Rising

by Lisa Swallow

  “Not in this house. Best I can offer is something to warm you up.”

  Listen to me, I sound like Bryn. ‘I’ll make you a nice drink and we can chat about how your boyfriend just assaulted you’.

  “Water’s fine.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Water’s fine.” She perches herself on my white leather sofa, sitting forward with her elbows on her knees.

  In the kitchen, I resist slamming cupboard doors and getting pulled back to the anger over men who assault women. I’ve been a fucking asshole, done some shit stuff around women; but apart from that fucked up incident with Dylan I barely remember, I’ve never done anything close to assaulting one.

  From the doorway, I watch Ruby, her rigid figure and unmoving eyes are those of someone elsewhere. I’ve fantasised about this woman, but now all I see is a lost soul.

  “Ruby.” I approach and hold the glass out.

  Bruises circle the wrist of the hand she takes the glass with and anger flashes into my mind, ramped up when I see the darkening marks on her neck.

  “What the fuck did he do?” I say, stronger than I intended.

  “I can’t go back.”

  “You should’ve left a long time ago.”

  “I don’t know where to go. I don’t have anywhere. Last time Dan was the place I could go.”

  I swallow. “Last time?”

  “I could share with Jax and the guys, but Dan will find me.”

  Ruby isn’t listening; she’s locked in her place of safety where nobody else is allowed right now, talking through her thoughts. I touch her hand and Ruby jerks it away, eyes growing as she looks at me.

  “Do you want me to leave you alone?” I ask.

  “Can I stay?”

  There’s no way I’ll have a reasonable conversation with her, not until she rejoins the world. “I said yes.”

  “Here?” Ruby pushes herself against the sofa arm.

  This fragile girl pushes into my past and drags up things I don’t want to think about - not just Liv, but before. Bruised and fuck knows what else, she came to me. Me.

  This isn’t fucking good.

  Chapter Ten

  Ruby

  The girl in the mirror isn’t the same as yesterday, and not just because of the bruises and cuts. Dan’s attempt to tear apart the Ruby I created, the one who could walk away, has backfired because now she’s more determined than ever to push out and leave Tuesday behind. I won’t be the frightened mess of a girl who blindly arrived on Jem’s doorstep last night; nobody is going to see her again.

  The blackened bruises around my neck and arms are bad enough, but there are dark marks on my legs where he gripped my thighs. The bile edges into my mouth, how close he came to breaking me completely. The person who, three years ago, offered a safe place is the one who nearly ended who I am.

  The nausea I feel about last night’s events isn’t just Dan’s abuse, but the vulnerability I showed to Jem. Nobody but Dan has seen me so powerless; and although the barrier is back, Jem has seen behind. Nobody gets to see the reality of who I am or control me again.

  Dan failed.

  They’ll all fail.

  But Jem saw Tuesday. Now he has access to the vulnerable girl, will he try to take advantage too?

  I turn on the shower, step inside, and wash the rest of Dan off my body. Forever.

  ****

  The coffee machine splutters as I attempt to figure out how to use it and as I wipe up the mess with a kitchen towel, Jem appears. He pulls a t-shirt over his head as he walks into the room and the cotton slides down his hard abs, over the jeans sitting loose on his hips. I ignore my body’s reaction, telling myself the attraction is because he was kind to me last night. His brown eyes are reddened, betraying his tiredness at his early hours visitor. Amusing, I spent the night with Jem Jones but not in the way my suppressed fantasies ever imagined. I’m vulnerable in just Jem’s t-shirt. I wish it covered more of me, or that I hadn’t left my wet clothes screwed up on Jem’s bathroom floor last night.

  “How’re you feeling?” He pulls his thick brown curls into a ponytail and snaps a band around them.

  “Do you want a coffee? I made a mess so may as well make it worthwhile.” I pull another cup from the cupboard, fielding his question.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Silently, I prepare the drinks with shaking hands. Jem passes me the milk from the fridge, as if this is a normal morning, two people living together and following their routine. When I pass Jem the cup, his fingers linger on mine long enough to indicate comfort. I pull my hand away. “Thanks for letting me stay. I’ll call Jax later, see if I can use his couch until next week.”

