Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 2

She lay rigidly on her back, her eyes burning with pain.

Cici—Cecilia Chambers—had been his college classmate, his first love, his dream girl.

After graduation, Cecilia moved overseas. They broke up, and Theodore fell apart, drowning himself in alcohol every day.

She and Theodore, though, had known each other since high school.

She admitted to herself that she'd had a quiet crush on him back then. He was the golden boy—handsome, brilliant, untouchable—while she was just an art student. Pretty, yes, but so were many girls. At a high school where grades meant everything, being in the arts made her almost invisible, maybe even a little suspect.

So her feelings had always been a secret, something she never imagined would lead anywhere, never dreaming she'd ever stand in front of him.

Until, one summer after graduating from Dance Academy, she came home and found him at his lowest.

He was drunk that night, weaving down the street in a crooked line. He stumbled into the road without even looking. A car came barreling toward him, too fast to stop. She'd followed behind, worried about him, and at the last moment, she pushed him out of the way. The car hit her instead.

She had been a dancer, with a guaranteed spot in grad school. But after the accident, her leg was ruined.

She could never dance again.

After that, he quit drinking and married her.

He was always gentle, always grateful, always soft-spoken, always distant. He showered her with gifts and money, always making sure she had everything—except his love.

She'd told herself that time would heal everything, that one day things would change.

But she never expected that, even after five years, he'd still remember "Cici" so vividly. Even when he was alone, pleasuring himself, that was the name he whispered.

She had been so naïve, so foolish…

She didn't sleep at all that night. She read the email on her phone at least a hundred times.

It was a grad school offer from a university abroad—the thing she'd planned to discuss with him tonight. She wanted to ask: Could she go? Would he let her?

She picked up her phone, turned off the alarm, and started scrolling through apps, aimless and numb. Her mind was a tangled mess; nothing she saw registered.

Until, suddenly, a video popped up on Twitter.

The person on screen was instantly familiar.

Then she saw the username: Cici.

The algorithm, she thought bitterly.

The video had been posted last night.

Emma tapped it, and loud music filled the room. Someone was shouting: "One, two, three—welcome back, Cici! Cheers!"

The voice—unmistakably—was Theodore's.