Carnage Boxset

by Jones, Lesley

  Roman reaches around me and answers my phone once more, “She’ll talk to you tomorrow. We’re fuckin’, stop ringing.” He throws my phone on the bed, and I can’t help but smile at him. “You know, George, you can’t run away forever. You’ve got family back in England who love and miss you, and you being jealous and all that...” He pulls his head back as he looks at me. “None of that makes you a bad person; it just makes you human, darl.” He gets off the bed, heads in to the bathroom and throws me a toilet roll. “Blow your nose,” he orders as he lies back down. I do as he says and then turn and curl into him on the bed, grateful for his company.

  “I don’t want to stay here forever, but I don’t want to go home before next weekend. I promised Jodie I would go to the opening of the new club she’s been working on, but I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do. It’s the anniversary, the first anniversary and I shouldn’t be out clubbing, dancing and enjoying myself. I shouldn’t be alive. I should have died with them, or instead of them.”

  Every guilty thought that’s been running through my head seems to spurt from my mouth like projectile vomit. I’m lying in the crook of his arm, my head on his chest, while his fingertips make circular patterns on my bare back. He says nothing and just lets me vent. His actions and his presence soothe and calm me.

  After letting out a long sigh, he says, “Tonight, I’m taking you to meet some friends of mine. They’re a little different, but I think it will do you good. I think it will take you out of your comfort zone and help you forget. We will get totally fucked-up and have a much better night than you ever could’ve had with your mates.” He pulls on his bottom lip with his index finger and thumb. “Okay, so maybe not better, but different; you up for that?”

  I nod.

  “Okay, I’m up for some fucked-up-ness.”

  “Then it’s fucked-up-ness you shall have.”

  We talk a little about my plans and he asks me if I would consider staying until February. I really don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. If I do decide to stay, I don’t want him thinking I’m staying just for him, because I’m not. If going home in February suits me, him being here until then is just an added bonus. I like him; he’s good company and the sex is great, but that’s all there is to our relationship. I’m under no illusion that this is a long-term commitment for either of us. He’s my stepping stone; he’s helping me heal and move forward, and for that, I will always be eternally grateful. As fucked-up as it sounds, I can’t help but keep thinking how much Sean would like and approve of Roman, too. If it had been at all possible for the pair to have met, I think they would’ve gotten along well.

  * * *

  Roman leaves around three that afternoon, telling me to be ready for seven; we’re going for dinner first and then on to a beach party his friends are throwing a few miles down the coast. Apparently, we will stay over tonight, but it will just be on the beach. He will bring a couple of sleeping bags; no tents required as it’s so warm, but I might want to bring something comfy to change into later. This is what he must have meant about taking me out of my comfort zone, but he has no idea that I’ve spent weeks on a tour bus with Sean, roadies and backing musicians. Camping on a beach for one night is going to be no problem for me.

  I decide on a long, floaty skirt for the evening, with a gypsy-style, cheese-cloth blouse, and dress it up with beads and bangles. I simply stick a pair of flip flops on my feet, laughing at all my designer heels I have sitting in the wardrobe that I brought over with me. Out of the twelve pairs sitting there, I think I’ve worn one pair, on two separate occasions.

  I leave the apartment and head down to the bar, where I said I would meet Roman. I order a drink and sit up at the bar talking to Jess, one of the waitresses, when I notice a couple looking at me from a corner table. I try not to look as I don’t want to encourage them, but every time I take a peek, they are watching me.

  I knew this moment would come. I’ve been here for over two months, now but as the peak Christmas period gets closer and more tourists come to the bar, I always knew there was a chance someone would recognise me. I turn on my stool as I feel someone beside me, a million different thoughts running through my mind as to what to say to these people, but it’s Roman who I make eye contact with. He smiles at me with both his mouth and those sparkling eyes of his.

  “You look beautiful and you smell even better,” he says quietly into my ear, breathing me in as he speaks. I look over his shoulder at the couple who’ve been watching me and see the woman reaching for a camera.