  “Stay here if you feel safer,” he says quietly, brows tugged. “You need to go to the police.”

  I touch my swollen lip. “No.”

  Jem’s face hardens. “Why?”

  “Leave it.” I sip my coffee. “At least there’re no issues with Dan stopping me touring now.”

  Jem slides onto a black stool next to the counter and rests his elbows on the edge. “I care about more than whether you can tour, somebody attacked you.”

  “Don’t bother. Are we meeting the guys to firm up the tour later?”

  “You turn up at my house in the middle of the night after being assaulted by someone and tell me not to bother?” presses Jem.

  He’s not going there, his involvement stops now. “Looks like it. I’ll go if you want; my car’s outside.”

  “You don’t want my help?” He’s unable to disguise his incredulous look.

  “No. I can deal with this.” A memory of last night seeps in and my heart rate spikes. Can I?

  The silence rejoins us and I debate whether to leave him and find my car keys. “Why did you come here?” he asks eventually.

  “I don’t know. After… it happened, my head was a mess. I got in the car and drove and somehow ended up here.”

  “Because it’s me. Because you know you can trust me.”

  “No, because Dan would go to the guys’ house to look for me. You think I’ll trust you because you helped me when I needed it? Newsflash: I trusted the last guy who helped me and last night he tried to rape me.”

  Jem’s face reddens and he sweeps a gaze over me. “He did what? Fucking hell, Ruby, you should be on the phone to the police!”

  “He didn’t and he won’t get the chance again.” I finish the drink, forcing the hot coffee down so I can get out of the room. “Maybe it’s a good thing Dan did this.”

  Jem’s mouth parts. “You’re fucked up! It’s a good thing a guy tried to rape you?”

  “Yes! He finally stepped over the line far enough that I have the strength to walk away.”

  Coffee sloshes from the cup as Jem crashes it onto the counter and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. I stand in the kitchen, and let go of the control I’ve held onto by my fingernails. Just a few words to Jem about what Dan did unlocks everything, the fear shaking through my exhausted body. Tears spill and I bite hard on my injured lip, the familiar metallic taste of blood on my tongue intensifies the memory.

  “If you fucking think…” Jem reappears through the door then halts as he catches sight of me.

  I spin around to face the sink before he sees any more and rub my face on the shoulder of the t-shirt.

  Jem mutters expletives under his breath and I wrap my arms around myself, holding in the need to keep crying, willing him to leave.

  I’m unsure whether Jem has gone, until he speaks again. “I understand you don’t want another guy trying to control your next move, but stay here. Do your own thing until you get your head together; I’ll leave you alone.” There’s a clatter as keys hit a table. “I’ll give you the alarm code.”

  Jem’s behind me, I don’t need to turn, hairs on my neck standing up at the awareness of his presence. He’s close enough to touch and I tense, but another part wants to sink back, allow Jem to hold me and tell me things will be okay. The stupid, trusting part
that fucks my life up.

  “I’ll back off; but if you go back to Dan, I’m cutting my ties with Ruby Riot,” he says quietly.

  I hold my breath until the door closes again. Smart guy. Jem knows he can’t push me into anything, so he goes for my Achilles heel. The one thing that’s kept me going for the last year, the dream I’ve kept alive in the midst of the nightmare: success for the band.

  If I fucked that up, I don’t know where I’d go, or what I’d do.

  ****

  Placing my bag on the floor, I catch sight of a note on the kitchen counter. Scrawled in black marker pen is a list:

  No drugs

  No alcohol

  Don’t ever wake me up

  Don’t touch my stuff

  With amusement, I read the list several times. I guess this is Jem Jones’s equivalent of a housemate agreement.

  Is that what I am? What is this situation? Once we figured out Dan was working, Jax took me to grab some stuff from Dan’s place. Tucked in the holdall is my black tin, the savings for my escape plan. I’m going to need it sooner than I expected. I count and I have enough to see me through the weeks where I can’t work due to the tour. Then after the tour, I can look for a place to live. I almost have enough for a deposit on a room.

