Devil You Know

by Max Henry

  I jab a finger in his direction. “You better watch yourself.”

  “Fuck up, Malice.” Ty hollers. “Get a grip, bro. She’s ready. You’re insulting her by telling her she’s too weak to be trusted with what we do. Let her decide for herself.”

  “She wouldn’t hack it,” I say, fisting my hands through my hair. “She’s too broken.”

  “Correction,” Bronx says. “She was broken. I can see how much she’s changed, and it’s only been a week since I met her.”

  “Tell her,” Ty says. “In the mean time, we’re leaving. I think tonight’s got as good as it’s ever going to be.”

  Fuck. I drop into the armchair and watch as the boys round up their stuff and leave. Those guys do have my back, and they’ve proved it by holding a mirror to what an asshole I’m being.

  I march up the hallway to find Rocco lying at her closed door. “Jane?”

  “Go away, Malice.”

  “No.” The handle doesn’t budge. “Unlock the door, Jane.”

  “Go away!”

  “I’ll break it in if I have to.”

  “What the fuck for?” she hollers. “So you can stand there, and not me tell me anything some more?”

  “Open the door, Jane.”

  “NO!”

  I click my fingers at Rocco. “Out of the way, buddy.” He trots aside, and watches as I shoulder-barge the door.

  “Jesus Christ, Malice. Give me a minute.”

  Jane opens the door, and I push it wide before she has a chance to change her mind.

  “What is the issue, huh?” she snarls. Her posture is rigid, all her rage directed at me. “You come in, take me from the nightmare I had, and give me another bed of lies to rest in? Why? What the fuck did I do to deserve this? Why shut me out?” Tears crest her cheeks, and all my fight evaporates. “Why do this to me? If all you were going to do was screw with my head, I wish you’d left me alone.”

  She flops onto the bed, and draws her knees to her chest. At a loss, I run my hands through my hair. Do I go to her? Do I give her space? Who knows best right now? Because quite frankly, I don’t know if I can say that’s me any more.

  “Don’t say that, Jane. Don’t say you’d rather be there.”

  She laughs, cold and empty. “I wonder sometimes, what’s worse; his fists, or your lies? I know how to handle a broken bone, a bruise, but I don’t have a clue how to handle what you do to me.”

  I step toward her, and drop to my knees. “What do I do?”

  “I thought we’d reached a point, you know? We sat there on the couch, and you told me stuff about you, stuff about your dad. We shared, and it wasn’t about me. But then I sit there, watching you with those guys—don’t get me wrong, they’re great—but you’re obviously hiding something from me. And then Tigger says what he did, and I wonder where I stand?” She huffs, and shakes her head.

  “What am I to you, Malice? A project? A challenge? You gave me an out, saved me from misery, but I don’t know why. I don’t know why you bothered if having me around obviously causes you so much stress.”

  Each word slams into me like a knife to the soul. She can see right through me, and I know that. It’s my ignorance that has put us in this situation. I thought I could save her the heartache of knowing the real me; save her the stress of seeing how ugly the world is out there. I had a fucked-up illusion of being her prince charming, saving her from a nightmare and whisking her away to perfection.

  But what’s perfect in our lives? Nothing comes easy—shit, I of all people know that. So why did I think I could fool her? Make her think the world was all fucking sunshine and roses, when I know damn well is isn’t?

  “I don’t know why I did it,” I answer with my head bowed. “I listened to him hurt you for so long, month after month”—She gasps—“and every time you cried, every time you called out, it resonated within me. I’ve been there, Jane. Maybe not with an abusive spouse, but I’ve known what it’s like to go to bed and hope you don’t wake up the next day. To pray for some freak accident to take your life, because you’re too fucking chicken-shit to do it yourself.”

  “Are you trying to say you wanted to help me because you failed yourself?”

  I throw my head back, and stare at the ceiling. That’s the sum of it, isn’t it? “Yeah. I think you nailed it on the head, Jane.”

  “Malice,” she says softly.

