by Ruby Molloy
“You got any plans for tonight?” he asks once we’re in the elevator.
“I’m heading over to Boyd’s. You?”
He lifts up the hefty black sports bag he’s carrying.“A game of squash followed by a few beers.”
“Nice.” I don’t know why I say this. I’ve never played squash in my life and it’s doubtful I ever will. Maybe Boyd plays. It’s one of the many things I’m yet to find about him.
Out on the street I head left and Charlie turns right. “Catch you tomorrow,” he says.
“Bye, Charlie.”
I turn fully in the direction I’m headed, slowing when I notice someone walking directly towards me. That’s when I notice him, though he’s already spotted me. His eyes, a pale washed-out grey, are fixed on mine. A shiver chases down my spine and I come to a halt. Someone tutts from behind when they’re forced to swerve around me. I begin walking again, with more purpose this time, but he blocks my path.
“Kayla.”
I should just keep on going. It’s busy here and it’s not like he can do anything.
“God, Kayla! How are you?” His voice and face are sincere, as if we parted on good terms. But I’m not here in the present. I’m mired in the past, recalling how his hands squeezed and his eyes bulged as he strangled me.
“I have to go!” I try to walk past him, but he blocks me again.
“You work here?” He looks up at the building I just left and I know he’s storing away the information.
He’s gained weight since I last saw him. Not fat exactly, just more solid, more substantial. He’s wearing a dark grey suit, an expensive one, the trousers sitting exactly where they should on his black leather shoes.
“I’m in a hurry, Liam.”
“Can we talk, go for a coffee or something? I’d really like to talk.”
My eyes widen. I wonder if he’s insane, if he’s somehow convinced himself the violence didn’t happen. “No, sorry, I’m busy.” Why am I apologising?
“Okay. I understand. Listen.” His fingers dip inside his pocket and he retrieves a business card. “Give me a call when you’re free. I’d like to talk, to say sorry.”
I shove the card in my pocket, unseen, thinking I might vomit on his leather shoes. Stepping around him, I hurry away, telling myself not to glance back. I don’t, but I can feel him watching.
Perspiration coats the small of my back and suddenly my shoes are pinching and the pavement is shrinking. People swarm around me, the sound of their footfalls overwhelming. I turn the corner and tuck myself against the stonework of an old building, scanning the faces of pedestrians, terrified that one of them will belong to Liam. I’m not sure how long I stay there, invisible against the wall, but when my heart has slowed and my legs feel stronger, I continue my journey home.
My mind is remembering how it used to be; bruises that never had the chance to fade, words designed to shatter and break. And circling in my mind is the fear that it’s about to begin again.
When I reach home I shut the front door and head to the bathroom, stepping under the shower before the water has a chance to warm.
No matter how hard I scrub, I can’t wash him away.
I’m sitting on my bed, wrapped in a towel, when the flashing light on my phone registers. I’ve been lost in thought, thinking about Boyd. Thinking I should cancel tonight’s plans. Maybe I’m not ready for another relationship. Maybe I should take some time out.
I search out a pair of combats and my army-green t-shirt, pulling a face when my reflections tells me I look like a wannabe soldier. Next I brush my hair and cleanse, tone, and moisturise my face. After that I catch up with my washing and write a shopping list on pink paper with tiny butterflies. It’s amazing just how many chores I need to catch up on. It’s gone nine when I run out of distractions and finally check my phone. There are two messages from Boyd. The first asking if I’m on my way. The second asking me to call him.
He sent them three hours ago.
I text back, telling him I have a headache, asking if we can postpone. He messages right back, asking if I’m okay and do I need anything.
I stare at his text for long minutes, but I don’t reply.
