Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 445

“You weren’t sorry,” he sneered. “You were just broke and pathetic. You had no one left, so you suddenly remembered my mother.”

Robert chuckled humorlessly. “And you? What’s your reason for thinking about this girl now?”

The words struck Theodore like a physical blow, his head ringing as a wave of pain washed over him. “You don’t understand! I’m not like you!”

“How are we different, son?” Robert asked. “I was a living, breathing cautionary tale, and you still didn’t learn a damn thing. So tell me, what makes you so different?”

“We’re different! We just are!” Theodore refused to listen to any more of his nonsense. “What right do you have to judge me?”

After his outburst, he retreated to his room and lay on the bed, phone held high, watching her dance. Gradually, his vision blurred until he could no longer see the screen, only the hot tears streaming down his face.

He fell into a restless sleep, haunted by dreams of people and places from a lifetime ago.

He dreamed of his youth, a time of awkwardness and passion, when every emotion was raw and immediate.

He dreamed of Carlisle, who loved to draw and was always sketching Emma in class. He remembered finding the drawings, tearing them to shreds, and the fistfight that followed. They’d been enemies ever since.

He dreamed of Bart Pearson, his old teammate. He saw Emma in the stands, a quiet figure in the corner of the cheer squad, always slipping away unnoticed after their games. He remembered Bart slinging an arm over his shoulder, watching her retreating back. “Hey, that girl Emma from your class… she seems so cool, so proud.”

He’d known instantly what Bart was thinking and shut him down. “Stay away from her, or we’re not friends anymore.”

He remembered the love letters other boys would slip into her desk, letters she never received because he intercepted them all, delivering a stern warning instead.

He remembered the snacks they’d leave for her, snacks she never tasted because he ate them all, the boys receiving the same warning.

The simple, honest heart of his youth had once been as clear and bright as morning dew. When… when had it all gone so wrong?

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