  “It’s not an excuse; I know that. It’s barely a sound reasoning for what I’ve done. But tell me this, Jane.” I connect with her weary gaze. “Despite these obvious problems between us, are you happier now?”

  She draws in a deep, shaky breath, and fiddles with her nails. “I’m not sure.”

  Her reply strips me of any self-respect I may have had left. What am I doing to her? How hard have I made it for her to feel comfortable, to feel safe, if that’s her answer?

  “I don’t feel threatened any more,” she continues. “But I still feel apprehensive, if that makes sense.”

  I nod. I can understand her reservations. “How do I fix it?”

  “You can’t.” She sighs again, and looks to the head of the bed. “I think I need to hurry along finding my own place to live. Something small. Something I can afford on my own.”

  We sit in the same room, and we breathe the same air, yet I already feel a billion miles away from her. “I respect that.” I push to stand, and turn as I make my way from the room.

  “Malice,” she calls.

  I stop, but don’t face her. “Yes, Jane?”

  “I’m sorry this is how things have ended up. I’m still grateful for everything you did, everything you’ve done for me.”

  “I’d do it all over again,” I reply.

  Rocco lifts his head when I enter the hall, and I give him a weak smile. “She’s all yours buddy.” I cross the way, and close the door behind me once in my room.

  I’ve ruined it all, any chance I had of keeping her.

  But in all honesty, was she ever mine to begin with?

  ROCCO DROPS to my feet as I stare at the closed door across the hall. I dropped the bomb far too easily, and now I’m regretting it. Why did I say I wanted out? I mean, I do, but I also want to stay.

  I want him.

  But is he mine to have?

  How do I know that my feelings for him aren’t some strange confusion of gratitude? Maybe I’m only happy to have somebody who cares about me. It’s not that unbelievable, is it?

  Rocco grumbles, and spreads out on his side. I rub my toes through his belly fur, and watch as he drifts further into sleep. The meager amount of cash I managed to hide away from Dylan should get me the down payment on a place to live, but as for the weekly rental payments? Shit, I need a job, and now. Fingers crossed those ‘interviews’ turn out.

  I pull out the phone from my top drawer that Malice helped me pick out, and rotate it in my hand to look at the cover. The picture is a beautiful collage of butterflies. Blues, reds, pinks, and oranges mesh together in a burst of color. He said I should have it to remind me that everything is capable of great change. Some days I’m not so sure.

  I unlock the screen, and navigate to the bookmarked page that has the listings for rentals in the area. As beautifully presented as some of these apartments are, I can’t shake the niggling feeling that they’re not for me. Something’s off. Something isn’t quite right with them.

  My eyes drift to Malice’s door again, and I sigh. It shouldn’t take a rocket scientist to work it out. The thing that’s wrong with these places is that he won’t be in them. I need to move out of here, and take the bull by the horns, but I don’t want to be alone. Sure, I could get a housemate, but in reality, that’s not what I want—is it?

  I want him. I always want him.

  Rocco groans under my foot, and I let my gaze to fall to the lump of fur. The screen of my phone goes black, just like my resolve to go it alone. Who am I kidding? I can’t handle being on my own. Look what a mess I was that first night he went out. What do I think I’d b
e like if anything went wrong once I’m in my own place? Is every bump in the night going to leave me hanging from the ceiling? Would it be healthy?

  Perhaps I’d end up crazier than I was to begin with. Wouldn’t that be a laugh: crazy, dog-lady Jane. I could get a plaque made up to hang at the front door—‘Chateau de Insanity’.

  My thoughts drift back to Malice’s answer to Ty’s question. He’d said we were an item, that we were a couple, more-or-less. Why does it still feel so fragile then? Every time we make progress together, something like tonight crops up and pushes us apart. How long can we do this dance before the ebb and flow of our emotions gets old . . . boring. Predictable.

  Maybe things with Malice are ruined, but if I want to find the silver lining in it all. At least he was there to give me the helping hand I needed. I mean, who’s to say he was ever meant to be forever? Perhaps he was always supposed to be a bridge between my past and future.