  “Thanks, Jess,” I call out quickly, “Let’s get out of here.” I grab Roman’s hand, tilt my head low and drag him out the door.

  “You hungry, darl?” I walk around and jump into his truck without speaking; the couple haven’t followed me, but I just want to get out of here now. “George, what’s wrong; you okay?” I look across to him and realise he hasn’t started the truck yet.

  “Sorry, I think someone just recognised me, and I needed to get out of there.” He gives a slight nod, starts the engine and we drive off in silence.

  After a few seconds, he asks, “What’s the problem then; why don’t you want to be recognised?” I have a bit of a headache after the surge of adrenalin I experienced at the bar, and I rub my temples as I answer.

  “I don’t care about being recognised. People are generally really kind when they talk to me, but it’s what’ll happen if the press then find out I’m here. I can’t… I don’t want them here; this is my place, my place I can just be me. Just Georgia, not Maca’s wife, not that poor girl who lost it all, not Sean’s widow, just me.”

  The thought of the press invading my sanctuary terrifies me. I’m not ready for that; I’m not ready to face the world yet. I wind down the car window and let the warm evening air blow against my face. I’ve had meltdowns since I’ve been here, but right now, I suddenly feel like I’m about to have a full-on anxiety attack. Roman pulls the truck over onto a layby at the side of the beach, jumps out and comes around to my door to open it. I’m trying to keep my breathing under control, trying to remember everything all the different shrinks I saw after the accident told me about dealing with an anxiety attack.

  The road we’re on is so quiet; I can hear the waves lapping. Roman holds my face in both his hands and keeps his eyes on mine, rubbing his thumbs gently over my cheekbones.

  “Breathe, baby, just breathe. Listen to the water, keep your eyes on me and just breathe.” I swear to God, this man is unbelievably attuned to me, or he just knows how to handle someone having an anxiety attack. I don’t know and I don’t care; all I know is he is exactly what I need right now.

  He nods slowly. “You okay?”

  I nod back at him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Georgia. Don’t ever be sorry for the way you’re feeling. You wanna tell me about it?” My mouth is dry and my lips are sticking to my teeth.

  “I need a drink.” He smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back as I look at the way the skin around his eyes crinkles on his suntanned face. “Why you smiling?” I ask him.

  “You fucking amaze me, George. I don’t think I would survive what you’ve been through, and all you have to say in that cute little accent of yours is that you need a drink.” He kisses me full on the mouth and desire stirs in me. I think it’s the remaining adrenalin still looking for some release from my body, or it could just be that I’ve just been kissed by a well-fit bloke and I’m just a horny slut.

  “Fuck me.”

  “What?” He frowns as he asks and moves his head back so he can look at me better.

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  His eyes sparkle and he shakes his head. “I’m not fucking you yet. I want you to wait until we get to where we’re going later.”

  I’m totally confused. “Why, what’s gonna happen later?” He bites down on his bottom lip, and I know he’s debating whether he wants to answer my question. I tilt my head and raise my eyebro
ws, giving him my best, ‘well I’m waiting’ look.

  “How open-minded are you, Georgia? I mean, I’m assuming being married to a rock star, you’ve seen and done more than your average person? I know you drink. I know you smoke weed, but how much further have you ever gone? Have you ever completely lost control?” I don’t really know what he means, so I stay quiet as he continues. “These friends of mine we’re going to see tonight, they live a bit of an alternative lifestyle. There’s about twenty of them. They all live together, and when I say together, I do mean together. They all live and sleep with each other.” He looks over my face for a reaction, but I don’t think I give anything away. “They’re mainly artists, musicians—you know, hippy types—but they are all good people.”

  “How’d you know them?” is all I can think of saying. This sounds more like Jackson and Emily’s thing, but hey, if it’s Roman’s as well, then who am I to judge?

  “I met a girl at a bar I was playing at when I first came back from England, and she was living with them; I went and stayed for a few weeks.” My belly grumbles loudly and he smiles his crinkly-eyed smile. “Let’s go and eat. We’ll talk over dinner.”

