Rising

by Lisa Swallow

  Jax makes a derisive sound and rubs his elbow. “No fucking way I’d get involved with Ruby.”

  How much did Jem hear? He knows the truth about Dan because he’s witnessed it, but I want him on the edge of my personal life. Jem can’t know the full story. Again, Jem gives me the look, the one I hate, the one with more understanding than Jax.

  “She’s right. You don’t understand,” he says quietly to Jax.

  “What the fuck do you know about my situation?” I snap at him but the address on the card he gave me already answers my question.

  “I’m not blind, Ruby. And I know more about this shit than you realise.”

  His admission silences me, but doesn’t quiet the adrenaline fuelling my system. I turn away and stomp back toward the stage.

  “Come on!” I yell to Jax.

  A couple of minutes later, the pair appears. I don’t know what Jem said to Jax but he gives me an apologetic smile before retrieving his guitar. I mouth ‘sorry about your elbow’ between verses in our first song. He winks and mouths back ‘no problem.’

  Jem Jones said something, explained to Jax what I couldn’t. He understands.

  Jem’s getting too close.

  Chapter Eight

  Ruby

  I check my calendar for the fifth time. A week to go. Yesterday I lied, I told Jax and the guys that Dan knows about the tour. I didn’t miss how Jax swept a look over my visible skin; like me, he expects Dan’s reaction to leave marks. I change the subject, preventing the guys asking me to elaborate.

  We haven’t seen Jem since the tense rehearsal last week, although Jax chats to him on the phone most days. This irritates me and, the fact it does, annoys me further. I’m used to Jax dealing with all things Ruby Riot but I want Jem’s attention too. Why? Validation? Something more? I’m in a fucked up place in life and my head; I don’t need to look elsewhere.

  Returning from a rehearsal, buzzing with the endorphins the music floods into my system, I step into the house that’s my self-imposed prison. Ruby is on day release and comes home to become Tuesday again. I can spend my whole life denying Tuesday exists, but I’m lying to myself.

  Each day that Ruby Riot step closer to being my waking life is an extra step away from this Hell with Dan. Every gig is a push in the direction of the belief I deserve more, that I can be more. And every penny I put in the tin Jax has hidden in his bedroom is the means to taking the final move.

  Lights are on in the house but Dan isn’t around. Anxiety grips, tightening my chest. Did I leave them on this morning or is Dan home? I hold my breath. No sound of the TV. Kicking my boots off, I creep along the hallway, warily listening and checking rooms.

  Nothing.

  With heart-thumping relief, I head to the bathroom. As the shower runs, I undress and study myself. The other day Jax commented that I’m getting skinnier and I told him to piss off, but he’s right. I never noticed; I don’t obsess about my weight the way I once did. I forget to eat because I have little appetite.

  The brightness of my ink matches my hair, the tattoos symbolic of my attempt to cover up the girl beneath. Some people have tattoos because they’re significant, I went for the brightest pictures I liked because I wanted a rainbow of colour to cover my life. Two blue and red birds are inked on my collarbones, pointing inwards to a winged heart. Jax loves the winged heart so much; he decided to use it as Ruby Riot’s logo. My newest tattoo is a string of red roses and thorns, spread across my lower belly.

  Inked along my rib, beneath my small breasts are words from the Rolling Stones song “Ruby Tuesday”, a homage to the name I wish I didn’t have. As I study the tattoos, the bruises stand out too. They have their own dull pattern, from black to purple. The place I plan to tattoo next are my upper arms; that’s the place rings of fingermark bruises circle my skin. I want a sugar-skull there, black to hide the marks.

  Dan’s increasing violence and shift away from psychological abuse worries me and is gradually pushing me toward the decision I need to make.

  ****

  The girl who steps from the shower is make-up free and bare to the world. I rub steam from the mirror and brush out my hair. The colour’s fading and her eyes are too; Ruby is slipping away. Wrapping a long, blue towel around my body, I head to the bedroom.

  Dan sits on the end of the bed in the dim light, his large figure straight and hands resting on his knees. Waiting.

