by VR Baucke
After only a few short months of living together, he proposed at the end of a night spent getting pissed. In my inebriated state, I had instantly agreed. I figured the proposal was planned as he presented me with a gorgeous princess cut diamond ring. I couldn’t believe my luck; he was the entire package and wanted to be with me. The love-drunk feeling began to develop minor cracks around the eight-month mark when he became increasingly preoccupied and short tempered. When I asked him about it, he would fob me off with a legitimate excuse—usually something to do with stress at work. Every now and then, our evening would be interrupted by a ‘work call’ which he took outside—out of politeness.
He came home one day looking extra stressed and finally confided that his employers were sending him to Sydney for an open contract position which would be at least six months. I was so disappointed to be distanced from him for such a long time and offered to put my study on hold and go with him. He shot down that suggestion instantly with another excuse that seemed totally plausible; that his work would only pay for a single hotel room and we couldn’t afford to pay for the room upgrade for long term. And, stupidly, I believed every single word.
So, there it was; my fiancé was heading to another country for the foreseeable future, and I was left fumbling my way through life without him. The only thing that kept me optimistic was his daily phone calls. In my blinded state, I began to neglect the people who loved me the most—my friends and family. The crew stepped up and made an effort to keep me occupied, but when I wasn’t with them, I turned to the bottle. To add insult to injury, I couldn’t afford some of the spirits I was used to drinking but I always found a way to make sure I had small amounts stashed throughout the house. The alcohol began to take priority over eating, my grades plummeted, and my social life took a dive when I began opting to stay home drinking by myself. My life went from peachy to rotten overnight. Mickey wasn’t at all impressed with the situation and desperately tried to convince me to ease back on the booze and open my eyes to take a real look at the situation. Evidently, he could see through the whole façade.
It wasn’t until Mace and Mickey came back from a piss trip on the Gold Coast of Australia that the cracks in my love life began to tear wide open then crumble and crash around me, all within a matter of minutes.
I picked them both up from the airport with anticipation, expecting to see happiness radiating off their tanned bodies after a week away doing God knows what. My heart slammed into my gut the moment they appeared through the arrivals gate. My grin faltered further when I took in their grim expressions.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
They weren’t giddy and excited to see me; they were sombre and their welcome hugs were much more protective than the big ‘great to see you’ squeeze I was expecting. The drive home was filled with bullshit small talk and tension. The uneasiness in my stomach increased tenfold when Mickey refused to let me into his head, blocking me completely.
Pulling into Mace’s driveway, I parked and flung the door open before they had unbuckled their belts. After storming onto the front porch, I paced like a caged animal as I tried to take my mind off the sick feeling in my stomach.
Mace came up and set his bags down to unlock the door then wrapped me in another hug and whispered in my ear, “You’re amazing and beautiful, Lil. Never for a second forget it.”
Then, he put this hand on my back and ushered me inside before him. Anxiousness was making me lightheaded but I refused to take a seat when Mickey came in and suggested we go sit in the lounge.
“Cut the bullshit guys. What the fuck is going on?” I urged them, unable to hold back my emotions any longer.
They cut a glance at each other before Mace cleared his throat. “Lil, we were in Brisbane and saw something unexpected. I’m just not sure how to tell you.”
I was going to be sick for sure. I pleaded with Mickey to elaborate. Letting out an angry growl, he picked up where Mace left off.
“Lil, we saw Jono with another woman. They looked cosy, both wearing wedding bands, and... she was pregnant,” he whispered the last three words.
I actually laughed at the absurdity of his accusations and shock my head in denial.
“Impossible, he’s in Sydney, not Brisbane,” I reasoned.
The devastation I saw in their eyes made my composure falter. It was at that moment, I knew in my heart of hearts that they were telling me the truth. There was no way they would pull a prank like this. No way in Hell. Mickey ventured further by fumbling in his pocket for his phone.
“We took photos, Lil. It’s not a joke. I’m so fucken sorry for having to do this to you, it’s tearing me apart.”
“Tearing you apart? Tearing YOU apart?” I screamed through the tears spilling down my face. “Give me the goddamn phone, Josh!”
He hesitated for a beat then reluctantly held it out. I snatched it from his palm and started furiously flicking through the photos. With each swipe of my thumb, the more my heart broke and realisation began to hit home. It was Jono without a doubt, the birthmark on his forearm was enough to confirm that. But who the hell was the woman that he was intimately kissing and fondly touching her small rounded belly bump? I couldn’t look at them anymore and dropped the phone as my breathing became quick and shallow. Within seconds, I saw the tell-tale fog gather in my peripheral vision before darkness drew in and stole my sight. My hearing went, leaving me deaf aside from high pitched ringing within the depths of my ears.
