Rising

by Lisa Swallow

  “I’ll see you on Monday at the studio,” I offer as I pick up my car keys.

  Jem grunts. Oh, great, a male noise I recognise. An ‘I’m not talking to you’ grunt. What the hell did I do wrong here?

  “Yes? Jem?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Enjoy your weekend,” I say brightly.

  He turns to me, the expression on his face arresting. His eyes are darker, mouth pulled into a line I recognise from arguments we had early on. “Yeah, maybe I’ll call my ‘fuck buddy’.”

  I reel at his tone. “Whatever. Your life.”

  “Exactly.” He returns to his clicking through TV channels.

  “I’m not sure what I did wrong here, Jem.”

  “Nothing.” He throws the controller onto the seat as a music channel appears.

  “Okay, then. Bye.”

  My foot has barely left the bottom stair in the hallway before Jem appears at the top of the stairs and calls my name. I turn back to him. “What?”

  “I didn’t fuck her. I mean, I’m not going to. Not anymore.”

  “Please stop trying to justify yourself. I said it’s cool.”

  “No, I want to tell you because if I did fuck her, this would be over, right?”

  I drop my bag. “Let me see. As an average person I think that my lover fucking another person may not be what I want.”

  Jem takes a step down. “So if I’m not, and you’re my lover, what’s the problem?”

  “No problem.”

  “Then why are you leaving?” He walks down the rest of the steps. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “It’s probably time I left. Things are better now, Dan’s under a restraining order and he hasn’t tried to contact me. He’s due in court soon, so I doubt he’ll make things worse for himself. I don’t need to hide here anymore.”

  “You’re not hiding anymore, are you? You’re here because you want to be. I want you around. No more surprise visitors, I promise.”

  I huff. “Jem, you are who you are. It’s all good.”

  “No, it isn’t if you’re leaving. I said I don’t want you to go.”

  “Why? Why do you want me around?”

  Jem looks past me, the way he always does if I touch on things he doesn’t want to talk about. Fine. I bend to pick up my bag and Jem snaps his attention back to me.

  “Because everything’s better with you here. I’m used to you being with me now.” He closes his hand over mine. “In my space, in my bed. Everything.”

  “Used to me? That’s not the most romantic…” Oh, crap.

  Jem’s eyes widen. “Romantic? You want romance?”

  “No, I don’t believe in romantic love. You know that.”

  “Hearts and flowers and teddy bears on cards are bullshit anyway. Stomach churning, breathlessness, and aching are closer to the truth,” he says.

  “Pain?”

  “Yeah, love is painful.”

  “Then you’re doing it wrong.”

  “I don’t do it at all. I don’t love.”

  “No, of course. And neither do I.”

  Touching on a subject we’ve never discussed is weird enough but the tension in the air between is stranger. In the small space, there’s barely room for the two of us to stand and not touch, and I’m scared if I try to leave, he’ll stop me. My legs wouldn’t work anyway, my stupid self is still waiting for him to hold me in his arms and profess the love he’s denying.

  Jem takes my face in both hands and searches my eyes, the way he does when I’m sure he’s trying to read my mind. “So why do I want you as much as I do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is caring about you enough? Can we share enough of ourselves, but not so much we lose our grip on who we are?”

  “Not all of ourselves?” I ask.

  “Not everything.”

  “Jem, if we don’t give all of ourselves, we can’t commit. And if we can’t commit, there’s nothing to cement this. I think the problem is neither of us wants to have a relationship.”

  “Commit.” He wrinkles his nose and drops his hands from my face. “I can commit to you that I won’t touch another woman while you’re in my life. Is that what you want?”

  His definition of commitment is what I’d expect of him. Jem can give himself to me physically, but keep an important part hidden.

  “What I want from you is something I’m not prepared to give you myself,” I tell him.

  “What do you want?”

  “Your heart.”