  * * *

  By the time we pull up at the beach house a couple of hours later, I’m nervous and excited. We park at the front of the large home and then walk down through a side access. There’s no fence along the back of the property; it opens straight out onto the beach and the ocean. Roman has brought a six-pack of beers and a bottle of wine with him, and he carries them inside a cool bag in one hand and holds onto one of mine with the other. There’s a large bonfire burning, and someone is playing a guitar and singing. There are people sitting on beach chairs, lying on blankets or just standing in groups talking. I stumble a little on the sand, too busy people watching and not looking where I’m going; Roman slows and looks at me.

  “You all right there, George? Not drunk already, are ya? The night’s just started.” I roll my eyes at him.

  “Fuck off. I’m not drunk; I’m fucking shitting myself. You’re taking me to a party on a beach, full of people who like nothing better than to take hallucinogenic drugs and have orgies. I wish I was fucking drunk.” He stops in his tracks, turns and looks me square in the eye.

  “I haven’t brought you here to do anything you don’t want to do; I told you this at dinner.” I’d drunk wine with my dinner and was feeling brave, but now the wine’s worn off and my bravery seems to have deserted me. I chew on the inside of my lip as I stare into his ice-blue eyes. From somewhere, I find her: G, George, the fifteen-year-old version who wasn’t scared of anyone. The bright, brand new, untainted version of me. I needed to be her tonight, not the thirty-two-year-old version who had been shit on from a great height by life. I understood Roman’s thinking behind bringing me here. He knew it would make me uncomfortable, but he wanted me to face it; he wants to make me brave and fearless again. I don’t know that I ever can be, but I can put on a fucking good front. The only problem with digging deep and finding fifteen-year-old George is that I’ve also found her jealousies and temper.

  “Don’t worry, babe; you couldn’t get me to do something I didn’t want to, no matter how many drugs you feed me. And just to be clear, you’re here with me; if you touch another bird, I will knock you the fuck out.” He laughs quietly as he wraps his arms around me.

  “Ahh, Georgia, you’ve just made my balls go tight, talking like that.” He bends his knees so we’re at eye level. “I’m here with you and for you, and I won’t leave your side. I will have a few beers and that’s it, but I don’t want you to hold back. If you wanna give something a go, then try it. I’ll make sure you’re safe, not that there’s anything or anyone here to be afraid of.” He kisses my forehead and lets out a long sigh. “Just let go tonight, Georgia; just let go of everything. You carry too much on those beautiful young shoulders. Just for one night, let go and forget the fucked-up hand you were dealt by life.”

  I nod at him, shrug and say, “Move then; what are we waiting for? But I warn you now, keep your hands on me or to yourself, else there will be consequences.”

  Chapter Nine

  After two glasses of wine from a plastic cup and being introduced to about fifteen people, I relax a little. A couple of the women I meet, Erica and Lexi, I think two of them are called, are a little full-on and keep touching me and telling me I’m beautiful. I think my ever-tightening grip on Roman’s hand makes him realise I’m uncomfortable, so we move away and find a spot in the sand by ourselves next to the fire. Roman pulls out a joint, already rolled from his cigarette box, so we sit and smoke it and I feel instantly calmer. The weed in Australia is much stronger than anything I’ve ever tried before, and I can only manage two or three puffs before my limbs and my thoughts relax.

  Rightly or wrongly, this is exactly what I need right now. I’m relaxed enough that I’m actually enjoying myself; people are dancing and talking, no one knows who I am. Roman is by my side and I feel safe.

  We sit and just people watch for a while, while Roman points out different people, telling me their names and professions; dancers, painters, poets. After about half an hour, a girl comes and sits down with us.

  “Hey, Rome, good to see ya.” She looks him over like she wants to eat him. I turn my head to see if I can gauge his reaction to her, but he is looking at me with a smirk on his face. I raise my eyebrows, daring him to say something.

  “Skye, how ya goin’? Georgia, meet Skye, an old mate of mine.” Skye puts her hand out and I take it. She’s about my age and very pretty in a pixyish sort of way. She looks me over in the exact same way as she looked at Roman, and I just know he’s still staring at me, waiting on my reaction… Bastard!

