by L.H. Cosway
“I think you underestimate my ability to accept you, Jay, even your bad bits.”
“You can’t say that, Matilda. You can’t say that until you know everything.”
“Will you ever tell me?”
“Yes, I plan on telling you it all. You just need to wait. Please wait.”
We stare at each other for what feels like forever. He needs me to wait, and there’s a desperation in his plea that makes me want to do that for him. My feelings for him are so strong that I want to put my trust in him and let him tell me when he decides the time is right. So, with a small nod, I show him that I’m prepared to do things his way. His breath leaves him in a relieved rush. I won’t question him until it’s time for him to give me the answers.
I believe myself to be patient. I also believe that some things are worth waiting for, and Jay is certainly one of them.
When I finally break our locked gaze, weariness hits me like a sledgehammer. Dealing with all of this emotional turmoil is so draining. We go inside, each to our separate rooms. When I finally get to bed, I find myself staring at the ceiling and wondering. What has he done that’s so bad he thinks I wouldn’t want him anymore?
Twenty-Four
The next morning Michelle shows up to have breakfast with me before work. I’d completely forgotten that we’d organised to do this last week. Jay isn’t up yet when I answer the door to her.
We sit and chat for a while. Dad comes in and grabs something quick before leaving for an early morning meeting he has scheduled. Then Jay saunters in, looking sleep-ruffled and delectable. His hair is messy, his T-shirt crumpled. And really, there should be a rule against him wearing boxer shorts around the house. His thighs are just so flipping…glorious. All muscle and sinew and sexy, sturdy strength. Those thighs were meant for plundering, and let me tell you, they plunder.
Michelle waggles her eyebrows at me when he walks in, and I give her a look to keep quiet. We still haven’t had the chance to properly discuss what’s been going on with me and Jay, and I can tell it’s killing her.
Her waggling eyebrows turn into narrowed brows when her gaze focuses on my neck.
“What’s that?” she asks, leaning in curiously and tugging down the collar of my blouse. “Is that a bruise?” she continues.
I put my hand to my throat self-consciously. I didn’t see any bruises when I was getting ready this morning, but then again, I was rushing a little, so I didn’t really have the chance to study my appearance. Jay, having just poured himself a cup of coffee, turns around, taking a sip from his mug.
“I think it is a bruise,” says Michelle, confirming it. I get up from the table and go to look in the mirror. And, just like she said, there’s a small grey bruise on my neck. In fact, there are three small bruises all in a cluster. A vision of Jay gripping my neck in the back of his car last night flashes in my head. Oh, God, he really had been rough with me.
“Yeah, looks like you’re right,” I say quietly, tugging my collar back up. “I’m always getting those mystery bruises, never know where they come from.”
“Oh, yeah?” says Michelle. There’s a twinkle in her eye that makes me wonder if she suspects I know exactly where it came from. I glance at Jay, and there’s unmistakable heat in his expression. He’s remembering, too.
I blush.
He must notice, because he comes to my rescue by focusing his attention on Michelle. “So, I hear you and Jessie have been bangin’ pocketbooks again. What’s up with that?”
I swear I almost spit out the mouthful of orange juice I just drank.
“Hahaha!” Michelle says loudly. “That’s a good one. I’m going to use that. And yeah, we have been. We’re having a little sex affair. It’s all quite exciting.”
Jay strides across the room and comes to sit down at the table with us. He takes a bite out of my half-finished bagel like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I give him a look of mock outrage, to which he gives me a cheeky wink. “A sex affair?” he asks nonchalantly. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”
Michelle’s lips tighten infinitesimally. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
He shrugs. “I just get the feeling you like her more than you care to admit.”
Michelle gives me an exasperated look. “God, Matilda, tell him. I don’t get attached. And if I were to get attached, it would be with a man. No offence to Jessie or anything.”
“Oh, so you’re just using my friend? That’s lovely. You should be very proud of yourself.”
Jay’s tone is on the verge of being pissed, but there’s something off about it. Like he’s feigning anger to get a desired result. Michelle’s posture deflates, and her eyes grow guilty.
Her voice is quiet when she replies, “No, that’s not what I’m doing. Please don’t tell Jessie I said that.”
“Why do you care if I do? You said yourself you’re not attached to her.”
“Yes, but it’s just…okay, look, you know how sometimes you have this ideal of the person you want to be with? For example, you always go for hunky metrosexuals. But then you meet a work colleague who’s sort of nerdy and doesn’t know a thing about style or looking good. You immediately dismiss this person as a romantic interest and put him in the friend zone. But then you get to know him better, and as time passes by, you start to form a crush, because his personality, or something about him, like, his inner soul or whatever, just gets to you. And then all of a sudden you find yourself developing serious feelings for this person, feelings you never expected.”
“So, Jessie’s the work nerd?” says Jay, his mouth curving into a pleased smile.
Michelle’s eyes widen, like she can’t believe she just said all that. “What? No. That’s not what I meant.”
All Jay does is raise an eyebrow, and she’s done for. Her fluster gets the better of her.