  The expression that crosses Jem’s face is wide-eyed shock, he turns away rubbing his neck. The link I felt to him snaps. “Shit, Ruby.”

  “That’s the issue here.”

  Jem bumps his rear onto the bottom step. The light from the tiny window casts across the hallway, the dust in the sunbeams like stars in the sky. The silence tells me everything I need to know. How could this ever work if we constantly push each other away? I can’t have another relationship where I doubt my worth, where somebody takes but won’t give. Realistically, I shouldn’t get into a relationship at all.

  “I didn’t think I had a heart,” he says, quietly. “But you found it and pushed life in. You already took my heart, Ruby.”

  My heart stutters at his unexpected words. “I didn’t, Jem. I haven’t tried to make you love me.”

  “I never said I love you. I said you’ve taken my heart.” Jem’s mumbling his admission to the floor, not me.

  “Explain what you mean.”

  He shakes his head and looks up. “I’m a guy. I don’t talk about this shit.”

  “Guess what? You’re going to have to or I’m walking out of the door.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say!”

  “I need you to explain what ‘this’ is. Then at least we both know and we can stop the second-guessing and confusion. Then we can decide what to do. I can decide what to do.”

  Jem taps the wooden step next to him, the sound echoing in the small space. He can’t do this, refuses to do what we need to stop our merry-go-round of confusion. One tiny admission is all I’m getting, I guess.

  I turn to the door.

  “Ruby, I can’t explain what I don’t understand.”

  Turning back, I meet his hassled look. “I’ll tell you what you make me feel and then if you recognise any of the symptoms, just let me know.”

  “Sure,” he says with a small laugh. “Might help.”

  I’ve lain myself open to people before and ended up shredded to pieces, and the longer I leave it before I tell what’s hidden, the harder I’ll fall when I discover I’m alone in my feelings. This time I’ll admit everything and if Jem can’t tell me what I need to hear in return, I can end this before my need for love sees me making shit decisions again.

  I cross my arms. “Well, there’s the stomach churning, breathlessness, and chest-aching I have right now which I’m sure isn’t the flu.”

  “Yep. That’s what I was talking about before, but that’s not a good thing.”

  “There’s the constant desire to be close to you I’ve had for weeks.”

  “Right.”

  I inhale. How much am I risking by doing this? “There’s the calm of being in your arms and feeling as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist and doesn’t need to.” Oh, God, I sound like a bad romance novel.

  Jem stares at his feet. “Yeah. That too. Okay.”

  “Help me out here, Jem. I’m opening up to you.”

  “There’s an emptiness when you’re not here.” Jem looks up warily and I raise an expectant eyebrow. “Shit. Okay, there’s the way time stands still when I’m away from you and passes too quickly when I’m with you.”

  “Yes?”

  He stands. “I can’t do this.”

  “I didn’t think you could; it’s okay.” I say and smile through the lie.

  “No, it’s not okay. Fuck.” Jem rubs his temples and closes his eyes. As he releases the breath, something else comes too and he closes the gap between
us. Jem strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, the touch soothing the hollow ache that was beginning. “One smile, one look, and one touch from you blasts my world so full of colour it fucking blinds me.”

  Only Jem could use the word fuck in an explanation of his feelings… He circles an arm around my waist and grips my back, holding me to him so I can’t move. This is safe. I can tell him. Tentatively I put my arms around his neck; if I touch him, I can say this.

  “What hurts is, being with you is the most natural place in the world, and I’m frightened one day you’ll push me out. Like today, her…”

  Jem nudges my cheek, winding his fingers into my hair. “No, not her. She means nothing and never has. I’m not interested in anyone else because I have a gut wrenching fear of my own. If I lose you, I’ll lose a part of myself I recently found.”

  I loosen his hands. “No, I’m not trying to take part of you.”

  “I mean you match me, a reflection of my past come back to show me who I can be again. I get you. You get me.”

