Devil You Know

by Max Henry

  The phone lights up in my hand, and a storm swirls to life in my gut. I haven’t been this nervous to talk to a boy since I was twelve.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  He sighs before speaking. “I didn’t know until now how much I missed hearing your voice.”

  “It’s been a few hours, Malice. That’s all.”

  “I’m an idiot, okay? I had to tell you I’m sorry. I never meant to fuck with you like I did.”

  “It took two to tango,” I whisper. I’m as much to blame for this mess as he is. “I could have said no, as well.”

  “Did you want to, though?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “I don’t regret what we did, Jane. Only that I went about it all wrong.”

  A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “Does this mean you want to start again?”

  “Not right now, no.”

  Heat swirls in my stomach. A blush races up the sides of my neck. Why do I feel such a fool?

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think it’s the right time.”

  “And when would it be?” My chin quivers.

  “I don’t know.” He sighs again. “It could be soon. It might also be never.”

  Tears spring forth and run over my cheeks in rivers. I wipe frantically at my nose, trying to avoid sniffing and giving away that I’m crying about the end of something I was never promised to begin with. “Well, thanks again for everything you did, anyway.”

  “Jane . . .”

  “Stop, Malice. Why did you call? You left, and you made it pretty damn clear we were through, so why call if you’re not going to change that?”

  “To say sorry.”

  “That’s not all there is though, is there? You could have left me alone, but you didn’t. You’ve phoned, and started up this fucking dance all over again.” I sniff loudly, unfazed as to whether he knows now. “What’s the purpose to this?”

  “I love you, Jane.”

  My breath whooshes from my lungs, and hangs out of reach. My chest hurts, and I clamor for that next breath. “Excuse me?”

  “I love you, and that’s why it can’t be.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “Can’t you see what I’ll do to you? I’ll toy with you, and test you at every curve in the road, just to know you want me as I am. I’ll push you, and hurt you for my own selfish need to be given gratification. I’ll make you cry, just to know you care enough to cry for me.”

  He’s right, and it hurts like a bitch to see it. “Why do that, though? Why torture yourself, torture us, when you don’t need to?”

  “Because I don’t believe I’m worth the effort, Jane. I may want to have you, but I don’t deserve to get what I want.”

  “Maybe then I don’t deserve you either.”

  The harsh rasp as he sucks in a breath crackles through the line. “Don’t say stuff like that, Jane. Just don’t.”

  “Why? I’m obviously not enough for you otherwise you’d want to try again, to see where we could take this. Why am I not good enough for you, Malice? Does it suck that bad to know I want you, too?”

  “You just shouldn’t.”

  I close my eyes, and grimace. “But I do, Malice. Stop being such a fucking ignorant bastard and give in to this. Why the hell can’t you be happy? Why can’t I be happy? What is stopping us from living our fucked-up lives together, huh?”

  “The fact you deserve more than me, Jane. That’s what.”

  I look up to the ceiling, and growl. “Damn it, Malice. You tell me the answer, tell me what I want to hear from you, and then you take it all back with your denial. Stop teasing me. If you love me, then be with me. If not, then leave me alone. Stop trying to be a fucking martyr!”

  I throw his own words back in his face before I burst into tears, and sob through his reply.

  “I’m too selfish to leave you alone.”

  “And you’re too selfish to let me help you, to let me love you.” I rub the heel of my hand into my teary eyes. “I don’t have anything left to keep me going, Malice, and if you keep playing with me like this, then maybe I’ll take myself out of the equation, and make your life a lot simpler.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll vanish. I’ll leave this place. I’ll make it as though I never existed.”

  “Don’t . . .”

  “Why?” I yell. “You said I deserve something better, although I’ve got no idea what that could be. So why not?”

  “I want you to find a better man than me, Jane, but I don’t want to lose you. It would kill me to think of never seeing you again, even if do only see each other only as friends.”

  “You’re damn well killing me,” I seethe. “I’m done having people play their games with me, Malice. I’m tired, and I’ve had enough. I want to go.”