“Okay, okay, so maybe Jessie is the nerdy work colleague. Not that she’s nerdy or anything like that. But God, the girl is just so cool, and she makes me laugh so much. I’m starting to think that we don’t fall for looks or gender in the end. We fall for the person as a whole. We fall for their souls.”
Well, that was quite…deep.
I slam my cup down on the table. “You’re falling for her?”
Michelle groans and covers her face with her hands. “Jesus, how the hell am I admitting all this?” She drops her hands and points a finger at Jay. “You’re a fucking sneak. You did this. You knew I was hiding something.”
Jay sips on his coffee. “Hey, I was only making conversation. I had no idea what the deal was, thought you were just a lesbi-tourist.”
“I prefer the term ‘bi-curious,’ if you must know.”
Jay laughs into his coffee cup. “Sounds like there was a lot more than curiosity going on.”
She looks at him with annoyance for a moment before turning her tortured gaze to me. She takes my hands in hers. “Oh, God, Matilda, how the hell has this happened? I’ve spent years going out looking for men, and in the end it was a woman who got to me. I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“It’s ironic, really,” says Jay, deadpan.
I give him a silencing look before turning to Michelle. “This isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it’s a great thing. To have genuine feelings for another person is wonderful. Doesn’t it feel good? It must feel good. Who cares if she’s a woman?”
I can feel Jay watching me intently as I say this, and yes, in a way I am talking about having feelings for him.
Michelle lets out a trembling sigh. “It feels like the best thing and the worst thing all at once. I don’t know what to make of it at all.”
I rub her hands in mine and turn to Jay. “You’re Jessie’s friend. Do you think she should tell her how she feels?”
“Sure. Go for it.”
Hmm, I’m not certain if that’s the best advice.
Michelle draws away, sitting up straight in her seat. “No, I’m going to wait for a while. I don’t want to rush things. Besides, I’m still trying to figure o
ut how I feel, what’s going on with me.” She glances at her watch. “Oh, crap. Look at the time. I have to get going.”
“Okay, well, let’s meet up after work and talk some more, ’kay?”
“Yes, that sounds good,” she says, standing and leaning down to give me a peck on the cheek. “I’ll call you later.”
And with that, she’s gone. I turn my attention to Jay, who’s sitting back now and watching Ellen and Portia as they chirp at him from their cage by the window.
“Well,” I sigh. “You certainly have a talent for getting people to tell the truth. It’s a pity I don’t have that skill.”
He turns his head to face me and grips my knee, running his thumb back and forth over my tights. “You said you could wait, darlin’.”
I sniff, remembering the decision I made last night to be patient with him. “I can.”
“Well, then, stop trying to guilt-trip me. It won’t work.”
“Fine.”
His handsome eyes probe me before moving down to my neck. Reaching out, he runs his thumb over the bruise. “Sorry about this. Don’t know my own strength sometimes.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “No harm was done.”
A moment of eye contact ensues between us. I break it when I go to grab my bagel and see that it’s all gone. “Oh, my God, you ate all my breakfast,” I say, trying to hold back a grin as I push his shoulder.
He grabs the hand I pushed him with and drags my body into his. Our mouths are close, and I think he might kiss me. Instead, something passes behind his eyes and he lets go, backs away.
“I’ll make you something to replace it. What do you want? Eggs?”
I study him, wondering why he didn’t kiss me, wondering what the thought was that I saw come over him. “Yeah,” I reply. “Eggs sound good.”
The next day as I’m sitting on a bench, eating lunch in the park close to the office, a man comes and sits down beside me. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, thinking I know him from somewhere but not being able to put my finger on where.
“Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” he says casually.
“Yeah, it’s great,” I say, and take a bite out of my sandwich. I don’t really like it when strangers try to make conversation with me. The next thing I know, the man is taking a strand of my hair and smoothing it between his fingers. I startle and move away quickly, turning to look at him properly now. My hair falls through his hand.
It’s the man Jay met up with in the docklands, the one in the suit with the neck tattoo. My eyes widen as I take him in. His being here doesn’t feel like a coincidence.
“What do you want?” I ask, standing up from the bench, my lunch instantly forgotten.
“You recognise me, don’t you, love?” says the man in a strong inner-city accent.
I repeat my question, stammering this time. “Wh-what do you want?”
“I know you followed your boyfriend the other night. I know you saw me. That was a mistake on your part, love. You tell your boyfriend that I know who you are now, and if he tries to mess me around again, I’ll be coming for ya.”
I stare at him, open-mouthed, as he gets up from the bench, a newspaper tucked under his arm. He doesn’t say anything more, simply walks away. That evening when Jay comes home, I practically drag him into my room so that we can talk. Speaking nervously, I tell him about my encounter with the man in the park. He watches me the entire time, brows furrowed, before letting out a string of curse words.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears, clenching his fists, the tick in his jaw starting up.
“Do you think we should call the police?” I say, worried. I know I agreed not to ask him any more questions, so I refrain from asking who exactly the man is.
He walks away from me, pacing the room, then comes back and tenderly runs a hand down my face, his eyes drinking me in. There’s a storm in his expression, turmoil.
“No, he won’t come near you. I’ll take care of everything. You don’t need to worry.”
Looking back at him, I swallow hard and nod.