  Jem suggests I stay for a couple of weeks until Ruby Riot goes on tour, so I can take time to get my head together. His behaviour is weird and the niggling feeling Jem wants something worries me. The idea Dan could find me at the guys’ place is a bigger worry, so I accept Jem’s offer and settle into the spare room he gave me last night. There’s dust on the drawers and the place looks untouched. I guess Jem doesn’t have regular guests. The wardrobe is empty and I don’t bother hanging anything up, dumping my holdall on the floor instead.

  When I head back into the living area, I spot Jem sitting on a stool in the kitchen, flicking through his phone.

  “Hey,” he says, barely glancing at me.

  I attempt to take in the sight of bad boy Jem Jones tucking into something the opposite of his old image.

  “You’re eating yoghurt,” I say.

  “Yeah? Why? Did you want some?”

  I giggle. “Jem Jones eating yoghurt.”

  He slams the pot on the counter. “Why is that fucking funny?”

  Okay, so the temper is still there. “Sorry, it’s just strange.”

  He scowls and I grasp for a subject change. “I got your housemate agreement.”

  “My what?”

  I pull the A4 sheet from under a pile of mail and push it toward him.

  “That? Just a list of shit.” Jem focuses on his phone again.

  “I wouldn’t bring drugs into the house; you didn’t need to write that.”

  He rubs his nose. “Cigarettes.”

  “What?”

  He points at the list with his spoon. “I didn’t write those down. I’m trying to stop, so no smoking in the house.” He catches my look. “I have a garden. Go out there.”

  “Right.”

  Jem scrolls back through what he was looking at and continues to eat. At least I don’t need to worry about him interfering; currently it appears he wants nothing to do with me. I should be happy this allays my fears, but the girl who craves attention lurks close by.

  “I need to shop if I’m staying. Did you want anything?”

  Jem blinks at me. “What do you mean?”

  “Shopping. Groceries.” I point at his tub. “More yoghurt.”

  I cringe. I shouldn’t have teased because pissing this guy off isn’t a good idea when he’s helping me. Jem makes a soft snort of amusement and shakes his head. “I’m good. I have plenty of yoghurt.”

  Conversation over, I head out into the fresh summer air, dizzied by the surreal situation and on edge in case Dan lurks nearby. When I return, Jem’s no longer around and music filters from upstairs. The house has three storeys and Jem’s living area appears to be at the top. The second floor, where the other bedrooms are, also holds the kitchen and a lounge area, which includes a huge TV and the sofa I slept on last night.

  I unpack the few groceries I bought. I don’t eat a lot, more than I did when I counted every calorie and obsessed about my weight, but now I’m skinny because I don’t have an appetite. I forget to eat much of the time rather than choosing not to. Alcohol fills the gaps, but I won’t be drinking any of that if I’m here.

  I retreat to my room and pull out my guitar. Time to lose myself in my other world; in the place, I’m safe from Dan.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jem

  Ruby’s lived here three days and I hardly see her. We cross paths in the kitchen or lounge and exchange pleasantries, but it’s fucking weird. I’m aware she doesn’t leave the house much unless Jax is with her, but if I so much as touch on the subject of Dan, Ruby closes down. If Dan came here to find her, I’d break his fucking legs.

  I don’t go out much either, I’m enjoying the down time and peace. I never thought I’d say that, but I’ve finally listened to my body and the professionals insisting I do. After a morning in the upstairs lounge, the place nobody goes, I head downstairs to grab something to eat. For once, Ruby’s out of her bedroom and in the lounge, watching TV and eating a bowl of noodles. I head over and sit on the sofa arm next to her. Ruby watches me cautiously. The cut on her lip is healing but the dark bruise still covers her cheek, the others around her neck yellow.

  “You feeling better?” I ask.

  “Yeah. How are you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Awkward conversation over, she returns to her noodles. The familiar smell of spice and salt hits me. “Are you eating the instant crap? I lived on those. They taste like shit.”

