22. Jay
Chapter twenty-two
Jay
F ucking prick. What an absolute fucking wanker. Could I have been a bigger cunt? I kick at the base of my bed, grunting out loud as the toe of my trainer connects with the leather-wrapped wood.
I can’t shake this anger, the way I feel like I’m nothing to her. Like a project. Like something she used to pass the time, to get what she wanted before moving on in another direction. I know Katy, and I know in my heart of hearts she wouldn’t do that. I know she didn’t do that. But fuck if that wasn’t how it felt in the moment. And by the time I’d got my bearings, by the time my brain caught up to my runaway fucking mouth, she’d got up and walked out, so I couldn’t even try to explain.
And I made her cry.
Every single tear that rolled down her face felt like another knife to my gut. I was the one who caused them. And I was the one twisting the knife. All Katy has ever tried to do is help me— see me. She’s always seen me for me, right from the start. From Ruth’s birthday at Pacifica, when she slid closer and distracted me at the exact moment the walls began to close in, to Ruth’s fajitas and whatevers day when she saw how I handled—or didn’t—the noise.
She’s the best fucking thing in my life. The biggest revelation. The one person I find myself wanting to see, to spend time with. To open up to. And I just pushed her away. Made her cry. It made me feel sick to my stomach at the sight of her tears. Fucking idiot fuckwit.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in the gym. I didn’t know where else to go. There’s no one I can talk to about this—not that I would. I don’t have the words to say. I snatch a fresh roll of cloth from a basket on the desk and wrap my hands before shoving them into a round pair of gloves. I head straight for the row of bags hanging from the ceiling. I plant my feet, rear back and launch my gloved fists. The bag’s chain groans as I pummel it, and my ears fill with the sound of leather on leather and my own grunts and yells.
“Hey, man, maybe you should take a break.” A figure hovers in the edge of my periphery, shifting hesitantly from foot to foot.
“Fuck off,” I yell between hits.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself, bruh.” A second voice joins the first. I ignore them both and continue to attack the bag. Beads of sweat fly from my upper lip as I twist into the hit.
“Come on, mate, take a break for a minute, yeah? You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“Leave”— hit —“me”— hit —“the fuck”— hit —“alone!” I roar. A third man joins the party, and it takes a split second before I recognise him as Rob, the gym’s owner. He’s at least my height and a solid wall of muscle. Unlike the other two men at the edge of the scene, Rob is brave enough to step onto the mat, darting left and right in sync with me for a brief moment before ducking in and wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me away from the bag.
Immediately, I twist in his hold. He’s strong, but he’s no match for me. I overpower him easily, swinging first at the bag, and then at Rob, determined to free myself. One of my gloves lands a glancing blow to his jaw and he loosens his grip just enough for me to pull myself free. And then he lands a single hit.
It’s not a hard one, but it does exactly what it’s designed to do: it pulls me out of whatever dissociative state I’m in, and it disarms me just enough for him to grab my arms, and stop me from fighting back.
Ten minutes later, we’re in his office with two of the gym’s trainers between us, and an ice pack each.
“‘Sup bro?” My sister answers the phone with a simple greeting.
“I need your help, Roo.”
“Not sure I’m qualified for that kind of help, but go on.”
“Oh, you definitely are,” I chuckle drily. “I fucked up. I need you to come and pick me up.”
“Okay,” she singsongs, drawing out the second syllable. “Where are you? Police station? Jail?”
“I’m at Power House. You know, the boxing gym on the West Cedar estate.” I pause. Ruth says nothing. “I need help, Roo.”
Fifteen minutes later, my sister storms up to the door with an expression torn between laughter and despair. If I didn’t know her micro-expressions any better, I’d swear she was enjoying herself, seeing me with an ice pack pressed to the rapidly-forming bruise on my cheek.
“What the fuck have you got yourself into, Jay-Jay?” The childhood nickname should be comforting, but it’s not. I hang my head as Ruth slips into the room and into the wooden chair beside me, resting a small hand on my arm as Rob reaches out a bloody-knuckled hand to introduce himself. One of his employees stands guard at the door to the small office.
Ruth returns the introduction and handshake, before she reaches up, stretching her upper body and neck to whisper in my ear. “I’ve got this. It’s gonna be fine.”
Between me, Rob, and his underling, we fill Ruth in on the events of the afternoon. I keep my eyes downcast, head hung low in shame as somehow, Ruth manages to talk Rob out of pressing charges. She agrees to review Rob’s employment and membership contracts pro bono, as a favour, and we all agree I’m not allowed to use the gym anymore, but I’m free to go with no police involvement. Ruth drives me home in silence.
“What’s going on, Jay?” Ruth waits for me to flick on the lights and shrug out of my hoodie before launching her interrogation.
“I don’t—I think—I’m not—”
I sit at the opposite end of the sofa, and she shuffles along to sit beside me, pressing her head into my shoulder. I have no words anymore, no fight left in me.
“I know. Talk to someone.”
“That’s what Katy said, too,” I whisper. “When we had lunch—I kind of freaked out on her once. Or twice.”
“She’s pretty clever,” Ruth says. “You probably should listen.”
“Roo… I got hurt. At work, I mean.” I sigh and drop my head to hers. “She told me to tell you that, too, but I didn’t listen to that either.”
“At the casino?”
