1 Obsession: Fight For the Billionaire's Life

Chapter One

I hated it. I hated it when a family was so overwhelmed with joy because we had saved a wife, son, or daughter and all they could think of was to hug me.

I guess it's alright for most people. Hugging has been a considerable part of human interactions for as long as their existence.

I stood by the door and watched the Chief of Surgery talk with the family, and then the wife stepped forward to hug him.

We had just come out of a 17 hours heart surgery and her husband would be alright.

Dr. Robinson turned to me. "We never would have gotten the correct diagnosis if it weren't for Dr. Emilia Hemsworth."

The woman's hand went to her throat and tears filled her eyes. Then she did the unthinkable. She opened her arms and walked toward me.

Of course, I did what I could. And all I could do was mummer, "You're welcome," and flee the room.

I could hear Dr. Robinson begin an explanation to the family that 'Dr. Emilia's condition' hindered her from accepting physical contact.

I raced down the hall until I was at the janitor's store, slammed the door shut behind me and turned the key before I could breathe properly.

'Dr. Emilia's condition'. My condition. As though I had some kind of disease that gave me two heads and six arms.

I sank to the floor, and it all came tumbling forward.

"weirdo!"

"Weirdo Emilia."

We were in third grade again, and all the kids were outside at the playground. I sat by myself and watched them while I enjoyed a novel.

But then Brian had got bored or something and started teasing me. Before I could run away, the way the teachers taught me, they circled me and started to call me names.

They were doing this to me because I wasn't like them, and I wouldn't participate in class activities like they could or look straight at Mrs. James when she asked me a direct question.

The children shoved me between themselves, from one to the other.

A teacher hurried over and scooted the kids away. "How many times do I have to tell you to leave Emilia alone?" She turned to me and bent so she was at my eye level. "Are you okay, honey?"

I was shaking, and she stretched a hand to touch my shoulder, but I shrank back and turned away, instantly aware that I didn't want anyone touching me.

"Ha ha ha," one of the boys laughed. "I told you she was weird." Others joined in.

The teacher said, "Stop it," and asked me to follow her to class.

Later that day, Mrs. James asked me to wait behind after school and that my mom would come for me.

I instantly felt apprehension. I clutched my fingers into a fist and felt sweat fill my palms.

"But I-I always follow the bus. I follow the bus every morning and after school."

"I know, Emilia. But not today; your mother is coming to get you."

I was used to being made fun of, so I didn't mind how the other kids treated me. But I couldn't stand it when my routine changed.

"I don't want to go with my mother. I want to go with the bus just as I've been doing all year."

Mrs. James suddenly looked frustrated. Her voice hardened a little. "Just sit down and wait for her."

Instead of obeying her, I grabbed my backpack and ran out of the room, down the corridor and toward the bus park. The bus crawled out of the school premises, and I shouted, "Wait for me!"

Some children saw me and a few started laughing. I didn't care. I needed to be on the bus. That was where I was every day at 2:15 pm after school. That was where I had to be today.

Mrs. James ran after me and wrapped her arms tight around my torso. Her touch made me hysterical. My backpack flew to the ground.

"Emilia, you have to stop this."

The driver had not noticed Mrs. James or me, and the bus moved sluggishly down the street and out of sight.

I bit Mrs. James's arm. She yelped and when she let go of me, I ran after the bus. When I couldn't catch up with it, I continued to run and ran all the way home.

By the time I got to our house, I was panting and sweating. I slumped on the steps and waited for my breathing to even out.

Later, I slowly got up, went to my room, laid on my bed with my shoes on, placed the earpiece over my ears and buried out the world.

I didn't hear when my mom came in. Her face was suddenly in mine, very beetroot, and she was mouthing words I could not hear.

Mom flung my backpack on the floor and began pacing the room.

"Emilia, why couldn't you wait for me? They said you went all crazy and ran off without your school bag."

I stared at her, nonresponsive. The earpiece was jerked out of my ear and she was murmuring, "I can't do it anymore, Emilia. I can't. Why won't you just be a normal kid?"

