by Max Henry
Belle turns her head to listen to the cow, despite my best attempts to keep us going.
“He really was a handsome young man.”
“Ignore her.” I lean down to murmur in Belle’s ear.
“We need to shop somewhere else from now on.” She shoots daggers Cerise’s way as we head through to the meat section. “That woman isn’t good for my blood pressure.”
“She’s not much good for anything.”
Cerise carries on her shopping, suitably pleased with herself by the smug smile I catch on her face as she turns away.
I steer Belle around the end of the first aisle. “We need granola, too.”
“Shoot. I didn’t grab milk.”
“Get this,” I instruct with a hand to her back, “and I’ll go back for the milk.” Like hell I’m risking those two bumping into each other again.
Belle nods, carrying on as I double back. I swing around the end of the refrigerated aisle and damn near collide with the front of Cerise’s cart. She shunts it forward, ramming it into my legs. Thank fuck for steel-cap work boots.
“Watch where you’re going.” Her lip curls up as she growls the words at me.
I shove the cart back into her. “What are you doing here, Cerise?” Like fuck she’s been shopping here for years.
She shakes her head. “What are you doing, Zeus?” Considering ramming you again. “Why are you wasting your time with her?”
I note the lady to our right select a tray of eggs and the way she listens despite trying to appear as though she doesn’t. Cerise backs up as I round the cart, apparently dubious of my approach.
“What makes you think Belle is a waste of my time?” I lean in close as I ask, lowering my voice.
“She’s a child,” Cerise stresses.
“She’s twenty-one.”
“A child compared to you.”
I frown, breathing heavily out my nose as I flick my gaze between Cerise’s brown eyes. What is her end game? Why is she so invested in this? “You seem to care an awful lot about Belle’s well-being for somebody who abandoned her for ten years.”
“Maybe it’s not Belle’s well-being I’m worried about,” she challenges. “Ever think that?”
Mine? Why would she care? “You’re not making any sense, woman.”
“I’ve known you since you were a teenager, Zeus. The mess with Jodie? That was hard on you. What do you think it’ll do to you when Belle leaves? Do you want to be back in prison?”
“Belle wouldn’t leave.” I take a step toward the milk, done with this fucked up conversation.
Her hand settles on my arm. “Don’t be so sure of that.” I shake her off, repulsed.
Cerise hasn’t laid a hand on me, ever. Can’t say I feel as though I missed out. Her touch is cold—cold as her dead fucking heart.
“If you know what’s good for you,” I grit out. “You’ll stay the fuck away from your daughter and let her be happy.” I catch the eye of a passer-by, waiting until we’re in the clear again. “You so much as cause a single tear to run down my girl’s face and I’ll make sure you feel that pain tenfold.”
“Your girl?” Cerise taunts with narrowed eyes. “Interesting choice of words, Zeus.” She cocks an eyebrow as I walk away.
I snatch up the bottle of milk, and then give Cerise one last parting shot as I head back toward Belle. “You ever wonder why you’re all alone, Cerise? Ever wonder why you’re the common denominator when it comes to drama?”
She scowls as I stride away, rounding the end of the aisle in search of Belle.
I’ve never known another person to be so eternally pissed off as Cerise. I can’t think back to a time when she wasn’t like this, getting around with a huge fucking chip on her shoulder. Maybe back in school, but back then I didn’t know much about her. It wasn’t until she started dating John that I knew her name, and even then she was cool and bitter toward me.
“Everything okay?” Belle places the packet in her hand into the basket.
I realise I’ve still got the scowl on my face I left Cerise with, and force my brow to relax. “Yeah. Everything’s good.”
Belle’s with me, where she belongs, and Cerise is on her own, where she belongs. John has found himself a woman who actually gives a shit about his well-being, and even though he doesn’t agree, he seems to be happy to let us all move on with our lives.
Yep. Everything’s just as it should be.
“What else do we need?” I loop my arm around Belle’s shoulders and tug her to my side as I place a kiss to the top of her head.
She walks with me, hip bumping mine. “A few things from the toiletries aisle, and then I think we’re done.”
The robotic dullness of her words bugs me. She operates by rote. “I love you, dove.”
“Love you too, babe.”
“Things will get easier.”
She makes a little hmph, pulling from my hold to snatch something else on our way past. “I guess.”
“Don’t let her get to you.”
She glances my way before starting toward the front of the store again. “It’s not just her.”
“What else then?” My fingers flex on the handle of the milk.
She glances over her shoulder with a frown. “I don’t really want to talk about it here.”
“I do.” What better place than where she can’t walk away? Than where her mind is occupied with the task at hand so her subconscious can’t dwell too much on what obviously bothers her?
Belle huffs, slowing her walk to take my hand again. I clutch her, thumb massaging the back of her hand to remind her that I’m here, I’m not going anywhere ever again.
“I couldn’t help but think about what she said, what Dad said, while you were gone. About Damien. I don’t know how he is.” She shrugs. “I feel guilty.” She chances a look my way, seemingly to gauge my response. “For what I did to him.”