  She swallows the mouthful. “Are you discussing eating habits with me, Jem Jones?”

  “Just saying. At least you’re eating.” She frowns at me. “You look better.”

  Ruby’s face has lost the gauntness. A couple of days eating properly and she looks better, even if she’s still skinny as hell.

  “Right.” Pink tinges her cheeks.

  “You don’t have to stay in your room all the time when you’re here. I don’t mind you trying different rooms in my house as long as you keep out of my space.”

  She turns her blue eyes to mine, and licks the sauce from the noodles off her bottom lip. Those lips. Fuck. “I’m happier on my own, too.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, just saying.” I stand, is she trying to drop a hint?

  “No, I hope you don’t think I’m being rude though.” Ruby puts the bowl down and stands too.

  “Nah. I’ve never lived with a chick before so I’m not sure what to do.”

  Ruby stares at me as if I have something sprouting out of my head. “Really?”

  “No. Or anyone. I guess I like being on my own. Touring, I have my own room. Sometimes I stay with one of the other guys, but I’ve never done the whole house share thing.”

  “Oh. Sorry, I won’t stay much longer.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You’re cool to stay here. It’s not like we’re really living together, is it?”

  “Definitely not. You hide in your room; I’ll hide in mine and we’ll get along fine,” Ruby says with a smirk.

  “Yeah.” I tuck my hands beneath my arms. “That way we can avoid not knowing what to say to each other.”

  Ruby nods and sits back down, curling her legs under and resuming her shit meal.

  Thing is, I want to sit with her. But I don’t.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jem

  Ruby’s creeping into my life; the way the morning sun shines through the curtains and crosses the bed until eventually the light shines in your face and you can’t hide anymore. The brightness is outside¸ waiting. You just have to get up and let the warmth in.

  Her presence in the house isn’t just the scent of her perfume that drifts toward me when I walk through the door; but little things like somebody else’s food in my cupboard, bits and pieces of her life spread across the kitchen co
unter. Ruby tidies after herself, attempting to minimise her impact, but however hard we hide from each other and stick to minimal contact, we’re clearly sharing the same space. The last person who stayed here was Bryn and that was for three days. Ruby’s been here over a week now.

  Usually, I’m out until the evening, but I arrive home early from a meeting and come across Ruby sitting on the floor of the downstairs lounge with paper surrounding her, lidless coloured marker pens spread across the table. Her guitar is slung over her skinny shoulders, hair pulled on top of her head in a loose bun. When she looks around in surprise, the thing that hits me the most is her face is clear of make-up.

  With her pale lips and eyes free from heavy eyeliner, Ruby’s vulnerability shows through. She looks her age for once; but in her eyes, she’s older. We’re caught in one of our moments, and this time I can see more of her because she’s only half Ruby. Is this Tuesday? She rubs her long fingers across her lips and, as ever, I wish I could taste them.

  “Sorry, I’ll clear up.” Ruby pulls her guitar from over her shoulder and gathers the pens from the table.

  “You don’t have to, I was going upstairs anyway.”

  “To your den?” she asks with a smile.

  “To my den.” I pick up a red marker. “Sweet pens. I didn’t realise you liked colouring.”

  “Ha, ha. I’m writing.” Ruby lifts up a piece of paper containing unintelligible lines in different colours.

  “Secret code? Cool.”

  “I guess it is.”

  I take the paper and examine the markings. I know what this is; and if I’m right, this is something else I wish wasn’t part of Ruby. “I can decipher this.”

  She looks at me doubtfully. “Sure you can.”

  Sitting on the leather sofa, I pick up her guitar. Ruby opens her mouth to protest, as I would if somebody picked up one of mine. They’re an extension of myself; touching them is like touching me. “Pass me a sheet,” I say as I loop the strap over my neck.

  Ruby’s way of writing the notes is different, the scrawl harder to decipher because her colours are different. I play a couple of notes attempting to figure out which colours they match. The chords fall into place and I strum the opening lines of the song she’s writing.