  I hang up on him amidst the protests I can hear as I drop the phone, and turn to Rocco. My tears still fall, but I’m past making any sound. The sorrow is empty, and resigned. I have nothing left to expel; my pity, and sadness are out in the open now. Instead, the tears symbolize how far I am from being able to smile again.

  I loved, and I lost—twice.

  The first turned my love against me, and tainted the woman I was. The second took what I had to offer, and still complained that it wasn’t enough.

  Either way, I’m no good. If I can’t satisfy either of them, then what chance do I have at ever finding love? Maybe it’s not the men who are the problem, but me. After all I am the common denominator.

  The tiny part of me that clings to my sanity knows I should be able to live content on my own, first and foremost. I shouldn’t need a man, a companion, or a lover. Except I’ve spent so many years broken and abused, that love is all I can think of to make me better.

  I can’t love myself, so I need somebody to love me—to do it for me.

  I am the sickness, and love is the cure.

  I just don’t think there is a cure out there strong enough to withstand the ravages of my self-loathing. I love deeply, but I hate myself equally as harshly. Without the former, the latter takes over, and where do I lie then?

  Alone. Without a future, and regretting my past.

  I can’t deal with this any longer.

  My body is tired. My mind is weak.

  I want it over.

  I want to be done.

  I want the noise to stop.

  THE NEEDLE sits on the red line of the rev counter. I’ve lost track of how many cars I’ve passed on this long fucking road, some honking, others jolting to the side as they see me approach in their rear-view.

  Nothing will stop me undoing the damage I’ve done.

  I can’t fucking lose her.

  Especially not when it would be my fault.

  She won’t answer her phone, and that doesn’t sit well with me. Her voice when we spoke was tired and resigned. I can’t help the anxiety that grips me, wondering if they were signs I should have read earlier. What if she’s done something stupid? Just like Dad did when he started to sound the same?

  The pick-up fishtails around the final corner and I snake down the dirt road, battling the steering wheel to keep the car on course. I slide the machine into the driveway with the precision of a rally driver, and thank the stars the gate is open.

  Saves me panel-beating out the dents if it hadn’t been.

  The engine still running, I leap the front steps two at a time, and try the door.

  Locked.

  I hammer it with both fists. What’s she done?

  “Jane!”

  Rocco runs around from the side of the house, and I frown at the sight. She never lets him out front without her. He follows as I sprint to the back doors, and find one open, swinging in the afternoon breeze.

  “Jane!” I holler through the silent house.

  My feet thunder over the wooden floor as I check room after room. I round the corner of the bedroom I stayed in, and hesitate for a second before sprinting to the side of the bed. The carpet bur
ns at the knees of my jeans as I skid to a stop beside her.

  “Jane. What the fuck have you done?”

  An empty bottle lies strewn next to the bed—I had no idea Ty kept medication here. I pick it up, and read the label. My heart-rate spikes, and panic takes over at what’s in her system. This shit isn’t over the counter stuff; it’s Ty’s special stash of E.

  I’m going to kill the fucker . . .

  She still breathes, but her signs are weak. I roll her to the side, and ram my finger down her throat. She gags, and with a little more coaxing I have her body repelling the drugs from her stomach. Rocco moves to sniff the mess on the floor, and I push him away with a foot. Last thing I need is an over-dosing dog, as well.

  I scoop Jane into my arms, and hotfoot it out of the house, Rocco on my heels. With him shut safely in the backyard, I place her in the seat of the pick-up, and praise the fact it’s still running. The tires kick up a spray of stones as we head down the driveway at the same breakneck speed I used to get to her.

  “Jane, you need to stay with me, okay?”

  I’m talking to myself, to what might as well be an empty car. But the thought that she might fucking die on me has me telling her everything I should have said before I chose to leave. Why didn’t I say it all sooner, when I realized how much of an effect this tiny, broken woman has on me?

  What was there to wait for?

  Why did she have to wait?

  We drive to the hospital like that: Jane comatose, and me telling the woman I love why she needs to stick around.

  Why I can’t be without her.