“No. Before. It’s why—it’s why I left. I wasn’t bored. I was attacked.”
Ruth’s head springs from my shoulder and snaps to face me, eyes wide and jaw set.
“What? Why the fuck wouldn’t you say something? Katy knew?”
“Don’t you dare be pissed at her, Ruth.” My voice is quiet, a low growl I didn’t expect when the words burst out of my mouth. I have a sudden vision of my sister turning on her best friend, and I won’t be the reason for that. I’ve witnessed their friendship—their family— and it’s something I won’t mess with. “I asked her not to say a word. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“God, you’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” Ruth pitches forward and flings her arms around my neck. “I’ll always worry about you, dummy. You’re my big brother.”
She squeezes me for a long moment before pulling away, using her thumb and index finger to turn my chin to face her.
“Are you okay, really?”
Her eyes bore into mine. They’re my eyes. Our mum’s eyes. Eyes I can’t lie to, not anymore. However easy it would be to brush her off and tell her I’m okay, today has been a wake-up call. An unpleasant one. Fuck, I can’t keep lying about being fine anymore, because I really don’t think I am.
“No. Not really.”
She wraps me in a hug again, exhaling slowly and steadily against my shoulder, and I cling to her. I don’t mean to, but I just can’t bring myself to let go, and I know Ruth won’t be the one to do it first. I’ve needed this, my sister and her soft vanilla perfume. Ruth’s hugs have always been a safe harbour, a comfort. In the jeep, and in the hospital, a hug from Ruth was my only goal, even when I was too angry, too broken to let her see me. It’s the one thing I focused on to get me out alive.
I don’t say much more, and for once, Ruth doesn’t push me. I say the bare minimum about the attack, and I tell her I’ve had nightmares. It’s the most honest I’ve been with her for a long time. I downplay the panic attacks more than I probably should, but that’s something I can unpack in my next session with Guy. For tonight, I just want to spend some time with my sister.
Ruth cooks us dinner and we eat over The Terminator , my favourite film. Another comfort choice. She managed to find enough ingredients in my cupboards to make enough food to fill my fridge for a week, and I stack the last of the Tupperware as she slips her feet into her Chelsea boots and shrugs on her jacket.
“Thanks, Rooey.” I wrap Ruth in a hug as we reach her car. Her ponytail is soft and cool as it brushes against my cheek, and she pats my shoulder as we break apart.
“I’ve got you, bro.” She pushes onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek before climbing back into her Range Rover and blowing another kiss through the window as she steers the car into a turn and out of sight.
Back in my flat, I turn the shower temperature up to a little beyond scalding and step under the spray. I scrub shampoo into my scalp to thoughts of Katy. Thoughts of what an idiot I’ve been. Of how dumb I’ve been to let her get so close—but how freeing it’s been, too, to be seen and understood the way she understands me.
And thoughts of what a monumental fuck up today has been. If hurting Katy wasn’t enough—and really, it was far too much already—I had to have a very public breakdown at the gym. And even worse is the devastation left in its wake. I’ve lost my sanctuary. I hurt—physically—people who have only ever showed me kindness, and now I’ve brought my sister into my mess, too. It felt like a weight off my chest to talk to her, to tell her some of the last few months, but it made me feel like a bigger dickhead, too. Because for all of her pushiness and her lack of tact, my sister is good. She’s kind and sweet and loving, and she doesn’t deserve this.
But isn’t that the mindset Guy has me trying to change? Isn’t that what Katy’s been saying all along?
I can’t get her stricken eyes out of my mind. The way she flinched, the way she pulled back like I might… fuck, like I might have hit her. I’m many things, and I can’t pretend some of them are things I never imagined I’d be. But the one thing I’m not is a man who’d raise his hand to a woman. And while it guts me that she might have thought that of me, it hurts more that I gave her reason to consider it.
She’s the best fucking person I know. She might have started off as a quiet friend, someone to pass the time with, but it didn’t take long for me to enjoy her company—and enjoy her . And I’d give anything to go back to when I made her laugh, rather than cry.
She’s my little sister’s best friend. She’s off-limits. Of all the women in the fucking world, why does this one have to be the perfect one?
I focus on the last happy image of her in my mind: walking into Flights and Fancies this morning in a short denim skirt. Her T-shirt had loose, folded sleeves and a deep V-neck, with cowboy romance book club embroidered across her chest. She looked like sunshine, with the front pieces of her hair pulled back in a claw clip and sparkly pink gloss on her lips. The lips that smiled so brightly when she saw me, but then trembled as tears fell, because I made her fucking cry . Because I’m a fucking arsehole. I slam an open palm against the tiled wall, splashing a lethal combination of water and shampoo residue directly into my eye and yelping at the sting. For fuck’s sake.
I’m dried off and in bed fifteen minutes later, even though it’s still early, and the last vestiges of daylight are still clinging to the horizon. This has to end. I have to find a way to just be friends with Katy, because the alternative—losing this friendship we’ve built—is unthinkable. It’s what’s got me through this new season of civilian life. It might be the only thing that’s got me through it. But friendship is all we can have, because she’s off-limits. I shouldn’t, but fuck… I’m pretty sure I want her to be more than that. I know I can’t be, but my god, I want to be the kind of man she deserves.
I reach over and pull my phone from its docking station.
Jay
I’m sorry princess
I was a cunt
please forgive me