Fuck. “Why?” From what she said, they weren’t anything more than a relationship born out of convenience. He cheated on her, for fuck’s sake. He clearly doesn’t feel guilty about anything, so why should she?
“Dad had a point, I think. I used him, didn’t I?”
How the fuck do I answer this? “What do you think you need to do about it?” Does she want to see the arsehole, because like fuck I’d be okay with that.
Fuck them for getting into her head. They’ve fucking done it, planted that seed of doubt.
“I think I should talk to him one last time. We left things… awkward. Maybe if I just put it all out there it’ll help me move on from it?”
“It might also upset you even more.”
She halts us before the makeup. “Possibly.”
“What else?”
Belle sets a stick of some black shit in the basket, and then turns to face me. “I don’t want to make you angry.”
“At you?”
She nods.
“Dove, as long as you’re in my bed at night I couldn’t give a fuck who you talk to.” Liar. I do care, but I also know that my jealous insecurities are just that: mine. “If you need to do that to feel better, then do it. But to tell you the truth, I don’t think you need to say anything else. It’s done, dealt with. Leave the cunt in the past where he belongs.”
She looks around at my use of such harsh language. “Zeus.”
“What?” I shrug. “I don’t like him. He touched you. He had you when I didn’t, and he wasted that time. I hate him for that.”
She wraps her arm around my waist, twisting to rest her head against my chest. “You have me now, babe. And you know what? I’m the lucky one. I messed everything up so badly, and you still love me even though you have every reason not to.”
I tilt her chin with my free hand and lean down to taste her lips—fuck the people who cast glances as they walk by. “I don’t know how to not love you.”
I know how it looks to other people—a guy who’s clearly started into his later years in life, the age lines around my eyes a dead giveaway, kissin
g a girl who still rocks her youth. But I couldn’t give two shits what they think.
I’ve wasted enough of my life trying to be what other people want of me to waste another day without Belle because of the same.
Something fierce awoke within me the day she got home, something that lay dormant while she was overseas. And every day I get with her simply feeds the beast.
I’ve always felt the need to protect Belle, ever since she was little. But this new dimension to our relationship, this shift in responsibilities? In some ways it leaves me afraid of what the future holds, because if I don’t get a heel on this guy inside, then who’s to say what the hell I’ll do when trouble comes knocking.
And with people like Cerise in our lives, trouble is inevitable.
TWENTY-FIVE
Belle
“Your mother phoned yesterday,” Dad says with a sigh. “She felt the need to let me know she saw you two at the supermarket. I don’t know what she expected me to say about it.”
I lean back in the staffroom chair, phone to my ear as I listen to Dad. “Probably thought you’d like to know, especially after you called her in to put the hard word on me and all.”
“Yeah. About that.” He pauses. “I might have over-reacted by getting her involved.”
“You think?”
“I’m sorry.” He sighs.
Damn it. I can’t stay mad at him, no matter how much his petty move pissed me off. “Apology accepted.” I frown before asking, “Why does she meddle like this, though? I mean, is there not enough drama in her life without adding more or something?”
He sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart. She’s….” He falters. “I guess somewhere along the way somebody did her wrong, or somehow she got in her head that she has to always ruin a good thing.”
I smirk, wondering if he realises what he admitted. “So, you think Zeus and I are a good thing?”
He stays silent a while, probably choosing his words. “In your eyes, perhaps. You’re happy, and for now, that’s all that I care about.”
“For now?”
He huffs again, clearly frustrated with the turn this conversation has taken. “I don’t want to be doom and gloom, Belle, but I don’t see how this can work out for you two. I voiced that to you the other day; there’s no need to rehash it.”
I wish I could understand why he’s so adamant about this. “I told Zeus I want to talk to Damien, to clear the air between us.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Maybe not, but I feel bad about how things turned out between us, even if he was the jackass who took it too far. Maybe if I had owned up to the truth of it sooner we wouldn’t have reached that point, you know?”
“Yeah, well, from what you’ve told me it was a two-way street. I wouldn’t take it all on your shoulders.”
“You were the one who said I treated him badly,” I remind Dad, picking at a chip on the corner of the Formica table before me.
“I did. But I also didn’t say he was clear of fault.”
“You think I shouldn’t talk to him, then?”
“I think it might just reopen old wounds, is all. You have to ask yourself what the point of talking about it all with him would be.”
He’s right—what is the point? I told him everything there was to say the day we split: although we weren’t suited for each other, I appreciate the fact I had company while I was in Colorado. I appreciated the friendship. But then again, was it even that? I can’t actually quantify what we were into one category or the other: we just didn’t fit, any which way. Square peg, round hole, and three years of twisting and turning before we realised there was no point trying.
“How is Zeus, anyway?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” I cock an eyebrow, even though Dad can’t see me.
He huffs before answering. “Maybe.”
“He misses your friendship, Dad. Don’t punish him for trying to do the right thing.”
“He has a funny way of going about it.”
“He could have gone about it a lot worse,” I point out.
“True.” Dad hesitates. “Maybe we could catch up for a beer after work today?”
“Not today,” I say. “He’s got his last day before he starts a new job Monday. He said the guys are having a few after work with the crew.”