"Oh God. I can't do this anymore." Suddenly she left, slamming the door behind her.

I came downstairs later, and from the silence in the house, I knew mom wasn't home. But of course, she never was anyway, and I liked it just fine.

I enjoyed the solitude her absences gave me. It was fun to munch on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while I watched some medical programs. And I could go to bed when I wanted because she never came home early.

I never do my homework. My mother never checked, and Mrs. James's rule was if you didn't do homework, you missed recess and did it when everyone else was outside.

This was perfect for me since going outside meant being kicked around and made fun of.

Three days later, on a Saturday morning, I came downstairs to find my mother in the living room with a strange man. Her eyes were red and swollen.

"Emilia. You're going to be going with this man. We won't live together again." She paused and looked up at me. My own expression was like glass. I don't remember a single time when my mother showed me that she wanted me but still, it surprised me she would do something like this.

"You-I don't understand you, and I don't know how to help you. Maybe if you stayed a while at an orphanage, these professionals would know how to handle you. There is obviously something wrong with you, and I don't know how to help you."

The man stepped toward me, and I cringed. He exchanged looks with my mother and stepped back. "Emilia, my name is Hussein. I am a social worker. I will be taking you to an orphanage. We are hoping that when you are around other children, you will learn to socialize and interact better. Can you go get your things, please?"

There was nothing to say. I went upstairs, threw some clothes in my suitcase, shoved some in my backpack and went back downstairs to stand by the door.

The man stood up.

"Emilia, don't you want to say goodbye to your mom?"

My mom tried to hug me, but I stepped out of her reach and left the house.

"You see?" I heard her say behind me. "She won't even let me touch her."

She was crying, and I wondered why. A loving mother does not let her child go. But mine had, and I was only eight years old. I felt like I should be the one crying, but instead, the only thing I felt was my heart growing hard. It felt like someone baked it in an oven, then put it back.

I was unloved and unaccepted by my teachers, other children and my own mother.

Funny that I don't even know why I wouldn't let anyone touch me or why I should bother talking to someone who couldn't even give me a reasonable response. I didn't know why other kids thought I was weird. They were the weird ones for being so stupid.

One hour later, we were at my new home. The orphanage looked like any other house. A house with a really big family.

Children of all ages were everywhere. But the only adult I saw was a plump, pretty woman who smiled nicely at me and showed me where to put my things. Her shoulder-length 'not-so-blond' afro curls bounced in tune with her full bosom and round hips when she walked. She was very sweet and I immediately liked her.

The last thing the man said to me before he handed me over to Mrs. Brown was, "Emilia, don't try to leave. Give this place a chance. It may just be what you need."

I didn't run away. But I didn't get any better either. I was there for years and during that time, I went to school, did my best not to talk to anyone, and most importantly, didn't let anyone touch me.

I never ever made eye contact.

Every evening was the same for me. I read the classics or watched medical shows. My routine was set.

The other children seemed to understand. They left me out of group hugs and threw a birthday party for me even though I didn't try to be friendly to anyone.

Children were always coming to the orphanage or getting adopted quite often, so their faces kept changing, which was very hard for me.

It became impossible to open up to anyone since I thought they might soon go away.

But I loved the place because we did everything by clockwork. I knew exactly where I was supposed to be at any time of the day.

I gradually learned to accept Mrs. Brown's attention. She was consistent and gave me the time and space I needed.

I was at my mother's house when I did it for the first time.

That night she'd come home with a guy and they were making so much noise. My mom had put on music and they were drinking and laughing too loud.

I covered my ears to block them out, but the noise was already in my head.

I banged my head to get it out, but it wouldn't go away. I started to scream, just to get my mother's voice to stop.

My door suddenly flew open, and she was there. "Shut up, you silly girl. Shut up."

I looked up at my mother, tears streaming down my eyes, but I couldn't stop screaming.