  This. Why can’t these words have been spoken before? “You make me feel it’s okay to be me, not who you want me to be,” I whisper.

  “Never be anything but yourself, because that person means a hell of a lot to me.” Jem cups my cheek in his hand and kisses me; his lips barely touch mine, but push away any remaining inclination I have to walk out of the door. “Don’t leave. Please.”

  “So what is this?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what this is, but it’s ours.”

  “I guess everything else about us is different to normal.”

  “Ruby, I’m crap with words and expressing myself, that’s bloody obvious. But each time I touch you or kiss you, I’m telling you everything we just said.” Jem runs his fingertips across my skin, tracing the heart-shaped tattoo on my chest. “I’m telling you, you have my heart.”

  “Jem, that’s getting close to romantic. Next it will be flowers and teddy bears and texts with kisses.”

  “No way!” I laugh at his doubtful look. “But you’re staying, right? I said enough?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank fuck for that!”

  Jem seizes me around the waist and lifts me; I wrap my legs around Jem’s waist, take his face in both hands, and kiss him. Kiss Jem as if it’s the first time and only time, desperate and hungry. This isn’t the first or last, but he’s finally my Jem. He tastes of the man who’s turned my body from something used or beaten to something filled with an intense desire I’d never dreamt of. I’m rewound to those times – from Jem holding me when I needed support, to the intensity of sex when I craved us. This desire burns through, intensified by the words exchanged and the pull into our safe place again.

  “I don’t deserve this,” Jem says.

  “What?”

  “You. I do so much wrong to people; I’m scared I’ll hurt someone else again.”

  I rest my forehead on his. “Jem Jones, shut up and just fucking kiss me.”

  He nips my bottom lip, and smiles against my mouth. “Ah, Ruby Tuesday, your mouth…”

  No more words, enough have been exchanged today. If we carry on talking, I’ll obsess about the words we can’t use, at the place in our souls we can’t allow anyone in. Jem’s heart thumps against my chest at a speed to match mine, hearts marching in a new rhythm.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ruby

  Two weeks since our admission that our relationship is beyond friendship and sex, and life takes on a weird normality. Studio time finished, I return to my everyday job at the cafe and Jem fills his days too. I’m not a hundred percent sure what with. He mentions meeting people, checking in with counsellors, or catching up with Bryn or Liam occasionally; but even though he’s going out more than he did, most of the time he stays in the house. I expected Jem to be more sociable, but after years of being overwhelmed by the outside world, I can understand why he prefers to hide for a while.

  I’m living with Jem on a semi-permanent basis now; we’ve discussed this as a ‘see how we go’. I’m wary, but a larger part of me knows this is where I should be right now.

  For a few days, Jem insists on taking me to and from work until I assure him I feel safe. Since Dan was arrested, he hasn’t contacted me. Maybe now someone outside of us knows, Dan realises he has to be careful; perhaps a lawyer has got through to him. I don’t know. Jem’s doubtful about letting me go alone, but knows my opinions on him trying to take care of me. After an argument about how he’s trying to control me, Jem backs off. He doesn’t always back off, and as we’re both prone to moodiness, and because Jem is used to getting his own way in everything he does, we clash. Sometimes it’s snide remarks; occasionally, it’s arguments followed by sulking, but always ending up in bed working things out when words fail. This is how we’ll always be together, because neither of us is likely to drop back on our personalities for another person.

  Exhausted after a double shift, I go home to Jem’s and flop on his sofa. Despite being in a busy suburb, I marvel at how quiet it can be here, even when the rush hour traffic passes outside. Jem’s house is set back from the street, bordered by trees for privacy. Kicking my shoes off, I rest my feet on the coffee table and my head on the cushions, soaking up the peace.

  Footsteps descend the stairs and I open an eye as Jem walks into the room. I tip my head back and he bends to kiss my lips as he stands behind the sofa.

  “Hard day at work, darling?” he says.

  “Terrible. Pass me my newspaper and slippers.”