Mace was by my side in a flash as I tottered sideways. He caught me in his arms before I hit the ground. I woke up soon after with a cold cloth pressed to my forehead and Mickey gently shaking my shoulders. Realising that it wasn’t a horrid dream, I willed myself back towards the darkness that wouldn’t reclaim me. Seeing the tenderness in Mickey’s wide eyes ignited all the anger that was boiling within. I flung myself at him, screaming and pounding my fists on his chest as hard as I could. Mickey stood there and took it like a man, taking away some of my anger and pain in the only way he knew how. He was just the messenger, and I was shooting him for it. Mace’s strong arms once again surrounded me, wrapping around my waist and dragging me back from a dazed Mickey. Mace then sat down and pulled me into his lap, engulfing me in a fierce bear hug until my struggles began to wane. At that moment my anger gave way to grief. It spilled out in ugly waves while Mace continuously rubbed my back. Mickey couldn’t handle ‘womanly outbursts’ well, and I wasn’t offended when he disappeared outside to compose himself over a ciggy. From that day on, I turned to the bottle more than ever in last-ditch desperation to forget the clusterfuck that was my life. The days that followed were an alcohol induced blur of rejecting Jono’s increasingly frequent calls and texts, a never-ending river of tears, a frenzied assault on my flat—removing anything that was remotely associated with my asshole EX-fiancé, and the constant murmuring voices and hugs from my beautiful friends who stuck by me like glue.
When the last of Jono’s meaningless belongings were piled in a heap in the backyard, Mickey poured diesel over the crap and I struck the match. Satisfaction wove through me at seeing the last of Jono’s presence burn from my life. The last thing I tossed into the flames was my engagement ring. It saddened me a lot that the beautiful diamond would be forever lost, but it was my final ‘fuck you’ to Jono.
I handed Mickey my phone and asked him to do the honours of taking my picture in front of the burning inferno. My first—and only—contact with Jono since I found out about his double life, was sending him that picture and telling him to get lost.
Needless to say, that caused a shitstorm to erupt, which I ignored and gladly let Mickey deal with. When Jono knew the game was up, he confessed on voicemail that he was only in New Zealand on a contract job and had returned home to his WIFE, who had fallen pregnant during a weekend visit—which had been roughly a month and a half before his official contract here had ended. Jono offered me a half-hearted apology and somehow thought it made up for all the deceit. Not in a million years
after Hell froze over would I forgive him.
I battled hard with the booze for a long time after, and put myself in unsafe situations time and time again.
Mickey and our family did all they could to pull me back into the light. I’m there now, but every now and then the darkness reaches for me, clawing at me, calling my name, trying to drag me down once more; especially during the turbulent or unpredictable times in my life. It was at those times when I felt most unworthy. In those times, there was only one person who seemed to make a real difference to my will to get through the shit and make it out the other side again.
Mace.
“Lil Bean?” Mace gently shook my shoulder.
His intrusion to my thoughts snapped me from the trip down memory lane. My eyes automatically searched for his when he lifted my chin with his forefinger. I grimly nodded and squeezed his hand.
“I know it is. I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “And I’m thankful for you, for everything… But, he… he broke me, Mace.”
I let one—just one—tear slip from under my lashes. Mace bent until I felt his lips meet my forehead, there, they moved against my skin.
“I know he did, Lil Bean, and I could kill him because of it.”
He pulled back and his thumb quickly dashed away the single tear that escaped. With exaggerated care, Mace helped me beneath the covers and tucked me in. He bent to kiss my forehead again. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said softly before disappearing from the room.
Minutes later, he returned and ensured that Kimmie and I both had a glass of water by our beds.
“I’ll be sleeping on the couch if you need me. Goodnight, Lil,” he whispered and gave me a friendly pat on the rump. I squirmed until I was propped up on one elbow.
“Go to sleep,” he commanded with his voice and pointing forefinger.
“Goodnight, Macey-poo,” I murmured.
He scoffed as he walked to the door. I called out once more as the light clicked off and plunged us into darkness.
“Mace?”
He sounded wary. “Yeah, Lil Bean.”
“Stay with me?”
Without question, he left the door open and padded back into the room. After a minute of shuffling through the dark, I felt the bed compress and his hand found mine beneath the covers. Only then, with him by my side like so many other times previous to tonight, did I snuggle into my plush bedding and let sleep claim me.
TWELVE
GAGE
THE MORNING AFTER greeted me like a freight train. A big, shitty, explosive, enormous son of a bitch from Hell, thundering through the most echoic canyon in the entire motherfucking galaxy. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper, especially once I remembered the reason for getting annihilated last night.
Lil.
Fuck! I’m so screwed.
I had no idea how I managed to make it to bed, though I was forever thankful that I turned off the thumping music before passing out; this hangover was killing my head enough as it was.
Groaning as I sat up and precariously swaying on the edge of my bed, I held my pounding head in my hands and cracked an eyelid. My sight landed on the bottle of well-aged whisky that had cost me half my left nut sack, now lying empty on the floor.