My mother grabbed me by the arm, shouted, "That's enough," dragged me to the kitchen and pushed me into a cupboard.

That was the first time she put me in the cupboard. I didn't know what to do to stop screaming, so I pulled off my sleeve and bit my arm. That was the first time I did that.

The bite muffled my voice, and I could hear mom and the guy arguing. He was telling her to bring me out of the cupboard, then he said she was crazy and then the front door slammed shut.

She pulled me out of the cupboard, dragged me to my room and flung me on the floor.

"Stupid girl. Now you've made my date go away. You are ruining my life!"

She slammed the door and locked it from outside. I was terrified and rattled the handle. I bit my arm until I tasted the blood and cried myself to sleep on the bare wooden floor.

But the next day, when I got up, my door was unlocked. I was glad I could g to school.

It was much later, when kids teased me for always wearing long sleeves even when the weather was too hot, that I stole my mother's concealer and covered the marks on my arms.

I had been at the orphanage for two years when Mrs. Brown called me into her office one day.

"Emilia, do you like it here?"

My heart began to race. They were taking me away. Again.

Was it because no family had adopted me? I tried, I tried so many times to be nice and to smile when a family came looking for a daughter. But once they learned about 'my condition,' they would end up picking someone else.

I nodded slowly.

She nodded back and smiled. Her eyes twinkled affectionately and this calmed me a little.

Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be so bad. "I have been going through your grades and they are really impressive. I have written to the state to place you on a program for special children. Would you like that?"

I didn't know what she meant but I nodded. I wanted to please Mrs. Brown.

"Okay. There will be some tests, and someone may need to come close to you. You must do your best not to panic."

I cleared my throat and couldn't answer.

"Emilia, these tests may tell us exactly why you respond to people the way you do. And allow you to pursue something worthwhile with your level of brilliance. Can you try for me?"

I nodded.

"Good." She stood up. "Can you try to not shrink or run away if I hug you?"

I nodded slowly.

She walked around her desk to where I stood. Her large hands held me by the shoulders, then she drew my face into her bosom and held me close.

My first instinct was to shrink back. After all, that was the first real human contact I'd ever had but she held me tight.

My heart was racing, and I tried to wriggle free but she held on. Gradually I felt myself begin to relax. I couldn't hug her back but I didn't run away.

She pulled back and dabbed her eyes with a white handkerchief.

"Thank you, Emilia." She went back to sit down.

I stared at her. Was hugging me that important to her?

"A doctor will come in from tomorrow."

It took months of study and asking me hundreds of questions. Finally, they were done.

Mrs. Brown came to my bed one evening after supper. She sat on the edge of my bed, her weight tilting it and pushing me forward toward her. I quickly shifted backward.

"Did you have any idea you were gifted?" She adjusted herself for better balance.

Gifted? How can a retard become gifted? "No." I hated looking into people's eyes but I tried to look at Mrs. Brown once in a while.

I looked up at her, expecting more. "You are. Your test results show you have a near-perfect photographic memory. From tomorrow, you'll be starting a special program. Since you and I have some level of trust, the state thought it good that I will be one of your teachers."

She nodded with a smile, then stood up. "You won't be going to your school anymore. You will have your lessons here three times a week on alternate days; then you will use the other days for research. Now go to bed, we have a full day tomorrow."

What followed were months of an intense program, which slipped into years. The academic part was easy because I always remembered whatever I had seen or heard.

Still, I failed the social interactions over and over again. Mrs. Brown would yell and stomp her feet and declare I had no social or emotional intelligence whatsoever. Then, when the pressure got too much, I'd run from the room to cry and we'd start again the next day.

Those were the only times I bit myself while I was at the orphanage.

Finally, the professors declared that I had passed. Mrs. Brown took me to a restaurant to celebrate and I smiled at the waiter, sipped my bloody Mary, and ate my meal with all the proper utensils.

I jumped a few times when someone clattered their cutlery against a plate or when there was a sudden burst of laughter or chatter. Still, I recovered and had a pretty okay evening.