29. Lavender
“Well, look at you.”
At that frighteningly familiar tone, I freeze. I hate myself for doing this as my shoulders hunch and my stomach turns watery with something like fear.
Just a reflex. You’re fine. You’re not alone.
“You’ve had some glow up, girl.” The arsehole snaps his fingers a few times and make an “mm, mm, mmm,” sound. He always did think he was street when he’s more Home Counties. Villages greens and Norman-era churches, country homes, and the conformist middle classes. His parents are so lovely, I used to wonder where he got his mean streak from.
I put the tray of glasses down on the concrete counter and raise my eyes. Like a wave, images rush at me. His chest over my face. The sick grin he’d flashed as I tried to push him from me. I swallow the gore that shoots up my throat, but the ball of panic stops it from fully receding.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The corner of his mouth hitches, my skin crawling as his gaze slides over it. Face. Breast. Between my legs. The sum of my parts. My only values. According to him. “Ghost of boyfriends past, eh?”
A gothic tale. One that, more than five years later, still haunts my sleep occasionally.
“I just got back. I’ve been traveling all this time. A bit of work. A lot of fun.” As he speaks, he stares up at the framed assemblage meant to be Tod’s take on time. “Bali. Hong Kong, the Solomon Islands.” He glances back at me. “I live in Dubai now. Just here on visit and saw Addsy in the pub. He told me about this place. Said how well you were doing.”
He doesn’t like that I’m doing well, that much is clear. If only I heeded that expression before, the way he’d looked at me when I said no.
“Julian.” His name echoes through my brain in a hundred different ways.
Julian, I’ve missed you so much!
New love.
Julian, why aren’t you answering your phone?
Disquiet. Didn’t he like me anymore?
Pick up, Julian. It’s me again.
Desperation.
Julian, do you love me?
Abject happiness in his arms.
Julian, no.
Please, stop.
You’re hurting me.
The end. Of many things.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is frigid. Ironic, given that’s what he’d called me. What he offered as a reason.
You’re my girlfriend.
I thought you loved me.
You’re supposed to want to do it.
I have needs.
“Surprise!” His arms shoot out like he expects me to put myself into them.
I’d rather be punched hard in my tit.
“Bring it in, girl! It’s been—”
“A lifetime wouldn’t have been long enough.”
“Baby,” he wheedles, “don’t be like that.”
I turn away, then remember. Our skins fused, his chest to my back. The overwhelming sense of panic that he was stronger than me, that he would—
I glance down, realizing I’ve picked up a flute from the tray. It bears an arc of bright orange lipstick. I wrap it in my hand anyway as I turn back to face him.
“We’re closed.” My voice sounds strained. “You have to leave.”
I’d locked the door already, or so I’d thought, after I’d shooed Polly out of it, Luis and his car keys trailing her. She only left when I promised there would be plenty for her to do tomorrow, or else she’d still be in here, gathering napkins and half-eaten canapés.
I’m glad she’s gone. Maybe I should’ve told her then, but I couldn’t. I don’t want her to find out now.
I swallow, straining to hear the clink, clink of glassware and willing Primrose to stay where she is. Tod has buggered off to God knows where, which is his usual MO when there’s work to be done. I haven’t seen Raif for more than an hour.
Please let them all stay where they are. Doing what they’re doing.
I straighten my shoulders. Tighten my grip on the glass. I’m glad we’re alone.
Just like before, I control the narrative, if not the situation.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” he murmurs, ignoring my instruction in favor of a slow stroll along the adjacent wall. “Your brother must’ve helped.”
As his head turns over his shoulder, I ignore the malicious gleam. There’s no way in hell he’s getting paid off a second time.
I’m not the person I was back then.
But would I tell this time?
“You choose this one?” he asks, pointing at Tod’s gaping metal vagina.
“I need you to leave.” Fuck off. Explode. Disappear in a puff of smoke. I don’t care which.
“See,” he says, stretching his shoulders, “I don’t think I will.”
“Fine. I’ll call the police.” I pivot on weak legs, cursing that this dress doesn’t have pockets. I’d have my phone. “Trespassing is a criminal offense.” No matter what passed between us five years ago.
The police won’t care that he stole my virginity—took what I wasn’t ready to give. That he dumped me the same week to move on to my so-called friend. They weren’t there to witness my crumbling. I’d felt dirty and discarded. Like I would never be clean again.
Would it have mattered to them that I was drunk? Maybe even a little high? It didn’t matter the evening I launched a brick through his window when he called them.
Being under the influence was not an excuse, but it was the reason I spent the night in their cells.
Whit sorted it out and paid Julian off so he didn’t press charges.
I wanted to tell my brother that he deserved nothing but pain—I wanted to scream it. Wasn’t I the victim? But I kept my secret. Turned it inward. Let it explode outward, knocking my life off course for a a little while.
It was my story. My choice to share it or not. But the story ended. Fin.
I moved on. I’ll be damned if there will ever be so much as a postscript, let alone a sequel.
“You don’t want to do that.” My wrists in his hands, his soft voice is menacing. “Not after what you did last time.”
“Get the fuck off me.” I’m not that girl. I am every woman. Hear me roar eternally, even as a tear tracks down my cheek.
The glass in my hand now smashed against the counter. Shards slicing my bare leg. The jagged edges embedded now in his thigh.
“You stupid fucking bitch!” His hands fall away, his face rage filled.
My lashes flutter, and a thought flits across my brain. Did I just make things better or worse?
“You’re gonna pay for this.”
I shake my head. “I already have.” I throw the glass, not bothering to see where it lands as I pivot away, my mind screaming run!