  Why there’s no one for me but her.

  Too little, too late.

  The story of my life.

  • • • • •

  MESSAGES COME over the PA, and machines beep around the open area as I watch Jane sleep in the ER. I had to lie about where she got the drugs—not that I think anyone believes what you tell them anyway, when it comes to narcotics. They pumped her stomach, and flushed her with a bag of fluids. Her vitals are strong, and they think she’ll be fine in a few hours. Fine enough to go home, anyway.

  “Excuse me, Sir. Can I have a moment of your time?” A nurse nods towards the corridor, and I follow her out into the curtain-lined walkway.

  “We have on record that Jane came in a few weeks back for injuries pertaining to domestic violence. I need to confirm that these two incidents aren’t related. Is that correct?”

  I nod at the nurse, avoiding her eye contact. “That’s right.”

  She eyes my bruised, and swollen face, but opts not to say anything. I let out a sigh of relief, not in the mood for any accusations right now.

  “Thank you. I’ve got a couple of after-care pamphlets here for you to take with you. You’ll need to ensure . . .”

  Her voice fades into the background as I look through the gap in the curtain at Jane sleeping. I’ve been in enough similar situations with Ty to know how this goes. Nothing the nurse says right now is important. What’s important is that Jane didn’t die on me; that she’s here for me to right the wrongs.

  I’ve been blessed with another chance with this woman, and I’m not going to stuff it up again, all for the sake of my ego. I know she wants me; I know she cares. I need to stop playing these fucking childish games, and accept it.

  “. . . probably be okay to move in an hour. We’ll check her again when she wakes up, just to give her the all clear.”

  I look to the nurse, who’s smiling at me suspiciously. She probably thinks we’re a couple of reckless adults, out for a cheap thrill, playing with shit we know nothing about.

  If only she knew how far from the truth that was. I could wager this is Jane’s first and last time with hard drugs, but my life isn’t so pretty.

  When you’ve got nothing left to lose, you try some fucked-up shit to paint the world in color again. Even at the expense of your health.

  I’m glad I could kick the habit before I dropped to the level Ty was at when we hauled his ass into rehab—after he’d died in the ER for a second time.

  “Thanks for the info,” I say, waving the pamphlets.

  The nurse smiles, and leaves me to resume my seat beside Jane. She’s still in a deep sleep as I pull my phone out, and dial Ty.

  “Hey. What’s up?” he answers.

  “When were you going to tell me you had a stash in that fucking house?”

  “Dude. I didn’t think it mattered.” His light mood has quickly slipped away.

  “It would have mattered if I found your ass smashed on that shit again, or now that I’m in the ER with Jane.”

  “What the fuck, man?”

  “She took it, thinking it was what the label said it was, and overdosed.”

  “How much did she fucking take?”

  “The whole lot.”

  “Shit,” he mutters. “Man, I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s done is done. Your just fuckin’ lucky that bottle wasn’t full. I do want to check in with you, though. Why did you have it?” Last thing I need is another fucking Tigger on my hands. The poor bastard isn’t in the ground and we’re running the same cycle over again.

  “I hadn’t used for over a year, dude. I swear.”

  “Why have it then?”

  “I forgot it was there. Look, the place is my holiday home. I’m not there that often. You can come check my apartment. There’s nothing here.”

  “I’ll take your word on it,” I mutter as Jane stirs.

  “I appreciate your concern. But you know what? You’ve been a little off of late. How about you spill?”

  “Yeah, I will.” I brush him off. “Jane’s waking up, I’ll catch ya later.”

  “Yeah, right-o. Give her a hug from me, huh? Let her know I’m sorry.”

  “Will do.”

  I disconnect right as she blinks at the light above us. “What the . . . ?” Her voice is harsh, and croaky. I could guarantee her throat burns like a bastard at this moment.

  “You’re in ER, Jane.”

  “What the fuck . . .” She looks so pained; it tears me in two. “I went for a nap? What the hell happened?”

  “You overdosed,” I answer. A nap—yeah, right.

