by A. S. Kelly
She nods. “You know, Jamie wasn’t like he is now. He was a sensitive boy; he needed to come out of his shell, to learn to be strong and face the world with his head held high, and he didn’t stand much chance in that house. I tried to be strong enough for both of us, to give him the security he needed and the support that he deserved but that no one ever gave him. I promised him that he could be anything he wanted, and that I’d help him. I did everything I could to keep my promise. We had some dark, difficult years but we were together, and, in the end, it all worked out for the best.”
I can’t breathe. Seriously.
“I’d do it again a thousand times. Nothing is more satisfying than seeing the man he’s become.”
I take her hand spontaneously and feel my heart cracking dangerously.
“It’s all in the past.”
“You don’t have to hide what you are, Riley. Not when you’re with me.”
She smiles timidly.
“You don’t always have to be strong.”
“Oh, I’m not, believe me.”
“Yes, you are.”
“There were loads of times I didn’t think I’d make it…I was exhausted, alone, I’d given up. But just looking at Jamie gave me the energy to go on. I finished school a few years later by going to evening classes. That meant I could leave my old jobs and find a better one. I used to work in retail during the day and in a pizzeria in the evenings. I started off at the bottom in a better job, and I worked hard to get ahead. I’m still not exactly high up, sure, but I created an opportunity for myself which meant we could live decently, and most importantly, allowed Jamie to study, train, and become the champion that he is now.”
“You must be very proud of yourself.”
“Well, I didn’t have a lot of choice. I had to either roll up my sleeves or…” She doesn’t finish the phrase and looks elsewhere.
I swallow hard.
“When Jamie first started becoming successful, I was happy for him, even if I knew it meant that sooner or later, I’d be left alone.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, Jamie is all I have.”
“But you have your own life.” I try.
“My life,” she whispers, “I’m starting to think that there isn’t anything more out there for me. I don’t know if you can understand, but I don’t think I’d be able to trust another person, to have a family.” She shakes her head. “Maybe this is all there is for me,” she sighs.
She sits in silence for a few minutes, and I’m scared she’ll be able to hear the loud, dangerous beat of my heart, pumping like crazy, risking irreparable damage.
Right now. In her house.
A house I stupidly talked my way into, if only to hurt us both in the process.
“You deserve everything, Riley,” I tell her, even though I recognise I’m getting into dangerous territory
She looks at me in that way that she has. Jesus, that look makes me hope and dream, longing for something that doesn’t belong to me…something that I’ll never have in my hands.
Something that will never be mine.
And then, Riley kills me simply and swiftly, burying me six feet under.
“I have everything I need. I have my adorable brother, my work, a few good friends, like you.”
Despite her words, her voice is melancholy, full of solitude.
Hers.
And mine.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bring you down like this. Don’t feel like you have to tell me these things,” I tell her because I would prefer to suffer in silence rather than see her in pieces.
She shrugs. “I have to tell someone and…I wanted to tell you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because you’re the only person I trust.”
She says it looking me in the eyes. She says it without hiding, without distraction, and without making it easier on herself.
In this moment, sitting on the sofa, Riley is speaking to me with her lips, her eyes, and her soul. She’s giving me a part of her that she doesn’t show to the rest of the world.
And she steals my heart.
I know this is probably the most painful part of her life, the part that she keeps locked up. The part you would never want to share with anyone. But she shared it with me.
Her story is something that opens old wounds and forces me to remember, It’s the thing that doesn’t let you close your eyes at night, that gives you nightmares of free-falling from the 78th floor of a skyscraper in one of those never-ending flights where you are screaming but you can’t hear your own cries; where you try to react but you can’t move a muscle. Then you wake up in agony, drenched in a cold sweat. And you understand that you never want to feel that pain again, even if it was worth all of the love in the world.
I let her talk, in a voice that is barely audible, but that seems to be screaming in my ears. She speaks calmly, having already accepted what life has given her. She hasn’t shed one tear, and I know that in her place I would be sobbing under the table, hugging my knees to my chest.
She speaks and invades my world, seeking out my every piece.
And she finds them all. One by one.
The most absurd thing is that she isn’t aware of what’s happening. She couldn’t imagine that by opening this door today about her past, she’s also opened the same door into mine. She doesn’t know that her suffering has already become a part of mine, that I can’t think about anything but her. I’d like to find a way to erase what she’s gone through and colour myself into her world.
I’d like to tell her that not all men are like her father. That she can have everything, she just needs to open her arms to the right man. That I wouldn’t ask for anything more than to live in her eyes. That I wouldn’t ask for more than the chance to stay next to her every day of my life. That she never has to hide who she is, but that she has to let herself be discovered because there’s someone before her now who understands and feels all of the same things she does.