  I laugh at my own optimism, and Rocco stirs at my feet. Despite the way I twist it for myself, trying to find the reasoning behind the actions, I’m not fooling anyone. My heart aches at the thought of ending things so badly with him. He doesn’t deserve me simply walking out after an argument, even if he has kept details about himself from me. At the end of the day, he’s helped me out of a pretty bad situation, and nobody said that would guarantee me a full-access pass to his background. I should be grateful for what I was given, instead of whinging about what I didn’t get.

  I replace my phone, and shed my clothes to turn in for the night. My eyes linger on his door, and I itch to knock, to see if he’s awake. Chances are he’s fast asleep, so I climb into bed, and snuggle down under the covers instead.

  With my door open.

  I WAKE to find Jane gone.

  To say I didn’t expect it wouldn’t be a complete lie; I just didn’t think she’d have anywhere else to go. I stand in the door of my room, staring into her empty one, and contemplate going back to bed. Why bother getting up at all?

  I know we ended things badly, and that she said she needed to leave—but right away? Was it that hard to stay one more day?

  Coffee would be the obvious kick-start to this cunt of a day. I drag my sorry ass into the kitchen, and stare blank as a fresh canvas out the window while the kettle does its thing.

  Maybe I should have fought harder, pushed her to stay. Would she have reacted well to that? Maybe I should have told her from day one how fucked my life is, and let her decide for herself. Fuck, now I sound like Ty.

  I can’t do that: question my decisions so far. If I start believing that the guys have been right all along, and that my choices have been wrong this past decade, then I don’t know what will happen. If I lose faith in myself, I lose faith in life. And where would that leave me?

  Doubting my need to be here, just like Jane.

  A sickness takes hold in my gut. What if she’s finally called it quits? What if she left to do something stupid, like take her life? Shit. We’ve danced around the subject, but I’ve convinced myself she wouldn’t. Would she? Shit, I don’t know.

  How well do you know her, huh?

  I don’t dwell on the thought for long, considering I need to figure out where the hell she is—like, now. Where has she gone? We’re miles out from anywhere, and she doesn’t have a vehicle.

  She doesn’t, but I do.

  My toes collide with the counter in my haste, and I curse as I hobble to the front windows. The pick-up sits in the driveway still, and I’m as relieved to find she didn’t take it as I am distressed that it means she walked.

  Giving the coffee a pass for now, I sprint up to my room, and tug on some jeans and a T-shirt before ripping out the door—sans shoes. The tires kick up stones as I peel out of the driveway, and head toward town. If she’s walking, she can’t have gotten far. Plus, she’ll be restricted on where she can go with Rocco—assuming she has Rocco? Like I’m turning back to check now.. I pray that I find her walking along the road, and that my hunch is right. What if she’s hitched a ride? What if some sick fuck has her, and has hurt her?

  The thought of losing her permanently, not knowing if she’s safe makes me physically ill. I put the window down to feel the fresh air on my face. Markers fly past in a blur as I head toward the last place I ever wanted her to go—back to town, alone.

  I connect my phone to the Bluetooth, and try to call her. The tone rings out with no reply, and I immediately try again.

  Answer the phone, Jane. Answer the fucking phone.

  Why did she leave? Why did she go?

  Why did I shut my fucking door?

  I SPOT a tree stump in the shade, and head over with Rocco to take a seat. Traffic passes while we sit and take a breather. I knew the day was going to be a hot one, but when I woke this morning, I had some strange idea that a long walk would be the perfect cleanser before I tried to talk to Malice. Given his door was shut, I thought it pretty clear that he didn’t care what I got up to.

  I crack open my bottle of water, and take a small sip before offering some to Rocco. He laps at the stream of water, and stands, ready to go. We walk out to the roadway, and I pull my hair into a lose ponytail to get it off my neck while we carry on our way along the grass verge.

  Before long, I recognize the sound of a vehicle slowing, and stop to look.

  Great.