I fall asleep. Not a deep sleep. My brain is too wired and my dreams end up morphing into nightmares. I wake during the night and sit cross-legged on my bed, drinking from a glass of water. There are no more texts from Boyd. I like the fact that he’s not bombarding me with messages. Liam was the opposite. He’d text and call constantly, tracking my every movement. After that he moved onto restricting the amount of time I spent with friends. He’d time me by setting the timer on my phone, synchronising it with his own, telling me I had to be home before the alarm went off. Or else.
When I can’t get back to sleep, I go for a run. I haven’t done this since I was at school and I don’t even have the proper running gear. I make do with a t-shirt and denim shorts. It’s early, but the sun’s up. I run a couple of laps round the block and when I return home my head feels clearer. I’m still thinking about Liam, but now I feel more in control.
Breakfast is berries and cereal. I’m in the mood to be healthy, though I’m not skipping my caffeine―there’s a limit to my healthiness. I arrive at work early and read through the handbook I meant to read last night. Charlie’s face peers out from one of the pages in the staff section. He’s handsome and cocky, but Violet’s photo is the most striking, her make-up perfect, the black shading not obscuring her pretty blue eyes and blemish-free skin.
I listen carefully in the weekly staff meeting, learning more about who does what and who are the alpha characters. Of course Charlie’s one of the alphas. He dominates the conversation, mostly because he has the best ideas, but he’s happy to tone it down when someone else has something to say. Except for when it comes to Violet. He challenges her on everything, questioning her data and suggestions for a new campaign.
Delta listens to both arguments and in the end goes with Violet’s suggestion. I’m surprised when Charlie doesn’t appear concerned by Delta’s decision. Maybe he’s an alpha without an ego.
Meeting over, I grab a fresh cup of coffee on the way back to my desk. My lack of sleep is catching up with me and I don’t want to be caught yawning.
Charlie’s out with a client when I go to lunch. I sit with Violet and we make small talk, getting to know each other without crossing over into the personal stuff. She’s fun, if a little uptight, though after a while she relaxes enough to crack a smile.
My afternoon is spent studying the company clients. It’s not a long list, but there’s a heap of information beneath each client’s name. Once again, before I know it, it’s five o’clock. I save my files and log-off. Charlie’s back from his meeting. He bagged another client. I know this because Delta circulated an email congratulating him. He could easily have been a douche about it, but he shrugged off the praise. I get the impression he’s well liked by everyone. Except by Violet, of course.
Charlie catches up with me in reception, holding the door open for me. He’s carrying his sports bag.
“Squash?”
“No, gym tonight. Got to keep these guns polished.”
He flexes his arm while he says this and I can’t help laughing. “Wow, what big muscles you have.”
He feigns offence. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Never. See you tomorrow, Charlie.”
He’s gone and I’m walking the same way I walked last night, my gaze shooting back and forth, checking for Liam. He’s not here, but Boyd’s standing ten feet away, his back to the wall, watching Charlie walk away. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, the collar of which is undone. He looks tough and unapproachable, but I walk towards him anyway, flicking my hair over my shoulder, determined to appear unaffected.
His eyes are still on Charlie’s retreating back when I reach him. “That why you cancelled last night?” he asks.
“No.” I knew he’d make that link and I should have been prepared, but I’m not. His
question reminds me of Liam. It’s the kind of thing he would have said, only there’s no anger in Boyd’s question. I stare at him, refusing to give an explanation or defend myself. I don’t want to be that person again.
Boyd searches my faces and says, “You want to get something to eat? Maybe talk?”
That’s it? No questions? No accusations?
“Sure.” I offer him a tentative smile.
He returns it, though it’s small, more than a grin really. It has my stomach flipping. He takes my hand and leads the way to a small Italian restaurant down a cobbled side street. There’s a twenty minute wait for food and Boyd seems content to wait in their bar, ordering wine for me and a beer for himself.
He finds us a couple of stools, but I’m wearing a denim skirt and the only way I can sit comfortably is with my legs crossed. Boyd drags his eyes from my thighs and asks, “So, Charlie works for the same company as you?”