That I would be willing to do anything to be able to love her and be loved in return.
But I don’t tell her any of that, I keep it to myself, like I always do. I bury it, hiding it deep down, where all my fear and rage reside.
The pain is suffocating.
“Can I ask you something?” she asks, biting her lip.
God, I’d bite that lip off in an instant.
“Y-yeah, sure,” I stutter like an idiot.
“Why do you worry about me so much?” She asks, barley looking at me with those big eyes from beneath her long eyelashes.
I could list her thousands of reasons.
I could tell her that from the first time I saw her at that damn party, something in me stirred, something I thought I’d buried deep enough.
I could tell her that when she smiled at me for the first time, I felt the floor give way under my feet, and I realised that trembling isn’t just something that people do when they’re scared; it’s something that shakes you from within and makes you understand that you’re still alive.
I could tell her it’s because I’m a fucking bastard through and through, and I’d like to find a way between her legs and find my name on her lips in the moment that I make her mine.
I could tell her that it’s because I’m an empty man who’s experienced abandonment first-hand, always hoping that there might be something else out there for me. Something that wouldn’t hurt me, break me, or destroy me.
I could tell her it’s because her hair was made to be brushed by my fingers, that her eyes were made to be adored by mine, that her lips were made to be bitten by me, that her body was perfectly formed to be under, over, and next to mine.
I could tell her that the desire to kiss her, to have her, to write her name on my skin is killing me and if she keeps looking at me like that, I won’t be able to control myself. I’ll jump on top of her right here on this sofa, marking each centimetre of her skin with my teeth.
I could tell her that her nearness drive
s me crazy and tears me apart because I know I can’t have her, but I’d prefer to die slowly from her gentle sighs rather than to deny myself the sound of her voice, of her heartbeat.
I could tell her it’s because this stupid arsehole wants her all for himself, because he’s never had anything in his life that was more beautiful, and he can’t help but want to relish in her beauty. But I don’t say any of those things. I don’t expose myself to her, like she did.
I simply say, “I’m in debt with you.”
13
Riley
Two years earlier
Ian loads the dishes into the dishwasher. He cooked for me, and we ate on the sofa. I told him a bit about my life, and I don’t know where the words came from.
I never talk to anyone about the past; Jamie and I keep it secret. We don’t want any little part of our life with him to become public knowledge.
Jamie has his career, has made a name for himself in the world of sports, and the last thing I want is for the past to come back and screw everything up. It’s something we need to protect ourselves from, and it’s my responsibility to do so for as long as I can.
And that’s the reason I try to stay on the sidelines and not interfere in Jamie's world, even though he so desperately wants me to be a part of it. I know it’s better for both of us this way.
The best thing would be for me not to be associated with him as Jamie Murray’s sister and for just a few trusted people to know who I am. You never know when an extra ear, someone a little too interested in other people’s business, could be lurking around the corner.
And yet tonight, instead of locking that door, I left it ajar to let him make his way in. It seemed like the natural thing for me to do, maybe because Ian isn’t just what he shows people; he’s much more than that, I’m sure of it. And I’d like to be the one granted permission to discover everything that Ian hides from everyone else. Ian is discreet and loyal: Jamie trusts him unquestionably, which means I do too.
I don’t know what he saw, how he processed what I told him, or how he feels about it, but he’s still here.
I’m sitting on the counter in the kitchen, watching him, completely mesmerized, unable to do or say anything. His sure, purposeful way of moving has consumed all of my attention.
“Another glass?” he asks, suddenly waving a bottle in front of me.
“Why not.” I turn to grab two glasses from the cupboard behind me. He opens the bottle and comes towards me. I set the glasses on the counter, and he pours for both of us. He offers me one and draws his hand in to clink his glass against mine in a toast.
“What are we toasting?” I ask, looking him in the eyes.
“To friendship,” he says.
And my heart starts bleeding.
“To friendship,” I repeat.
It’s a lie.
Enormous. Dangerous. Senseless.
His.
Mine too.
When did this happen? When did we become friends? Who drew this stupid boundary between us, prohibiting us from thinking of something more than that? To understand, to hope that for us, there could be something more?
When did I become aware that my heart had stopped crying and started trembling?
When did I realise that he’s the only one who knows where and how to look for me?
When did I start seeing him as the only man I could trust?
When did I realise that my life would always be unhappy and incomplete?
I take a sip of my wine, but I can’t stop looking at him. His deep blue eyes pass over me.
They heat everything up. They set everything alight.
They set me alight.
Why, Ian? Why are we friends?
Why didn’t you dance with me that night?
Why didn’t you stop me that morning when I ran away from your house in a hysterical fury?
Why didn’t you tell me that we could fill the missing space in each other’s lives?
