Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 150

Chapter 150

The world outside had gone suddenly silent.

The car window was still open, and the early summer breeze–carrying a hint of flowers from who knew where–spilled in, filling the cramped

interior.

For a brief moment, Emma was stunned, her mind blank. But realization crashed over her, and she began to struggle.

Pinned against the seat, she twisted and turned, desperate to escape Theodore’s grasp. The space was too tight; she couldn’t get away. His lips were burning, insistent, closing in on hers. When she tried to dodge, he only held her head still, leaving her nowhere to run. His kiss was overpowering, his presence inescapable.

They’d been married five years, but this was the first time she’d ever been this close to Theodore. It was her very first kiss.

But nothing about this moment matched the dreams or fantasies she’d once cherished.

She didn’t want this.

Out of options and strength, Emma grabbed his hair and yanked hard, pulling his head back.

Theodore grunted in pain and finally let her go.

Both of them were left breathless, staring at each other in the suffocating space of the front seat.

Emma’s head spun violently; Theodore’s face seemed to blur and tilt before her eyes. Outside, the last of their classmates had disappeared from view.

“What, I’m not allowed to kiss you?” Theodore’s voice was ragged as he leaned in again, pinning her down.

Emma’s stomach lurched. She shoved him away, flung open the car door,

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and staggered to the nearest trash can at the curb, not caring how ridiculous she must have looked.

She barely made it before she started retching, emptying her stomach until there was nothing left. Then she slumped against the tree next to the bin, the world still spinning wildly.

The alcohol was hitting her brutally now. If it weren’t for the tree, she might have collapsed right there on the sidewalk.

Theodore stormed after her, his face dark with anger, as if a storm was brewing behind his eyes. He gripped her shoulders tightly. “What the hell is this, Emma? What are you trying to say?”

Emma could barely process his words. She leaned against the tree, her eyes glazed, staring past him.

“Seriously? I’m your husband! I kiss you and you go running to throw up?” His jaw was clenched, anger simmering in his eyes.

Emma’s world was a whirlpool of dizziness and noise–a constant buzzing that she couldn’t make sense of. The sound annoyed her, and she feebly tried to wave it away, as if she could swat the buzzing into silence. Her hand came down and smacked Theodore across the face.

He paused, stunned, then scooped her up and tossed her back into the

car.

When the engine started, the radio came alive, playing some station’s late–night selection–oddly enough, the overture from *Romeo and Juliet: Metamorphosis*.

Emma listened, transfixed.

It was one of the classic pieces she’d danced to in college, a melody etched into her memory, as familiar as breathing.

Eyes glazed with drunkenness, she began to hum along, her hands tracing invisible patterns in the air, moving as if remembering long–lost choreography.

Theodore glanced at her, saying nothing, but pressed down harder on the

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gas.

When the song ended and the host started talking, Emma frowned in confusion. “Where’s the music? Play it again! I want more music!”

But the station had already moved on.

She wouldn’t let it go, insisting over and over for the song to come back.

Finally, Theodore gave in, searching for the track on his phone and syncing it to the car’s speakers.

Only then did she quiet down, humming along, hands still dancing in the

air.

He set the song on repeat and didn’t let up until they reached home.

Emma was so drunk she could barely stand, and Theodore had to carry

her inside.

As soon as he lifted her out of the car, she went limp against his shoulder, nearly slipping from his grasp. He managed to catch her just in time, holding her tight as he carried her up the walk.

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