“New job?”
“Yeah. Same thing, more money.”
Dad makes an impressed hum. “Well done him, then.”
I smile, thinking about how quietly excited Zeus is to be making the change. “What are we going to do about Cerise?”
Dad hums before answering. “I’m not sure. There’s only so many times I can tell her to let it go.”
“Maybe I should say something then?”
“I don’t know. Ignore her for a while. Hopefully she gets bored if you two don’t give her reason to nitpick and goes back to the hole she’s found herself.”
“I honestly thought she might have had some ‘Kumbaya’ moment when she got sober.” Dad laughs at my comment. “But she seems just as horrible without the drink, as with.”
“I think we all know that was one miracle that would have been too much of a stretch,” Dad says with a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. I wish I had a magic cure for you and your mother, I really do. But there’s no way around it: she’s a bitter old cow, and I wish I’d seen that sooner. Would have saved us both a lot of grief. I’m sorry I got her involved again.”
“Would it have, though?” Whether my parents split up when I was a child or a baby, it wouldn’t have changed who Cerise is. “I just wish I knew why she has to be so mean.”
“So do I.” Dad huffs a short breath. “But until then, we tolerate.”
Yeah, I guess we do.
***
I spend the rest of the day wondering what exactly Cerise wants from me. What is her motivation to keep making life hell for me? Why is she so damn invested in a child she so easily abandoned?
Like the remnants of a thorn you didn’t quite get out, she’s there every step I take. A painful reminder.
I message Zeus on my way out the door, throwing a wave over my shoulder to Wade as I step out into the street.
B: How was the last day?
I get halfway home before he replies.
Z: I had my water spiked, the keys to the grader hidden, my lunch stolen, and a cab full of water balloons… so great.
He finishes with a tired-looking emoticon. I smile at the visual of him battling the water balloons out of the machine before he can use it.
B: Wet arse then?
Z: You don’t want to know. Mike’s just opened the box of beers. Let you know when I’m on the way home.
He signs off with his usual heart and dove. Zeus left the bike at home today, catching a lift to work with Mike since he knew they’d drink after. I met the guy briefly as they headed out the door. He seemed nice enough.
My feet ache by the time I reach the house, my heart even more so when I open the door to the dark and quiet of the empty house. I wouldn’t say I’m untrusting of Zeus, but this is the first time he’s been out on his own since we became something official. I can’t fight the worry that creeps in when I think of him out on the town with a bunch of guys who, by the sounds of it, have no reservations in leading him astray.
Cut it out, Belle. He’s never given me reason to worry, but Zeus is a good-looking guy. Man. He’s a good-looking man, and who knows where they are? Who else is there noticing what I do when I look at him?
A microwave dinner spins in its plastic dish as I lean against the kitchen counter and scour social media. There aren’t any new posts, nothing with him tagged in. I set the phone aside with a huff, maddened that I can so easily become one of those girls.
I would never think to cheat on him, so I need to believe that he feels the same.
You don’t trust anyone. No. I don’t. And I wonder whose fault that is?
The microwave sounds its completion, the dish piping hot in my
hands as I pull it out. “Ow, ow, ow.” I ditch it on the counter, slapping my palms on my legs to ease the sting.
My phone lights up, the pain instantly forgotten. I sidestep to grab the device, hoping Zeus is on his way home already. Unknown number. I open the message thread, absently retrieving a fork with my other hand, and frown.
Cerise. She hasn’t sent me a message as such, just a bunch of images. My thumb slowly drags up the screen as I stir my dinner, the pictures shots of actual photographs laid out on what I assume is Cerise’s table.
Photographs that not only show my parents when they were younger—much younger—but Zeus and Jodie as well. I slow my scroll, taking in the scenes: Dad and Zeus laughing in what looks like a pub, Jodie on Zeus’s back as they smile for the camera lakeside, the four of them in what appears to be somebody’s living room. And the last image the one that makes my gut turn worst of all: Zeus and Cerise; him staring off at something out of shot deadly serious, and her, smiling at the person who takes the picture, pretending to squeeze his arse while his back is turned.
B: Why have you sent me these?
I shouldn’t engage, but I have to know.
C: You know how old we are in these?
C: 21. 22 at most.
She’s trying to prove a point—one I already know. One I already don’t care about.
C: Know why these are printed photos? Because we didn’t have smartphones back then. Cell phones were only for rich people. We’ve known each other a long time, Zeus and I.
My lip stings under my assault, my bite all I can do to stop from screaming out in frustration.
B: I get it. We’re two different generations. When are you going to realise it doesn’t matter?
C: When are you going to realise it already does?
She sends me a new picture. The phone slides from my grasp. I let it drop to the counter, yet my eyes don’t waver from the candid shot.
Cerise, asleep in bed beside Zeus.
The heel of my hand hits the microwave dinner with such force the tray ricochets off the splashback, sending creamy pasta all over the counter. I can’t stand the thought of eating, let alone the smell of it when my stomach turns so violently.
It was a long time ago. She’s clothed under the blankets; I can tell. And the two of them have their backs to each other. I’m overreacting.