And why do you keep showing up in my life when I least expect it, filling it with your voice, your scent, your silences your smiles?
Why do I keep leading myself on, knowing full well that there’s nothing more for me than what I already have? Nothing else exists. Because a man like you, Ian O’Connor, could never really be interested in me, in what I was and what I still am.
And why do you continue to look at me that way, as if you can read my mind or worse yet, are thinking the same things and keeping them to yourself?
Why, Ian?
Why aren’t you the one I share all my moments with?
“What do you think, shall we watch another film?” he asks, interrupting my stupid fantasy.
“Sure.”
Anything to get him to stay a little longer.
“I’ll bring the glasses into the living room,” I say, hopping down from the table and picking them up. I need to distance myself from him so that I can regroup, regain control of my emotions so that Ian can’t see my need – my desire – to be more than just his friend.
Wrong, painful.
Heavy.
I head into the living room, set the glasses on the table in front of the sofa, and then turn around to hurt myself a little more.
Because all of this hurts me. His presence. His interest. His friendship.
He hurts me.
He who makes me hope and believe.
Something that makes me desire.
I’m starting to want something. For myself.
Him. I want him.
But this is nothing but a doomed romance – and I’d rather not know how it ends.
14
Ian
Present
“So, the rumors were true.” I enter the rehabilitation room where Jamie is taking his first steps at getting himself back into shape.
“You’ve really decided to stop your whining and move your arse?”
“Good one…” Jamie says with a grin, while Steve, one of our physical therapists, laughs quietly.
“How’s the progress, doctor?” I ask with fake worry.
“He’ll survive,” Steve says, playing down the situation. “Two weeks, maximum three, then he’ll be back to training.”
“Fantastic news.”
“Sure is for you.” Good to see that Jamie has already got back his God complex.
I shake my head and grab a stool near them.
“Hey, don’t you have anything better to do than sit here and watch my physio session?”
“I’m taking a ten-minute break before heading to the pool for some laps.”
“What about my sister?” he asks, scrutinising my expression.
“Don’t start.”
Jamie sighs heavily, then asks “Steve, would you mind giving us five minutes, please?”
“No problemo.” Steve dries his hands on a towel and leaves the room.
“What’s up, are you worried about something?” I ask Jamie who has an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face.
“My one and only worry.”
“Jamie…”
“Were you at her house?”
“Yes, I took her home the other day.”
“And she let you in?”
“Not exactly, I kind of invited myself.”
Jamie nods. “I haven’t been able to set foot in there for three months. Last time I did, I made some comments she didn’t appreciate.”
“I understand.”
“I didn’t want to invade her privacy, I just wanted to help out.”
“Have you ever considered that maybe she doesn’t want your help?”
“She doesn’t want anyone’s help,” he says, getting off his stomach and walking around the room before stopping in front of the main glass doorway where the other guys are doing their weightlifting. “Have you seen that shithole she lives in? I understand she doesn’t want to live with me, we’re adults, we have our own lives, but Jesus!” he says, raising his voice. “I don’t want her to get worse again.”
“Worse?�
�
“You see, my sister puts on this facade that she’s strong and independent, but I recognise it for what it is.”
I wait in silence for him to continue.
“She doesn’t break down, doesn’t cry, she doesn’t take things lying down and doesn’t wallow in things.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“She’s a ticking time bomb, Ian. Sooner or later, she’s going to explode, and when she does…” he sighs heavily. “I’m afraid there won’t be anything left of her.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She keeps everything inside. Her feelings. She hides things, buries them. She throws her smile in your face and you think everything is fine. But behind all that, Ian, there’s a world that no one knows about and it’ll suck her in when she isn’t expecting it. Sooner or later, all that tension will come out, and I’m afraid it won’t be pretty.”
“Do you think you might be a little over-the-top here?”
“Do you…know?” he asks cautiously.
“What are we talking about?”
“Has she ever told you about our life, our childhood, our family?” he asks, clenching his jaw on the last word, while I go back in time to dust off that memory.
“She mentioned something, once. She told me that you’re alone and that you lived on your own.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“Er, yeah…”
“Did she tell you all of it? The unedited version?”
“I don’t know.” I stand up agitated. “She told me a few things, but I don’t know if there’s anything else, if she hid some part of the story from me, or if she lied to me…Why are you asking me all this?”
Jamie sighs and goes to sit back down, inviting me to take the spot in front of him. I do, grabbing the stool and pulling it closer.
“I don’t want to do this, believe me. Opening Pandora’s box isn’t going to be good for any of the three of us.”
“The three of us?”
“Trust me, it’s not going to be good for you, either.”
I look at him, worried.
“But maybe it’s time that someone knew about it, someone who could understand and maybe help out.”