His question comes out of the blue and I wonder if he deliberately tried to catch me off guard. “Yeah. I found out at lunch yesterday.”
“Should I be worried?” He tips his bottle to his mouth, watching me.
“No.” That’s all I’m giving him. I wait for his reaction. It’s not what I expected.
He shifts round on his stool until he’s facing me. “You staying at mine tonight?” he asks.
I don’t want to play games. He’s close and when I turn my gaze his way his face is inches from mine. “If that’s okay?”
“Sure.”
I don’t know what I hoped for, but it was definitely more than just ‘sure’.
Fifteen minutes later we’re shown to our table and handed a menu. The restaurant’s small, no more than ten tables. Over in the corner a guy’s playing guitar and I’m vaguely aware that he’s talented, but I’m more interested in Boyd.
“How’s your head?” he asks.
His question comes out of the blue. I straighten and place my wine glass on the table. I haven’t forgotten our conversation in the park that day, when he told me how easy it was to spot a liar. “I didn’t have a headache,” I admit, watching his eyes turn cold, knowing he’s locking himself down.
“No?”
“No. I, uh ... I saw my ex.” It’s not until the words are free that I realise how they sound. Boyd pins me with his gaze. The only part of him that’s moving is his chest. “It’s not what you think,” I rush on. “I’d just finished work and he was outside my building, walking towards me.”
Boyd sits in stony silence, waiting.
“His name’s Liam. He ...” Damn, why is this so difficult? “The last time I saw him was more than two years ago. We were in a court room. He was sentenced to a year in prison for assaulting me.”
I glance up nervously. I’m not sure how Boyd will react. I see shock and anger and a host of other emotions, all combining to make him appear scary as hell.
“What did he do to you?”
“He, uh, broke some bones and tried to strangle me.”
Anger tightens his mouth and his eyes are feral. “And before that? What did he do?”
I shake my head, silently pleading for him to understand. “I don’t want to talk about it, Boyd. I’ve dealt with it, moved on.”
“What did he do?” His voice is pitched low, the hand around his beer bottle showing white across the knuckles.
“What does it matter? It happened, I’m over it.”
He leans in, his eyes not letting go of mine, not even when the waiter approaches and Boyd tells him to give us a minute. “You’re not over it and I need to know because what happened made you who you are, and until you tell me I won’t know you, not fully.”
“It’s a little soon to be exchanging life stories, don’t you think?” Bitchiness is a great defence mechanism, but Boyd’s not yet done.
“That why you said you had a headache after you saw him? Coz you’ve moved on?” He leans back in his chair, his jaw tight, his left hand gripping the corner of the table.
“It was a shock, that’s all. Seeing him there, walking towards me ...”
“He knows where you work, for Christ’s sake.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
He leans towards me, glowering. “Do you even know how vulnerable you are? If he wants to hurt you he knows exactly where you are.”
“He won’t do anything. It’s too public.”
Boyd looks like his temper might finally erupt. He curses under his breath and leans back in his chair and if he can’t stand being this close. “Are you fucking kidding me? You have no idea what’s running through his mind. You read the papers, watch the news? You have any idea how many women thought the exact same thing and wound up dead?”
“Not helping, Boyd! What am I going to do? Stay in my apartment with the door locked? Isolate myself from everyone and everything on the chance Liam will attack me?”
Boyd’s jaw flexes and I’m not certain, but I think he might be grinding his teeth. “You don’t take chances is what I’m saying. You stop using public transport. You don’t walk anywhere, you drive or take a cab.”
I release a derisive snort of laughter. “You think I can afford that and still have money for food?”
“I’ll pay.”
That kind of floors me, coming as it does only a few days into our relationship. “What?”
“I’ll give you the money.” He’s no longer looking at me. He’s staring at his menu.
“You hardly know me. Why would you do that?” I didn’t think it was possible for him to look any more pissed. Guess I was wrong.
His chin tips up and he fixes me with angry green eyes. “You’re asking me why I want to help you?”
