Chapter Nine
Jem
The intercom buzzes into my dreams, pulling me from the edge of the nightmare. I stayed up late attempting to finish a song I’m working on, and frustration hit when the notes wouldn’t gel. The time spent recording the Phoenix album last year is lost in my drug-addicted haze; I was dragged through the process by the guys. Not our best work. These days, the songs wake me in the night, months of buried creativity pushing to the surface and consuming. I’d kill for a session with Dylan, to be in the recording studio with the guys.
I grope the side of the bed for my phone and squint at the display, three a.m. Who the f-uck comes here at three a.m.? No missed calls, so whoever it is doesn’t know me well enough to try calling first.
Muttering expletives under my breath, I head out toward the intercom. The sticky weather has broken and rain pours outside.
“Yeah?” I snap at the intruder.
“Jem?” A woman’s voice. f-ucking great, I thought late night groupie visits had stopped.
“Who’s this?”
The intercom crackles again. “Ruby.”
Her name jolts me to alert. “Ruby?”
“I didn’t know where to go.”
“Wait there. Gate’s opening.” I hit the button to unlock the security and pull my jeans on.
My confusion follows me downstairs, through the carefully restored Victorian house to the original but now heavily secured doors. Unlocking and sliding back the bolts, I pull open the front door.
Ruby stands on the porch, soaked. The security light shines on the red hair flattened by the rain, water running down Ruby’s pale cheeks. Tears or rain? A thin blue t-shirt and jeans are glued to her body, and the expression on her face rips my heart out. Ruby often looks lost; but this girl is terrified.
“What happened?”
“Sorry, I didn’t know where to go,” she repeats.
I step back and gesture to the doorway, Ruby walks in and drips rain onto the floor. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologising. Why else do you think I gave you my address?”
Her face is messed up, a cut below her blackening eye. She shivers and I don’t know what the f-uck to do.
Ruby misreads my hesitation. “I can go.”
“No. Upstairs.” I gesture to the polished wooden staircase and she slowly climbs, unsteady on her bare feet. This is f-ucking bad.
Again, Ruby hovers, this time in my lounge room, staring around at her surroundings when I flick the lights. She squints against the spotlights so I swap them for a lamp in the corner of the room.
Towel. She needs a towel.
I grab a grey bath sheet from the linen cupboard and return, handing it over. Ruby stares at it blankly.
“You should get dry.”
“Oh. I should.” She pulls at her t-shirt, and then let’s go, as the damp item becomes part of her skin again.
“I can give you a t-shirt, but I don’t have any women’s clothes.”
Ruby giggles. Then snorts. Gripping the towel, she descends into a cross between laughter and hysterics that blows my mind considering the silence since she arrived. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”
Unsure whether to be insulted or happy she’s snapped back to the living, I rub my head. “I’ll get you a t-shirt.”
I root around in my drawers, pulling out the first one I find then go back to Ruby. What the f-uck happened? I can guess and bet she has more than a cut face. At least she’s upright and conscious because I laid bets the time Ruby fought back that I’d be visiting her in hospital.
“Can I use your bathroom,” she asks, frowning at the t-shirt. “I don’t um…undressing.” Ruby hugs the towel to her chest.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Over there.” I indicate the direction she needs.
Ruby disappears and I slump onto the sofa. The nightmare I was on the edge of is replicating itself in front of me and I don’t know how to deal with this.
The girl who reappears in my Guns N’ Roses t-shirt isn’t the Ruby I know. She’s quiet and wary. Bare legged and skinny, the fabric hangs off her slight frame and because Ruby’s tall, the t-shirt isn’t as modest as it could be. As I take in the sight of this broken, frightened girl I ache, confused by the strength of my need to comfort her.
“Did he hurt you?” This is a f-ucking stupid question considering the state of her face.
“I’m okay.”
“I didn’t ask that. I asked if he hurt you.”
She closes her eyes and inhales, before opening an eye again. “I was going to ask if you had anything to drink.”
“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 f-ucking 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 f-uck 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 f-uck knows what else, she came to me. Me.
This isn’t f-ucking good.