Dhakhar

by Annabelle Rex

  “I’ve got no money,” I say. “And I can’t deal with Nat and Mum right now. Can I borrow some money to get home? I’ll pay you back.”

  “What are you talking about, baby?” Jason says, slinging an arm round my shoulder and steering me towards the door. “I’ve come to pick you up. The hospital phoned Nat, Nat asked me to come get you. I’m taking you home.”

  I wonder if we’re getting a bus or if he forked out for a taxi, but then he leads me into the car park and towards a really nice car. A proper boy racer motor - all alloys and tinted windows.

  “Who did you borrow this off?” I ask as he unlocks it with a flourish.

  “No one, baby, it’s mine. I bought it. What do you think?”

  I think nothing says ‘hey, I’m a drug dealer’ louder than having a really expensive car and no job, but I don’t say that.

  “It’s nice,” I say, having absolutely nothing else to say about cars.

  “Just nice?” Jason says, stroking a hand over the roof. “It’s a two point two turbo diesel sport. Three hundred brake horse power and nought to sixty in five seconds.”

  He looks at me like this is supposed to mean something.

  “It’s a nice colour?” I say.

  Jason laughs. “Oh, Charlie, all those documentaries you watch… Know all the different types of penguin but nothing actually useful.”

  He laughs to himself again then gets in the car.

  How did I ever like this guy?

  But, I don’t have any other alternatives for a ride, so I get in the passenger side. The car stinks of that new car smell, which a lot of people say they like but it makes me want to puke. Jason rattles on about the different features of his shiny new toy, and I pretend to listen. He drives far too fast, showing off at every available opportunity.

  I remember my little fantasy - the one with the restaurant and the ring in the bottom of the champagne glass and the solemn vow that he was done with the ‘business’, that he’d saved enough to get out.

  How many wedding guests was this car? What kind of venue could we have bought?

  “You were never saving for our wedding, were you?” I say, interrupting the monologue about traction control.

  Jason shoots me a confused look. “What are you talking about? You’re not making any kind of sense today, Charlie. They give you the good drugs in the hospital, huh?”

  I just sink into my seat and don’t speak again for the rest of the journey.

  I expect him to take me home, but he parks up by the pub. It’s mid afternoon, so acceptable drinking time, but I’m not interested.

  “I don’t want to go to the pub, Jason,” I say, getting out of the car. I can walk home from here.

  Although, I thought that a month ago and look where that got me.

  “Don’t be like that, baby,” Jason says, putting an arm round my shoulder and steering me in. “Come on, we need to get some real food in you. Not that hospital crock.”

  Did he always override my desires this way? Have my wants and needs always counted for nothing with him?

  He leads me into the pub, and his mates are all already there. They let up a cheer as we walk over, and Jason sits me at the end of the table, all care and concern until I’m settled, then turns his back on me and starts talking to his mates. They mostly talk about the car, every so often throwing in some teasing comment about how they knew all along Jason hadn’t murdered me.

  I notice Jason’s muscles tighten whenever they make these comments.

  He really was questioned about my disappearance then. As my boyfriend, I suppose it’s only natural that he was primary suspect.

  I can’t imagine he took that well.

  I eat the pie and chips he orders me, keeping note of how much it costs so I can pay him back. I need to get him on his own, need to talk to him properly without everyone else watching, but every time I mention about getting out of the pub, he just dismisses me. Then he buys me a dessert.

  “That will cheer you up a bit, won’t it?” he says, and there’s a warning glint in his eyes.

  But I don’t want dessert. It’s just another way of him buying me off, keeping me quiet. It’s a sugary bribe and after two weeks of eating alien food with no sugar in it, it doesn’t even look appetising.

  So, while he’s blathering on with his mates, I just get up. Walk out.

  I hear him chasing after me as I cross the road, heading towards home. Last time he chased me down, he was all ‘Charlie, baby, I’m so sorry’. This time his opener is a little more aggressive.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Charlie?”

  “I’m going home,” I tell him.

  “What do you mean ‘I’m going home’?” he says.

  “I mean, I’m going home. I need to go to the police station and get my phone. I need to go to the bank and get my bank cards reissued. I need to sort out the fucking mess that is my life, not sit in a pub looking at a cake you didn’t even ask me if I wanted, while you talk to your loser mates.”

  He gets up in my face. “Charlie, I don’t know if you even stopped to consider this while you were off wherever you’ve been for the last month, but when you disappeared everyone thought I had something to do with it. Everyone. Even my friends thought I’d done you in. The police held me for thirty-six hours, questioning me about what happened to you after I spoke to you outside the pub. I told them over and over I didn’t know, it was nothing to do with me, but they didn’t believe me. They kept tabs on me for days after. Couldn’t work at all for a fortnight. You want to know how much that cost me? You want to know how much you cost me?”

  “If you had a real job, that wouldn’t have been a problem.”

  He throws his hands up in the air. “This again! You’re always on my case. I told you, I’ll quit when I’ve saved up enough.”

