29
Ruby
The press areoutside Jem’s house too, loitering on the wall and eagerly standing to position their cameras in my direction as I climb out of the taxi.
Ignoring the barrage of flashes and questions, I hover at Jem’s security gates, waiting for him to answer the intercom, terrified he’ll tell me to piss off because I’ve caused him trouble. The speaker crackles but he doesn’t speak.
“It’s Ruby.”
The gate clunks and I open enough to slide through sideways. Keeping a lid on Ruby is hard but I manage. How I’ve kept my silence and not screamed at the press, I’ve no idea. I pause and turn to the reporter closest to the gate. He’s young, not much older than me, and practically salivating over his proximity to the new Blue Phoenix scandal. I run a disdainful look over his close-cropped hair and smart attire.
“If Jem Jones had done this to my face, would I be here now?” I ask as the metal gates close between us.
“Hey, money can fix anything. I hope he gives you what you want.”
It’s a good thing the gate’s between us or his mouth would match my injured one right now. I see myself through his eyes, his lack of respect for someone who looks like me. He called me a cheap whore in not so many words.
“Fuck you,” I retort and head to the front door.
The door’s ajar but Jem isn’t in the hallway. I stomp upstairs enjoying the heavy sound of my combat boots; the ones I resisted using on the feet of each media asshole I came across outside.
“Jem?”
“In here.”
Jem stands in the lounge room, close to the window, and when he looks over, pain lances my heart because he’s the Jem I saw in the kitchen surrounded by broken glass, haunted and confused.This is my fault.
I hate myself for thinking this in the moment, but I’ve seen the thought in Jax’s eyes today. Have I fucked up the relationship between Jem and Ruby Riot, the one moving us on?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Jem drags a palm slowly down his cheek. “What did you tell them? The police.”
“I told them what happened. I told them Dan assaulted me. They’ll question him, not you. I don’t know where this story came from.”
“I do. It’s who I am, isn’t it?” He turns to the window and looks to the people below, and the defeat in his tone pulls further at my guilt.
I cross and touch his arm. “No, it’s not who you are.”
“And so it starts again. Not that it ever stops.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Their control, moulding me into the person they want to see. This last year has been worse, after… Liv, I’m painted as a man who hurts women. Now this.”
The whole time, Jem’s gaze remains on the window, at the world outside threatening his new peace.
“Jem, you were cleared with Liv. You did nothing wrong.”
“What’s the saying? Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. They want me to fail. They wanthimback.” His voice is the flat. Dead.
“But he doesn’t exist, Jem, not unless you let him.”
“He does. I’ve done some bad shit. You have no idea.”
“I don’t care; that guy isn’t here. Don’t let them drag him back up.”
Jem turns to me and we share another of those moments where we recognise each other’s rawness; see the lies we tell ourselves. “You, saying that, almost convinces me.”