  I hesitate in the doorway, unease setting the hairs on my arm in alert. “I didn’t realise you were home,” I say lightly, and cross the room toward my chest of drawers.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asks in a low voice.

  “I was having a shower. Have you eaten? Do you want me to fix you something?” With shaking hands, I pull a pair of cotton panties from the drawers and quickly put them on. I know he’s watching me, but there’s nothing sexual in the room with us. I drag a faded blue tee over my head, ridding myself of the vulnerability of being naked in front of Dan.

  “No, where have you been tonight. I came home earlier and you weren’t home. Why weren’t you home?”

  The light from the hallway casts shadows across his face and his thin mouth tells me all I need to know. Some situations I can’t escape and this is one of them.

  “I… I went to a rehearsal,” I say quietly.

  “You never asked.”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “So why not tell me? All you had to do was text me,” he says, voice dropping the room temperature.

  Not true. Dan would’ve dragged me home again.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  He stands. “Didn’t want me to know more like!”

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t think you’d mind.” I pick up my jeans but Dan grabs them and throws them on the floor between us.

  “Rehearsal? Is that where you were the other times I came back and you weren’t here?”

  The room lurches. Not only tonight. How many times? “Other times?”

  “Yeah. Twice last week and this is the second time this week.”

  I tuck my trembling hands beneath my arms. “I didn’t know… Weren’t you working?” My meek voice betrays the fear I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of causing.

  “It’s that blonde fucker isn’t it?” he growls. “You’re screwing him.”

  As he moves toward me, I edge back, glancing at the open door and running through my options. Where are my shoes? Car keys? “No! We’ve been rehearsing! I promise!”

  Dan kicks the bedroom door shut and seizes my arms, slamming me against it. “You dirty, fucking whore. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  I wince at the force of my back against the wood, at the fingers digging into the bruises I examined ten minutes ago. “I promise. It was rehearsals. You said you didn’t want me being with the band so I didn’t want to tell you. I’m sorry; I should’ve said.”

  Dan snorts and holds his face close to mine, his hot breath fast against my ear. “Do you expect me to believe that? You’d rather risk me finding out and thinking you were fucking someone else?”

  The smell of beer explains where he went after he came home and discovered I wasn’t here. “No! I promise!”

  Pain sears my cheek as Dan backhands my face. “Is that why you were showering? Trying to clean away your behaviour?” He seizes my throat with both hands. “I hope he was fucking worth it.”

  I’m violently pulled forward by the neck, pushed, falling on the floor. My hand slaps on the bare tiles as I try to break the fall, t-shirt riding up, exposing my belly. “Why would he want you? Look at you! You’re nothing like a real woman. You’ve got no tits or ass; why anyone else would want to fuck you, I don’t know.” He kneels and grabs a fist full of my hair, yanking until my eyes water. “No wonder I need to go elsewhere.”

  “What?” I dig my fingers into his hand, attempting to disentangle them.

  “I fuck other women, Ruby, because you’re no good.” His voice is soft, teasing, and a te
ar threatens to leak from my watering eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t argue.

  “No, you don’t. Tell me you don’t.”

  “You fucking hypocrite!”

  The strength of his next slap sends me reeling back, head hitting the polished tiles, the pain jarring my teeth. I close my eyes and cover my head, curling into the stars. This is my place, where I can go and nobody can hurt me. If I focus on the stars, I won’t feel anything until he stops. His words fall around me, as the pain of his assault continues. Words I can barely hear through my ringing ears are pounded into me, reinforcing his programming that I’m worthless without him.

  But I can’t reach the stars this time, my mind won’t let go. This is different. He’s harsher and he’s never accused me of having sex with another guy before.

  And he screwed other women.

  “What do you think about that?” I catch the end of his rant and blink away tears, head pounding.

  I can’t find any words. Please. Stars. Come soon. A pain rips through my chest and my first thought is don’t hurt me enough to need the doctor. He’s broken ribs before, but this time he didn’t kick hard enough. The pain is still sickening, worsened by him yanking me to my feet and smacking me back against the wall. My head hits the plaster. Stars. Finally. I attempt to slump to the floor but he holds me in place by the chest with one broad hand.