  “Over-what? I took some headache pills I found in the bathroom, and a sleeping pill.” Her expression turns to one of shock. “Are you not meant to mix them?”

  “Babe, rest. We can talk about this after.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Everything”

  She rolls her head to face me, and cocks an eyebrow. “You mean you finally want to talk? To me?”

  “Yeah.” I chuckle. “I do.”

  MALICE HANDS me a glass of water, and sits down on the far end of the sofa with Rocco at his feet. The hospital discharged me shortly after I woke up, with a stern dressing down on the dangers of drugs, and a plan to make sure I return to normal as soon as possible.

  Yeah. What’s normal?

  I can’t believe that stuff was drugs. A simple nap could have been the end of me. I asked Malice on the way home what happened to his face, and all he would say is it was work.

  “Why did you do it?” Malice asks, rubbing my feet.

  I sigh, loving the feel of him touching me so tenderly, but hating the fact we’re back to this awkward intimacy so soon. “I honestly didn’t. I thought they were pain-killers.”

  “I worry, you know?”

  I nod. Of course I understand. Worry is all I do when it comes to him.

  “You sounded so broken when you hung up. I jumped to the worst conclusion.”

  “That’s because I was broken, Malice. I was bloody devastated.”

  “And I’m to blame for that,” he says, looking intently at my toes. “I thought forcing you away would be the right thing to do, but I guess I was wrong . . . again. I just want you to be happy, Jane, and I can’t see how that could be with me.”

  “There’s your problem,” I say. “You don’t believe it yourself.” I sigh, and nudge his leg. “You told me
once that you thought I was beautiful, and all you wanted was for me to see it, too.” He nods. “Well, I think you deserve to be loved, and all I want is for you to believe that, too.”

  “Why? Why do I deserve it?”

  “You know how you said that everything bad happens to you because it’s what you put out into the world, so it’s all you get back?” Malice averts his gaze. “The only things you’ve shown me are love and compassion. You’ve given me support, cared for me, picked me up when I needed it. You saved my life, Malice.”

  He brings his eyes up to mine, and I see a glimmer of hope. I’m reaching the boy inside—at last.

  “You put all that love out into the world,” I continue, “so don’t you think it’s about time somebody gave it back to you?”

  “I made you feel so low, though.” He looks at me, his eyes glassed.

  I ache at the knowledge it hurts him, but grow angry just as quickly at the fact that I’m still such a pushover. “Yeah, you did.” Maybe he needs the truth for a change. “Don’t do it again, huh?”

  “I meant what I said.” He swallows thickly. “I do love you, Jane. It’s hard for me to get my head around, but it’s undeniable. I need to work out how to show you.”

  “You could start by trusting me with what eats at you,” I say.

  Malice nods. “Fair call.” His fingers trace lazy lines over the arches of my feet. “I’m not sure where to start. That day my dad tried to take his life affected me more than I ever admitted. I ignored the pain, and pushed the hurt down for so many years. I forgot how bad it all felt until it came slamming back when the guys died in that car crash. I didn’t just grieve for them, I grieved for Mom, and Dad, even though he was still alive.”

  “If you let your grief out that day,” I ask, “then why does it hurt you so bad now? Why do you still carry such a burden around?”

  “Because I look back on my life, Jane, and I see a path littered with bad choices. I hurt people; I hurt myself. I took the easy option, and I’m going to pay for it as long as I live. The kind of guys we’re mixed up with, they won’t let us go. They have a hold over us, wherever we go. I can’t escape this life. Not when so many bad people know things about me that could end it all.”

  I trap one of his hands between my feet, and rub it. I need to find a silver lining to his predicament if he’s going to have a hope of being comfortable with it. “You said you’re a bounty hunter, right? Surely the people you pick up have as much responsibility over the outcome as any of us. They got themselves in that situation, so why should you feel bad for making them be held accountable? Maybe you’re just what they need to scare them into line?” My gut churns at how easily I can make his ‘profession’ sound justified, but I needed to do it for him. I needed to make him okay with who he is so he can have the confidence to change.