  “But how much is enough, Jason? Enough to buy a really flashy car you don’t need? Enough to buy another when you’re bored of that one in a couple of years time? There isn’t ever going to be an ‘enough’, is there? You’re going to be doing this until the law catches up with you, and then you’ll be doing time like my waster father, and your waster father, and history will just keep repeating itself.”

  Jason looks spitting mad, but he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m trying to remember that you just got out of the hospital, baby, that you’re probably tired and fed up and not feeling yourself. But if you keep pushing me, baby, I’m gonna snap.”

  I don’t know how I never saw what an asshole Jason is.

  Except, I do. I forgave him a lot - I forgave him everything - because of what happened at Nat’s wedding. What he saved me from.

  “Do you remember Nat’s wedding?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Jason says, my change of topic deflating some of his anger. “Yeah, I remember. I was your big hero that night, wasn’t I, baby?”

  He’s smiling at me in what I suppose is supposed to be a sexy, suggestive way. But my mind is caught on the memory of another smile, a bright, wholesome smile with no suggestion behind it. Just happiness. Happiness at being with me.

  Jason has never been happy like that with me.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I remember. Saved you from yourself, didn’t I? Got in to more than you could handle with Mark. Should have known that you can’t tempt a man like that and him not act on it. Only so much a man can take.”

  He grins at me.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re welcome, baby. You’re my princess. I’ll protect you. That’s my job.”

  “No, thank you for proving once and for all what an asshole you actually are, Jason. And thank you for lunch, too, I’ll pay you back when I’ve got some money. I’m going home.”

  I turn and walk away, but he grabs me by the arm and yanks me back.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he says, hot fire behind his eyes.

  “Don’t you get it, Jason?” I say. “I’m done. We’re done. I’m not your ‘baby’ and I’m not your ‘princ
ess’. Not anymore.”

  His expression turns bitter cold.

  “Where have you been?” he says.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you fucking do, where have you been?”

  “I was abducted by aliens.”

  The blow is so fast, I don’t see it coming, don’t have time to brace. The back of his hand connects with my jaw, snapping my head to the side. For a long moment, there’s no pain, but then it starts blooming, radiating out from the point of connection, sharp enough to make my eyes water. Then he shoves me back against the wall and leans in close.

  “Did you even think for a second about me?” he snarls. “About what you disappearing would mean for me?”

  Suddenly, the hours doing the same manoeuvres with Dhak over and over again make sense. Because I don’t even have to think about it, my body just knows what to do. How to shift his weight to my advantage, how to get myself out of his grip, where to slam my knee to knock the wind out of him. He goes down hard, curling in on himself, spluttering with surprise as much as breathlessness.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” I say, then walk off.

  This time he doesn’t follow me.

  I don’t go home. I’m too angry, too wound up. I’ll end up having a futile argument with Nat or Mother and I really just want to go in, get my stuff, get out. Minimum pain and hassle for everyone.

  I’m sitting on a park bench, still waiting for the rage to pass, when a police car pulls up next to me and PC Withers gets out.

  “I heard you were back,” he says. “Wasn’t sure I believed it, but here you are.”

  “Here I am,” I say.

  “How are you?” he asks. “You doing alright?”

  “You know, I think you’re the first person who isn’t a doctor or nurse to ask me that,” I say.

  He takes the seat next to me on the bench.

  “You going to ask me where I’ve been?” I say. “Because I don’t know.”

  “Actually, I was going to ask you if there’s anything I can do to help you, Charlie,” he says.

  “You want to help me?”

  “It’s my job to help people, Charlie. I know it may not feel like that, especially when I arrested you last month.”

  “They were Jason’s drugs,” I say.

  “I know that,” he says, no judgement or reprimand in his voice. “Wish you’d told me that on interview.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  PC Withers shrugs, and I know what he’s thinking. That they’ll get Jason eventually. That one day he’ll slip up, or get sloppy, and then they’ll be waiting for him. It was my biggest fear a month ago. Now, I’ll be bringing the popcorn.

  “So,” Withers says. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  Frustration bubbles inside me, because he’s being nice and I don’t doubt he’s being genuine, but really - is there anything he can do?

  “Make it so my father wasn’t a wife beater?” I say. “Make my mother not an alcoholic. Make it so my sister didn’t marry a pervert. Make it so I never listened every time Jason put me down and made me feel like doing nothing is the only thing I’m good for. Make it so I have a job and home so I don’t have to go back to that house where they both think it was my fault Mark assaulted me when I was fifteen. Get me my phone and my bank cards so I’m not completely stranded. Oh, and put my whole life back together for me while you’re at it. You think you can do that?”

  I swipe at the tears that are leaking out of my eyes. PC Withers looks away a moment, gives me time to collect myself.

  “I can get you your phone back,” he says. “I can get you to the bank so you can sort your cards out. I can put you in touch with an emergency shelter where you can stay for a little while, until you’ve got things sorted out. Putting your whole life back together…” He gives me a smile. “You’re going to have to do that one yourself, Charlie. But I think you can handle it.”

  Chapter 33

  Charlie

  Six Months Later

  “Simon the weirdo is lingering again,” Rebecca says, nodding her head towards the back corner of the cafe.