“Yes.” My reply is loud enough to attract the attention of several diners.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt. That a good enough answer?”
“Not really, not when you’re assuming the worst. Not when we’ve only been dating a week.”
“Christ, someone’s got to assume the worst, seeing as you’re burying your fucking head in the sand. And fuck that we’ve only been dating a week. You know I’ve been into you for a while.”
“Into me?” I laugh, which only serves to infuriate Boyd further. “You’re into me? Wow, you’re really smooth. Seriously, what are you fourteen ?”
Boyd’s heat turns icy cold. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Deliberately trying to piss me off.”
A smiling blonde waiter arrives at our table. He’s half the size of Boyd, but he manages not to wilt under his aggressive stare. I guess waiters are a tough breed. “Hi, are you ready to give your orders yet?”
“No, give us another―”
“I’m ready, thanks,” I say, deliberately overriding Boyd. I smile sweetly, hoping to counteract Boyd’s hostility. “I’ll have the carbonara, please.”
I transfer my smile to Boyd. He’s scowling, angry that I’ve taken control. He gives his own order, collects up the menus, and thrusts them into the waiter’s outstretched hand. When he’s gone and Boyd’s taken a sip of beer, he leans back in his chair and stares at me. I’m conscious that he’s right about me trying to piss him off and I want to make it right, I’m just not sure how to do that without opening up.
Boyd tilts his head and rubs his neck before saying, “How about I agree to hold back on the questions, if you agree to tell me another time? That work for you?”
“I guess.”
“Good, coz I’m fucking tired of arguing with you.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You always have to have the last word?” I refuse to give him the satisfaction of answering and he releases a low growling sound. “Please tell me you’re not sulking. I can handle most things, but sulking isn’t one of them.”
“I’m not sulking.” I say this in the manner of a sulky child.
Unexpectedly, Boyd cracks a grin and relaxes. Really relaxes. As if everything is going to be okay. I take his lead and huff ou
t a laugh. “Guess I’m a little much sometimes, huh?”
He laughs like it’s an understatement. “Something like that, yeah.”
Our conversation is cut short by the ringing of his phone. “Molly,” he tells me, grimacing. “Hey, Moll. Now’s not a good time. Mind if I call you back?”
He laughs at her reply. “No, I’m having dinner with Kayla.”
He frowns, his eyes skating over to mine and I think maybe she’s talking about me. “No, it’s not like that, Moll. Listen, I’ll call you later, I promise.”
He hangs up and pockets his phone.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, she just wanted to talk.”
I take a sip of my wine, giving consideration to my next question, and deciding to just go with it. “Does she call you often?”
“A couple of times a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”
“That’s a lot of phone calls.”
He stares at me a while before answering. “What are you trying to say? That she shouldn’t call me so often? Or I shouldn’t take her calls? Coz I promised I’d be there for her, no matter what.”
“What about Tag? Does she call him too?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know. They talk, just not so often. Me and Molly are closer, that’s all.”
I lean forward and smooth my fingers over the table’s surface, unsure how he’s going to take my next words. “When we drove away from her house last weekend I saw her reflection in the mirror. She was watching us from behind the curtains.”
Boyd is back to being pissed again. “What, you think she’s hung up on me, is that where you’re going with this? Coz that’s a pretty low thing to say.”
“I wasn’t ... I don’t know, it just freaked me out, seeing her hiding, watching us.”
“What can I say? Maybe she acts a little weird sometimes, but she’s grieving and her in-laws are being a pain in the arse. Give her a break.”
“I only―”
“Yeah, well don’t, okay? Now can we change the subject and move onto something that’s not gonna have us at each other’s throats?”
We sit in silence until our food arrives. I do my best to concentrate on the flavours and texture of the food rather than the state of our fledgling relationship. I remember how it was with me and Liam in the beginning. How considerate and sweet he was, how he only showed his true colours further down the line.