* * *
As the week passes, I get less and less sleep, and not for a good reason. Every night I lie awake, my heart pounding as I will Jay to come to me. He doesn’t, though. In fact, he seems to have backed off substantially. He hasn’t said a word about breaking up, but he’s been distant, and it’s killing me.
Does he not want me anymore?
Has this got something to do with the man in the park?
I only get to spend time with him in the evenings when he comes to sit by me as I design and sew. I see him at breakfast and dinner, but Dad is usually there, so it doesn’t really count. We can’t talk about things with Dad there.
It’s Friday and Michelle’s meeting Jessie, so we’re not doing our usual night out. She hasn’t told Jessie the depth of her feelings yet and has decided to play it by ear. Since she’s unavailable, I plan an evening of dressmaking. I’m working on a new tea dress design that I plan to make in several different sizes and with several different patterned fabrics. I found it in one of my mother’s old design books, and got really excited as I thought of ways to put my own spin on it.
When the dresses are done, I’ll hang them on my mannequin, photograph them, and put them up on Etsy. This is an ambitious project. Normally I make things to order, or I just make one dress, a unique design for one person to own.
With the week I’ve had, though, I’m feeling the need for something that will consume more of my brain space. That way I won’t have the chance to think about Jay.
Speak of the devil. He walks into the room as my pencil scratches at the paper of my design book, scribbling down measurements. He sits on the other side of the table, grabs an apple out of the fruit bowl, and starts to eat it. I glance up once and instantly regret it. His eyes are dark with a look I’ve come to recognise as need.
His jaw moves as he chews on a bite of apple, and I look away quickly. There’s something about the hard lines of his jaw working that I find extremely difficult to resist.
A long, tension-filled minute passes. “What ya doing?”
“Working on a new design,” I answer, voice tight. When my eyes meet his for a second, his lips start to curve at the ends. I want to slap him for finding me amusing.
“Cool. You want to model it for me when it’s done?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, okay, then.” The loud crunch of him biting into the apple fills the room.
I put down my pencil and sigh. “Could you go eat that somewhere else? I swear, you must be the noisiest apple eater in the history of time.”
One shoulder goes up in a shrug. “I like it here. And I love eating apples.”
The way his voice lowers on the second sentence gives off the hint of an innuendo. It riles me up enough to respond harshly, “I’m sure you do, Jason. I’m sure you love eating all different sorts of apples.”
Jesus Christ, did I just say that? Kill me now.
“Actually, I’m loyal to just the one apple,” he counters.
The way his eyes dance and shine makes me want to laugh. I hate how he does this to me. Our conversation right now is verging on the ridiculous. Still, I don’t let it drop.
“You can’t be loyal to only one apple. Once it’s eaten it’s gone, and you need to go find a new one.”
“Oh, I could eat my apple over and over again without ever feeling the need to find a new one.”
“Maybe your apple doesn’t want to be eaten. Maybe your apple is tired of your apple-eating ways.”
He leans forward, one elbow resting on the table, his gaze growing even darker. “On the contrary, my apple loves to be eaten. In fact, my apple is a little cranky right now because she hasn’t been eaten in a while.”
The bloody cheek of him! I want to reach across the table and give him a good, hard slap. Instead, I calm myself and school my expression into a neutral mask. I remember his words from that night at the outdoor cinema.
Is this what he’s doing now, pushing?
“I didn’t realise apples had genders and emotions.”
“Yeah, well, you learn something new every day.”
I don’t say anything more. Instead, I pick up my pencil and return my attention to the paper in front of me. Even though I’m not looking, I can practically feel the amused grin on Jay’s face being levelled directly at me.
I sketch an outline of the dress. All the while I can feel his gaze on me like a hot touch. Jay continues eating his apple, and it irritates the hell out of me to know he thinks he won our little veiled argument.
A period of time passes before Jay starts to speak again. “I’m moving into my new place tomorrow.”
His words surprise me. Somehow I’d managed to forget he was moving out. I’d been more focused on the incident with the man in the park and the fact that he’d withdrawn from me. A sudden and excruciating pain hits me right in the chest. I put my hand there, trying to rub it away.
“Oh, right. Where are you moving?” I don’t look at him, because if I do, my strength might crumple.
“Grand Canal Dock.”
“Ooooh, very fancy!” I declare, trying to cover up my pain with a joke. “Are you going to get yourself a job at Google, too? That way you’ll be a stone’s throw from the office. You can enjoy all the perks of being a minion of the evil empire with excellent dining opportunities right on your doorstep.”
He laughs. “You know what, that sounds an awful lot like the spiel the estate agent gave me.”
I shoot him a wary smile. “I can imagine. So, are you having a housewarming?”
“It’s a penthouse apartment, and yes, I’m having a barbecue on the terrace on Sunday. You and your dad are invited. I think Jessie’s bringing Michelle.”
In the back of my mind, I find it odd that he’s going from one room to an entire penthouse all to himself. I mean, why not just get the penthouse in the first place if he could afford it? Perhaps he’s come into some money recently. I glance at my nails. “Well, I’ll have to check my very busy social calendar and get back to you on that one.”