  He’s sitting where he normally does, tucked away from most of the other customers, laptop in front of him, typing away whilst nursing an extra large coffee until it gets cold. He’s on day four or five of not shaving and at least day three of not getting a shower.

  “Do you think he has a decomposing body in his basement?” Rebecca asks. “Is that why he’s in here all day every day? To avoid the smell?”

  I think he lives on his own in a tiny flat and doesn’t have many social callers. Working in the cafe is his way of getting human contact. At least, that’s how I think it started.

  “I’ll do the closedown,” I say. “You head home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You’re a saint, Charlie, don’t know how you have the patience for him.”

  She gives me an air kiss then heads out to the back, unhooking her apron as she goes. I like Rebecca well enough. A year ago we might have even been good mates. But the Charlie of a year ago is a long way from the Charlie of now.

  I clean round all the equipment, cash up the till, then get out the mop from the back ready to do the floors. Then I go over and slide into the booth opposite Simon.

  “Hey,” I say, kicking his foot under the table. “Bec’s gone.”

  “Does she think I murdered someone today?” Simon says, glancing at me briefly over the top of his laptop screen.

  “Decomposing body in the basement,” I say.

  “I give her a C plus for creativity.”

  “I think that’s generous. I’d go C minus. Decomposing body in the basement is classic horror movie. Want another coffee while I do the mopping?”

  He waves me off, so I go grab the mop and clean the floor until I only have the small space around him left.

  “How much longer do you think you need to get this project finished then?” I say as I sit opposite him. “You said you were pretty close last time we spoke.”

  I’ve not done a late shift for a few days - he always comes in mid afternoon and works til the close, so if I’m on an early I don’t see him.

  “Actually,” he says, “I think I’m done.”

  “Really?” I smile. “Congratulations.”

  “Integrating the website with the software for the transmitter was the tricky part,” he says. “That took some thinking.”

  And Simon thinking is a way above average person thinking. The guy is so smart. The kind of smart that’s so busy designing incredible things, he forgets to eat sometimes.

  “But you’re done. You’re really, really done?”

  “Yes, Charlie, I’m really, really done.” He rolls his eyes, but affectionately. I’ve come to know the difference with Simon over time.

  At first, I just spoke to him because Rebecca was always so rude about it. It was a mission to prove a point that not all people are shitty, and that just because Simon’s a little bit different, doesn’t mean he deserves contempt. It’s something I’m particularly sensitive to after Chasira.

  Simon wasn’t easy to speak to. He’s always absorbed in his work, and I don’t think he’s the best at people anyway. But persistence paid off, and before long he was responding to my questions with snarky comments and we formed a tentative friendship. Strong enough for me to finally feel comfortable asking him about his work.

  “I’m part of a team at the university,” he said. “Designing a software initiative that would allow people - regular people - to transmit messages into space.”

  “Wow,” I said, even as my heart jumped in my chest, a hope I’d not felt for months filling it to bursting point. “That’s…”

  “Nerdy? Boring?” Simon supplied, misinterpreting my speechlessness for derision.

  “No! Not boring at all. I love space. Just the other day I was watching this super interesting documentary about time travel, and whether we could use the increased gravity of a black hole to achieve it. A lot of
it went over my head, honestly, I don’t really understand the physics.”

  Simon stared at me for a full second. The longest I’ve ever noticed him look at me directly before or since.

  “You?” he said, staring at me in disbelief. “You’re interested in space?”

  “Well, less the physics stuff and more the aliens,” I told him.

  One alien in particular.

  “Are the messages for aliens?” I said. “A kind of ‘hello, we’re here!’ deal?”

  Simon rolled his eyes at me. “There’s no evidence that there’s intelligent life out there.”

  I said nothing at all.

  “It’s meant to be for transmitting messages to a lunar colony. Or a colony on Mars.”

  I pouted, pretending to be disappointed.

  “There isn’t even a colony on Mars,” I said.

  “There aren’t any aliens either.”

  “You don’t know that…”

  “It’s just a project,” he’d said. “Gives me credit for my course.”

  His ‘course’, by the way, is a PhD.

  Now, he turns his laptop to me. The culmination of all his work is a text box, cursor blinking inside it.

  “This is it?” I say. “This is going to let me talk to the stars?”

  “Did you want it to have glitter on it?”

  “Nothing wrong with a bit of glitter, Simon, presentation is everything.”

  He scoffs, his gaze butting up against mine for a brief moment before he looks away again. Earning even that much from Simon is an achievement the likes of which people like Rebecca will probably never appreciate.

  Me, I’m grateful he’s opened up to me. And not just because of his program. Simon is funny and acerbic and so not like any of the people I considered my friends before all of this. I’m glad to know him.

  I turn my gaze to the night sky out of the front windows of the cafe as I consider what to type. The moon is full tonight, bright, lighting up the streets outside. I remember the way the moonlight played over Dhak’s skin as we lay in bed together on Chasira, after he’d got done screwing my brains out. The light made his skin glow, but his scales glitter, each individual one reflecting its own little piece of moonlight.