. Her mother comments and likes her makeup videos, for god’s sake. The last thing I need right now is an offer of chocolate-chip pancakes or someone to give me a hug, and that’s all I’d replace at Cait’s house.

After a moment, all my messages with Rev filter onto my screen, too, loading from my phone.

You and your dad are close. One of his last text messages. The words made me feel warm inside an hour ago.

Now they feel like molten lava, melting my organs.

He might understand—but all my brain hears are his parting words.

Go. I can’t do this.

I can’t text him either.

My father knocks on the door. “Emma. Please. Talk to me.”

His tone is always so quiet, which goes with his no-big-deal manner. I used to think it was a sign of strength, that he could take anything in stride.

Now it just pisses me off. I put my gaming headset on. The padded earphones muffle any sounds.

“Emma,” my father calls.

I log in to OtherLANDS.

And there, right on top, is another message from Nightmare.

Saturday, March 17 9:36 p.m.

From: N1ghtm@re4

To: Azure M

Are you blowing me off ?

This one has an attachment, too. It’s the same naked, bound avatar, but now her head has been blown up. The graphic design work is impressively visceral.

Rage fills every cell of my body. If molten lava were eating my insides before, it’s turned into a supernova settling somewhere in the center of my chest.

I don’t think about it. I type back.

Saturday, March 17 10:47 p.m.

From: Azure M

To: N1ghtm@re4

I HATE YOU.

I HATE YOU.

I HATE YOU.

I HATE YOU.

I HATE YOU.

LEAVE ME ALONE.

I block him.

Then I slam my laptop shut. I flip over in bed and scream into my pillow.

I scream so loud and so long that I forget what silence is like.

I scream until I run out of breath.

And then the silence falls and pours in around me. So much silence I almost can’t stand it.

I don’t know where my parents are. I don’t care. I don’t care.

My phone chimes. I almost throw it.

It’s almost eleven now. I hope for Cait, though I know that’s impossible. I hope for Rev, somehow.

No. It’s a message through 5Core.

For a moment, I panic that Nightmare has written back, but it’s not him. It’s Ethan.

Ethan_717: Are you around tonight? Want to get on OtherLANDS or Battle Realms?

I’m so stupid. I burst into tears.

I’m sobbing openly, but I log in to my game. Mom knocks on the door. “Emma. Can I speak with you, please?”

“Why?” I yell. I sound hysterical. “So you can tell me what a slacker I am? Or are you going to tell me how evil gaming is? Or what a loser Dad is? Or have I covered it all?”

“Emma.” Her voice is so quiet that I can barely hear her. “Emma—”

“Forget it!” I yell. “Go away.”

Then something else occurs to me. “If you turn off the Internet again, I will hack your laptop and delete everything on it.”

“Emma.” Her voice is sharp.

I turn on music and drown her out. It’s so loud that my ears hurt.

I look for Ethan_717. He’s online. I send him a team request.

He doesn’t respond, but he opens a private chat link.

Ethan_717: I’m in a group already. Want me to add you?

Of course. Like I can join a group while openly sobbing.

Azure M: No. It’s OK.

Then I sit there and stare at the screen. My parents’ words spin in my head.

Divorce.

We’ll have to put the house on the market.

We can’t support a mortgage and an apartment.

Divorce.

Divorce.

Divorce.

My screen blips with a private team request.

I send Ethan a quick chat.

Azure M: I really can’t deal with a team right now.

Ethan_717: It’s OK. It’s just me.

Oh. I click Accept.

His voice is warm in my ear. “What’s up?”

I don’t want to talk. I just want to play.

But then I inhale, and I break down sobbing. I tell him everything. My mother. My father. Their divorce. Nightmare and his messages.

It takes me a long time.

“I’m sorry,” I say when I get to the end. “I didn’t mean to unload all of that.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He takes a long breath. “I’m sorry about your parents.” A pause. “And I’m sorry about that other guy.”

“It’s fine.” I sniff. “I keep blocking him. He’ll get bored eventually.”

“Probably.” He pauses. “Is there anything I can do?”

I think of the feel of Rev’s fingers wound through mine. I swipe at my cheeks and turn down the music. My parents have gone quiet.

“Can we just play?” I say.

“Absolutely.”

So I load up a mission to do exactly that.