  “Nice to meet you, Skye,” I say in my best British accent.

  “Oh, wow, you’re English! Love the accent. Did you meet Roman while he was over there?” Roman puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in to his side.

  “No, we met here. Georgia’s here visiting family in Byron, and we met in a bar a few weeks back.”

  She gives, what looks like a genuine smile. “Cool.”

  She makes herself comfortable, sitting facing Roman and me, and they talk about people they both know as I just sit and watch what’s going on around me. Someone is playing guitar and singing what sounds like a Bob Dylan song, and there are people paddling in the ocean, as well as some lying, sitting or standing on the beach. There are couples kissing and some are full-on dry-humping each other. I catch the smell of cannabis in the air every time the wind blows gently over my skin. Roman nudges my arm and passes me a joint.

  “You okay?” he asks as I take a draw. It hits me instantly and my head spins.

  “Shit, what’s in that?” I ask, my limbs instantly feeling like jelly. I pass it back to Roman but he shakes his head.

  “No, I want to be able to look after you; have another puff. This stuffs a bit trippy; it’ll help you let go. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.” I look from him to Skye.

  “It’s good stuff, Georgia; take another couple of hits,” she says. I look back at Roman, still not convinced. I’m on a beach in the middle of Australia with a man I’ve only known a few weeks, surrounded by a load of weirdo hippies, stoned and tripping off their nuts.

  “You need to learn to trust people again, Georgia. I’ll look after you. I promise; please, trust me.” I nod slowly, thinking to myself that if it turns out they’re a bunch of Charles Manson types and this ends badly, at least I’ll get to see Sean again.

  Skye and I share the rest of the joint. After the initial dizziness, I feel fine, the effects creeping up on me slowly. Skye moves closer and starts to chat to me about London while Roman goes off to have a wee in the bushes. Despite my drug-induced state, I’m still guarded about what I tell her about myself. She has no idea who I am, and I want it to stay that way. I tell her I work in the fashion industry, and she seems happy enough with that. Everyone around me seems to have a silvery glow coming from their skin, and it l
ooks beautiful. Roman comes back and sits next to me; I’m hyper-aware of how he smells, and I suddenly feel extremely horny.

  “Do you model, Georgia? Is that what you do?” Skye asks. She’s already told me she’s a dancer, but I’d sort of guessed that by her posture; shoulders back, neck straight, head held high. It’d been years since I’d gone to dance classes, but I would never forget Madam Yvette screeching at the top of her lungs if one of us wasn’t standing right. She shouted at me once too often when I was about eight; I took off one of my points and threw it right at her head. I was banned from the entire dance school, and my mum was called to come and collect me. I hated ballet, didn’t mind tap, but was pissed off as I loved disco and modern but they barred me from the whole school, so I never got to go back. Madame Yvette and her silly accent, what a bitch. She wasn’t even French; she came from Bethnal Green, the lying cow. Thinking of the look on her face as the block from my point shoe hit her on the head suddenly gives me the giggles.

  “Georgia works more in the retail side,” Roman says from beside me, pulling me back to the beach and the conversation. I look up into his face; his eyes are bluer than I’ve ever seen them before, and he smiles down at me. “Feel good, baby?” I smile back and nod.

  “I feel fuckin’ great!” I hear Skye laugh, and it’s like a bell. A little bell tinkling, I think to myself.

  “I told ya you would. Let everything else go and just feel it.” I nod at him.

  “Well, you’re quite beautiful, Georgia; you could easily be a model.” She’s sitting with her legs crossed in front of me; her blonde hair is short and spikey. Her skin is pale and her eyes are huge and blue.

  “You look like Tinker Bell,” I say without thinking too much about it. Roman laughs from beside me, and I turn and look back at him. “What? She does! Tink’s cute. Skye’s cute, shush you,” I say to him. I look back at Skye; her eyes are looking over my body, then back up to my face.