26
Ruby
Do I hurt?No. Am I angry? Fuck, yeah.
I’m exhausted when I arrive for my shift the next morning, I spent the night awake replaying Jem’s kiss and trying to figure out why the fuck he did. Jem said no games and he’s playing the biggest one of all. I touch my mouth, firing the memory back through. Nobody’s ever kissed me with the passion Jem did, and I’ve never kissed anybody back with a desire that matches theirs. I avoided kissing Dan unless I had no choice; I could stay disconnected from him that way.
Jem Jones kissed me like he meant it, as if he wanted me. Then seconds later, he kicked me to one side. Did he get what he wanted and then decide I’m not as attractive as he thought once he touched me? Or did he wake up to the fact the whole situation is complicated and wrong? The door to trusting Jem I’d opened is slammed shut, and now the key’s hidden.
So he’s worried my situation with Dan might fuck up the band? Newsflash, Jem Jones, you did.
No, I don’t hurt, it’s worse than that. I ache more than any physical or emotional pain Dan ever caused, my heart rent into pieces. With Dan, I was numb. With Jem, I feel everything.
After my morning shift, I call Jax and tell him I’m too sick to get to the studio this afternoon and spend the time I would’ve been with the band hiding under the duvet in my room. Is Dan right? Am I not worth anything to people? Am I that broken? Dan’s words circle my head, every cruel thing he’s ever said. Nobody would be interested in me. I’m worthless. I don’t deserve to be loved.
I didn’t expect Jem to fall in love with me but I clearly invested too much of my self-esteem into his approval, not only for the band but also for myself.
So how can I blame Jem? This is all my fault. Everything is always my fault.
Evening arrives and I have to face the world again. I shower and dress for work, then paint on my disguise. The shift is a blur, my usual poor customer service skills worse than ever. I spill drinks, slide food off plates, and end up reprimanded after a customer hears me call her something unpleasant under my breath.
10 p.m. and I’m out. The August air is thick with moisture that’s hung around all this week. I hope the weather breaks soon because the oppressive humidity doesn’t help my mood—or my ability to sleep. My phone sounds and I freeze in the cafe doorway in case it’s Dan.
Jax checking up on me.
I send back a bright and breezy text informing him I’ll be at the studio in the morning and he replies with a thumbs up. I’m not sure I will, or if I can face Jem yet. My head’s a mess.
And Jax forgot to meet me again tonight. Steeling myself, I head between the buildings that run from the street the cafe is on to the place where I park my car. I imagine the boys are at The Lion’s Head. Will Jem be with them for once?
Get out of my fucking head, Jem.I touch my mouth, pissed off I keep pulling out memories of his lips, his clean scent and the sensation of his rough cheek against mine. At the way my body begged to meld with his. Be his. Why did I do it?
Someone slams into me from behind, knocking my breath and I stumble. Pain seers my scalp as my hair is yanked back and I’m pushed headfirst into a wall. Before I can put my arms out to stop, the rough brick scrapes my forehead.
Solid, hard muscle pins me to the wall, the overpowering smell of familiar deodorant. “You shouldn’t ignore me.”
“Dan,” I gasp. Survival mode kicks in and Tuesday comes back. “Sorry. I’ll talk now.”
Grabbing my hair, he pulls and slams my head against the wall. The stars are back and prettier than ever. This time the night sky comes with them, the darkness clouding my vision.
“I’m over talking to you. I’ve given you everything. I fucking loved you and look at what you did!” His voice is low and his breath smells of strong liquor.
“You don’t do this to people you love,” I say hoarsely. “You don’t hurt them.”
“Yeah, well I don’t love you anymore. I know you’re fucking Jem Jones. Or Jax. Maybe both, you stupid whore. Do you know how much it hurts that you treated me like this? You deserve to feel the pain I fucking feel.”
Hurt him?
I slide down the wall, cheek scraping along the bricks and crumple to the paved ground. Instinctively, I cover my head. He has a pattern. My ribs will take the next beating. Then my head. If I know what’s coming I can tick them off the list in my mind until he’s finished.
When Dan kicks me in the side, all I can think is I’m glad he’s wearing trainers. The pain radiates along my ribs and I clench my teeth, refusing to cry out.
I won’t fight back.
I’ll wait.
My response to the kicking isn’t enough; Dan stops, kneels on the floor, and pushes his hands around my neck. This isn’t his usual order of attack. My head spins through pain and lack of oxygen, and above me, Dan’s face is a darkened mask and his hollow eyes are disengaged.
“Dan. You’re leaving marks. People will know,” I gasp, putting my hands over his.