  We both smirk at our daily joke and he moves around to sit next to me.

  “Done much today, Jem Jones?”

  “Yeah, I have actually,” he replies and flicks my ear. “I’ve been listening to the Ruby Riot tracks and chatting to the sound guy about cleaning some of it up. I don’t think they’re quite there.”

  “Cool. Can we hear yet?” I twist around on the sofa and lay my head in Jem’s lap, looking up at him. He strokes my cheek with his rough fingertips and I close my eyes. Something soothes whenever I’m with this man; and in a quiet moment, when we’re both calm, the space we’re in holds us together and happy.

  “Patience, you will.” Jem strokes my hair. “I reckon the tracks will be done by the time we get back.”

  “Back from where?”

  “I want to go away. Take you somewhere for a weekend.”

  “I’m working this weekend and I can’t take any more time off.”

  “Well, whenever you’re not working for a couple of days. You can’t work seven days a week.”

  “Where?”

  “Dunno. Where do you want to go?”

  My mind blanks. I’ve never left the UK. I longed to go to the States once-over and I know Jem has places over there; but what if there’s a collection of Kristies ready to jump out of the closet?

  “I think you have more idea of the world than I do.”

  “Do you like beaches? Cities? Countryside?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I don’t go on holiday.”

  “No?”

  “No.” I chew my thumbnail. “I don’t think I’d like the beach. And I don’t want to go anywhere people will follow us around because they’re starting to.”

  Jem huffs and twirls some of my hair around his hand. “Well, you are Jem Jones’s girlfriend.”

  I can’t help the little surge of butterflies in my stomach on the rare occasions he calls me that. “Yeah, I told you not to hold my hand in public, you old romantic.”

  “Shut up,” he warns and pokes me in the side. “So that’s a yes, you’ll come somewhere?”

  “Yeah. Somewhere quiet.”

  “All my places are in cities,” he says half to himself.

  “All? How many have you got. No, don’t answer that question.”

  “They’re mostly apartments anyway. I’m not big into entertaining so if it’s small, no pressure to have parties. Dylan’s is the party house.” He pauses. “Was the party house.”

  “You kno
w where I’d really like to go? Somewhere in the middle of nowhere with absolutely nobody, anywhere nearby.”

  “Okay. Do you know where I’d really like to go?”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ruby

  The sun sets in the Spanish sky, streaking a burning gold and red across the wide sky above the orange groves. I sit on the cushioned chair outside the old farmhouse; legs tucked under, as I drink freshly squeezed juice from the oranges I picked earlier. Jem appears from inside and perches next to me in a world away from the London we left yesterday.

  “You’re right about quiet. I can literally only hear crickets,” he says.

  “Not your thing?” I ask, hoping he’s not going to hate every minute.

  “Not what I said.” Jem wraps an arm around my waist, our skin sticky in the evening warmth as we cuddle up. “This would never have been my choice in the past. I think I avoided places like this before because when it’s quiet the thoughts sneak in.”

  “Really? I’m the opposite. When it’s quiet my mind can be quiet too.”

  “I’ve spent a lot more time alone recently, so I’m getting used to it.” He catches my look. “I mean away from the music world alone. You don’t count.”

  “Sheesh. Thanks!”

  “You know what I mean!” Jem hugs me to him and kisses the top of my head. “You count for more than you know.”

  When Jem told me he’d found a place to stay for a few days, he wouldn’t tell me where. We flew to Barcelona and picked up a car before arriving a couple of hours later at the small estate in the Catalonia countryside. The huge building is expensively renovated with numerous bedrooms and luxuries I doubt the original owners had - swimming pool, terraced gardens, and even a tennis court.

  Not the normal holiday destination of Jem Jones.

  The house belongs to Steve and he brings his family here every summer. The rooms show evidence of children - shelves of books, kids’ DVDs, and bikes in the converted barn adjacent to the house.