  Through the dizzying dark of pain, the jangle of his belt buckle crashes me back to reality.

  His zip.

  No.

  “I fuck you, Ruby. Nobody else.”

  “Dan!” I struggle against him and he shifts his hand back to my neck, pressing his bulk against me. “Don’t do that! This is what you stopped from happening! This is what you protected me from!”

  “And look at how you rewarded me. By fucking another guy.”

  “I didn’t. I promise!” No tears. No tears.

  The scrape of his fingernails across my hips and the fingers yanking at my panties pulls me further from the stars. This would break me. This would be the end of Ruby; I have to fight for her.

  “No!”

  Struggling with his grip, I twist from side to side and he battles to hold me still. I won’t be her, I refuse to be the girl he claimed he was saving me from becoming. I slam my head against his mouth, the impact on my forehead barely felt through the numbness.

  “Fucking bitch!” He staggers backward and steadies himself on the end of the bed frame, hand at his mouth.

  Grabbing my jeans from the floor, I pull at the door handle with my sweating palms. Out. Get out. My bag is by the front door, if I get there first…

  I’m slammed to the floor, landing face first as he tackles me from behind.

  “Let me go!” I scream, immobile under his bulk and I’m rewarded by a punch to the head.

  “You fucking whore!”

  Never this. He’s never been like this. But I deserve it, don’t I? I shouldn’t have lied. I made this happen. I lift my head and stare at the blood from my mouth on the white tiled floor.

  I can’t move so I slump back down. Dan’s weight lifts and he pushes me onto my back, dragging my legs apart. I kick out again, my foot collides with his face, and he grabs my leg, forcing it to the floor. I don’t know this Dan; the man’s face looking back at me is contorted with a hatred I’ve never seen.

  “Dan! Don’t!”

  “You move and I’ll fucking kill you!”

  His surety I’ll weaken at those words is his downfall because the fact I believe Dan triggers my next move. I focus on relaxing, letting him think he’s won and when Dan shifts enough to free my legs I push both knees up and slam them into his balls as hard as I can.

  Dan lets out a strangled yell and falls backward to the floor, hands going to his crotch. “Fuck!” he attempts to yell, but the sound is hoarse.

  I should’ve fought back weeks ago.

  I pull my shaking body from the floor, grab my jeans and stagger to the front door. Blinded by the pain, I seize my bag from the hallway and crash through the front door, into the drizzling rain. Not looking back, I run barefoot to the car, as I rummage in the bag for my car keys. Climbing inside, I central-lock the doors just as Dan charges into the street. My hands tremble and I struggle to get the key in the ignition, but I’m safe.

  “You can’t go! I’ll fucking find you! I know where you’ll be!” he shouts and slams his hands on the driver’s window.

  The angry mask of Dan’s face is the monster who’s held me captive, convincing me he was the best I’d ever get; that I was worthless to anyone else. The growing realisation this isn’t true, and the increase in his physical abuse, has broken that control. Where once I was convinced he loved me, this switched to fear convinced he’d hurt me. This last attempt at violating me and breaking the frightened girl for good is just that. His last.

  Focusing the rationality I have left, I manage to start the car and get into gear. Dan steps to one side as I rev the engine; he’s no longer in control now there’s a ton of metal between us. Slamming my foot on the accelerator, I drive.

  For an hour, the rain on the windscreen and tears fight over which blurs my vision the most. I swallow down the urge to vomit, tasting the blood from my injured mouth, and focus on the road as I squint at the headlights beaming from cars travelling toward me on the opposite side of the road.

  I can’t go to Jax. Dan will come for me.

  I drive for another half hour. Rain. Tears. Pain.

  Fear.

  A lurching realisation.

  I have nowhere. Nobody.

  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 fuck 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. Fucking 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 fuck 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 fucking bad.

  Again, Ruby hovers, this time in my lounge roo
m, 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 fuck 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 fucking 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.”