Stumbling to my feet, I made the slow and arduous shuffle to the bathroom while trying not to lose my stomach contents throughout the house. The room tilted and swayed beneath my feet, making the task of standing to piss near impossible. I was torn between vomiting into the bowl while urinating on the floor, or sitting down to piss while vomiting on the floor. Surprisingly, option three became available, allowing me time to relieve my bladder before throwing myself to my knees to follow suit with my stomach contents. Abso-fucken-lutely awesome.
Returning to my room long enough to jam a pair of sunglasses onto my face, I peered into Mace’s room on my way to the kitchen. His room was empty and appeared to be unslept in. Nothing seemed to have been moved in the kitchen either, and I was more than a bit dark to see the front door looking worse for wear. That was my job for today, then.
Sighing and setting the coffee machine to full power, it didn’t take a scientist to know how much I fucked up yesterday. Which now meant I had some serious apologising to do.
My behaviour was appalling and downright embarrassing. I’d directed my anger and frustration at Lil in the first instance, then Mace copped it when I got home. We were damn close to having an all-out fist fight as we locked into an altercation that walked the thin line between shoving and brawling. Now, in my pitiful hungover state, I was pissed at myself for being a total asshole. To irritate me even more, I couldn’t stop thinking about how gorgeous Lil was when all riled up. She was a little spitfire, and was beginning to unknowingly work herself into my subconscious. And, to be honest, I was beginning to crave more where that came from. She had me intrigued as hell.
Squinting at my phone screen then minimising the brightness, I procrastinated before opening my text history with Mace. He was the easiest person to start with; I knew a lame apology wouldn’t cut it with Lil. Aside from the obvious grovelling, actually finding the words I wanted to tell her was the hardest—and something I wasn’t yet ready to do.
I tapped out a message then deleted it since it sounded way too dumb. I typed out another but deleted that too. With a massive sigh and reminding myself that I was overthinking this, I kept it short and to the point.
G: Where you at? Sorry for being an asshole yesterday.
His reply was instant.
M: At Lil’s. All g.
G: What’s her number? I need it!
M: I’m not giving it to you.
I swore out loud both at Mace’s reply and the painfully loud grinding sounds coming from the fucking coffee machine. This was a slow agonising death from all angles.
G: Fine, be an ass! Pass this onto her, will you…
Fuck, fuck, fuuuck, why is the backspace button so damn close to the motherfucking send button on this stupid device!
Now I had to follow through with a text that made an ounce of sense. Unable to leave that text hanging, I struggled to think of something semi decent to add.
G: Lil - Can we talk sometime?
G: Please.
I shoved a mug into the coffee machine while shaking my head—since when did I beg to talk to someone? The answer to that was never.
Cursing under my breath again at my stupidity, my phone buzzed in my fingertips.
M: She says no.
M: Do we need any food? I’ll be back later to cook dinner.
After carelessly typing back a reply, I nursed the coffee until I had worked up enough energy to shower. Finally dressed for the remainder of the day and with another caffeine hit in my hand, I set about fixing the front door that I had so satisfyingly destroyed yesterday.
The morning after was a right bitch.
~
I was dozing on the front step later that afternoon when Mace pulled up looking all smug and cheery.
“You’re home,” I snapped.
He raised a brow but didn’t bother asking me how I was—I looked as shit as I felt.
I grabbed a couple of grocery bags and followed him into the house, waiting for him to say something. The silence continued as he got out various pans and utensils then started bustling around the kitchen like Martha damn Stewart, slicing and dicing mushrooms and onions. The smell of them frying in butter made my stomach growl in hunger, which was a nice contrast to feeling it turn on itself like it had been doing all day.
Mace finally turned and glared at me from under his eyebrows. “Seriously, Gage, what the fuck?”
“Is Lil ok?” I raked my fingers through my hair. “I didn’t intend to lose my shit at her...”
He waved me off with the tongs in hand. “She’s fine. Confused obviously, and out for blood, and nursing a wicked hangover.” He chuckled like there was some secret joke I wasn’t privy to and it stirred unwelcome jealousy deep in my gut.
“Well, that makes two
of us then,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples and rustling around the cupboard for more painkillers.
Mace laughed and didn’t bat an eyelid. “It’s your own goddamn fault so suck it up.” His tone then turned dark. “You’re lucky Mickey wasn’t there, mate, he would’ve lost his shit.”
“So I’ve been told,” I mumbled.
I got the distinct impression that Mickey would break anyone who laid a finger on his precious sister. Fuck, I knew I would lay a guy out if he so much as dared to break one of my sisters’ hearts. I already suspected that one of them was keeping shit from me but I hadn’t managed to get a confession out of her before I left.
“I get that he’s doing the brotherly thing,” I replied to Mace. He snorted and chewed while grinning, knowing full well how much of a goddamn handful my sisters were. “But maybe he needs to keep his focus on his own love life. Him and Kimmie aren’t together, right? I sure as hell didn’t miss the way he was looking at her the other night.”
“They’re complicated. Shit happened in high school that they can’t get over.” Mace frowned slightly and shook his head then snapped his eyes up to mine. “He’s possessive over his women, if you hadn’t figured that out already.”