  A familiar black pick-up pulls to the side of the road. Rocco, being he traitor he is, bounds toward Malice as he climbs out of the driver’s seat. He slows when he sees the same expression I do: frustration, laced with anger.

  “What were you thinking?” Malice hollers as he advances.

  “Hello, to you too.”

  “Don’t get cute, Jane. You could have been picked up by some fucking rapist, or murderer.” He stops before me, the rage pouring off him.

  “Tad over-reacting, don’t you think?” I place my hands on my hips, and glare at the bully.

  “Hardly, Jane. I wake up, and you’re gone, packed up and left. You should have said something. Why didn’t you answer your damn phone?”

  “Because it’s at home, Malice. Did you check to see if I’d taken any of my stuff?”

  He rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Well, no. I woke up, and you weren’t there.”

  “So you jump to the first conclusion that gets in your head? Do you honestly think I’d pack up and go without so much as a goodbye?”

  “I guess not.” He shakes his head. “I just wish you’d stop to think before you act sometimes. Anything could have happened to you, and I wouldn’t have known where to find you. Think about what it would do to those who love you if you got hurt.” My heart soars with hope. “Like your parents?” And crashes to earth in a ball of flames.

  “I’m sure they’d find out eventually.” He’s so wound up, so agitated, yet he still can’t be one hundred percent honest with me. “You shut your door.”

  “What?”

  “You shut your door, so I thought that meant you didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

  “I told you I wanted to move out.”

  “Do you?”

  I sigh, and kick the dirt under my feet. “Yes, but no. I don’t know.”

  “It’s a simple answer, Jane. Yes, or no.”

  “No, its not,” I argue. “I like being around you, but we fight, so much, and then when we don’t . . . well, things are complicated.”

  “They don’t have to be.”

  Is he kidding? He’s saying that to me? My head drops back, and I curse at the heavens for giving me such a frustrating man. “I can’t keep living with you, Malice. I need to start again on my own.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with having my support?”

  “Because it’s not support if it’s always there. It’s a weakness if I don’t know how to operate without it.”

  “You don’t have to be a fucking martyr, Jane. There’s no harm in letting others help.”

  I jab my finger at him. “Rich
, coming from you. How about you drink up some of your own advice, and try letting others help you out?”

  “I don’t need help,” he says, full of cocky spite.

  “We both know that’s the biggest damn lie out there,” I seethe.

  His shoulders drop, and he rubs a hand over his face. “I can’t do it with you. I can’t open that can of worms.”

  “Why the fuck not?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air.

  “Because I’m terrified you’ll leave.”

  “Like you already thought I had?” I raise an eyebrow at him, and he smirks.

  “What else are you doing, walking toward town?” he asks.

  “Going for a walk, Malice. Getting some exercise, and trying to clear my head—which, by the way, was working out fine until some broody, stubborn, ass of a man pulled up and started harassing me.”

  “So you didn’t leave because we argued?”

  “No, Malice. I didn’t.”

  He huffs, and kicks at the ground. “I’ve never told anyone the full story, you know? Not even the boys.”

  I blanche a little at his confession, but choose to file that nugget away for later. He watches me as I take a few steps toward him. “Then stop trying to protect yourself, and me. Just try it out. We might surprise each other.”

  He closes the distance between us with one of his long strides. “You promise you’ll keep an open mind?”

  “Malice, I can’t promise anything when I don’t know what you’re going to tell me.”

  He rubs the back of his neck, and I take in his strong jaw and thick neck. For such a masculine guy, he sure comes off as a scared little boy a lot.

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea.” He drops his hand to his side. “I can’t undo it once I’ve told you everything. You’re going to look at me differently, and then what?”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” I take hold of his hands before he can fidget again. Rocco circles us, sniffing the ground, and we both smile at him getting around, oblivious to the tension in the air. “What I do know, Malice, is that if you carry on living behind your walls, then you’ll never be free. You’ll never know what could be, because you’ll forever drive away anyone who wants to be there for you. You have to be willing to get hurt to chance having the best of anything.”