The Story of Me (Carnage #2)(15)
He shrugs. “Okay, I’ll tell ya what I was thinking, but you’re not gonna like it.”
I stare back at him for a few seconds. Dare I ask, knowing how direct and to the point Jackson is? Dare I ask what he was thinking? I drain the last of the wine from my glass.
“Come on then, tell me, for f*ck’s sake; what little analytical observation have you made or think you’ve made?” I feel like a science project at the moment, a case study.
He laughs again. “Just go with it, George; that’s what I was thinking. Don’t fight it; if you’re feeling it, then the time’s right. Don’t fight it and don’t beat yourself up over it. Just let it happen and see where it goes.”
I play with the stem of my wine glass as my eyes fill with tears; I don’t want to hear this. Jackson’s hand shoots across the table and stops mine from worrying the glass any more.
“Hey, look at me.” I shake my head and try to stop my bottom lip from trembling.
“Look at me, George.” I raise my eyes to meet his and tears fall from my lashes onto my cheeks. “Stop that. Stop feeling guilty, stop beating yourself up. Like I said, if you’re feeling it, then the time’s right.” He gestures towards me with his chin. “You felt anything like it before, since Sean, I mean?” I shake my head. “But you felt something then, between you and Roman?” I nod very slightly. If I nod less, will it make my guilt less? “Then the time’s right; something might happen, nothing might happen, but just go with it and just see. The worst thing you can do is try and fight it. The biggest lies we tell, George, are the ones we tell ourselves.” I nod, understanding what he’s saying but not agreeing. It’s too soon. It’s not even been a year yet. It’s wrong. I’m a bad person. A bad wife. And it’s wrong.
My uncle John appears at our table with another bottle of wine. This is how I get my wages. I refuse to let them pay me; I don’t need their money and I’m more than happy to help out, so they let me stay in the apartment and eat and drink at the bar for free. I get a kiss and a cuddle from John before he heads back to the kitchen. The place is now packed. Every table is full and people are eating at the bar. Every bit of standing room is taken and the place is noisy.
Roman strums his guitar a few times, makes some adjustments and the noise from the crowd fades.
“Good to see you all, people; another year older, but none the wiser, I see.” He looks right at me and starts singing “Drops of Jupiter” by Train.
It’s perfect.
His voice, the way he plays his guitar, the way he stares at me, the way he closes his eyes every now and then. Perfect. The song seems to end without me even hearing it, and the crowd roars with applause. Roman takes a swig from a beer bottle, then continues with “Follow Me” by Uncle Kracker, and I realise he’s singing it to me. He’s looking down at my hand as he sings, down at where I still wear my wedding ring, and it all suddenly becomes too much. I feel angry. I don’t care what Jax thinks; I’m not ready for this. As I stand from the table, Jackson looks up at me, his eyes wide with surprise.
“I need to go. I… I’m not… I need to go.” I kiss Jackson and Emily on the cheek and turn to leave, but Jackson grabs my arm.
“Do not go up there and beat yourself up over this, Georgia.”
I pull my hand away. “You’re not my f*cking shrink, Jax, so stop trying to analyse me.” I turn and leave.
Chapter Six
By the time I get upstairs and shut the door, my heart is hammering in my chest. I stand leaning against the door for a few seconds, listening to the sound of Roman’s voice as it carries from down in the bar, up to the apartment. He’s picked things up with Blink 182’s “All The Small Things” and I’m so angry. How come he gets to sing his shitty cover versions in a bar in Australia, when my husband doesn’t get to sing the songs he wrote, on a stage in front of thousands of screaming fans anymore? Why? I want to know why. I just want someone to explain to me why. I bang my head back against the door and scream at the top of my lungs. I don’t care if anyone hears. I don’t give a shit. I’m angry, angry at life, the world, myself, and at the moment, I’m especially angry at back-street bar singers who make me feel. I march through the apartment, out to the balcony and smoke a cigarette, then another. I don’t know how long I stand there staring out into the darkness, hearing the music coming up from below but not listening to a word of it. It’s only when the music stops that I notice the quiet. I shiver and turn to go back inside when someone bangs on the front door. I stand and stare at it for a while, then jump when it’s banged on again. I pull it open and Roman is standing there, each of his arms spread wide, leaning against the frame. His gaze meets mine head-on.
“Georgia, I’m so sorry. I’m so f*cking sorry. I just went to play a Carnage song, and I realised who you are. I forgot… I forgot that Jax’s cousin was in the band and that his other cousin had married the lead singer, then I remembered and it was too late. You’d already left. I’m so sorry.” I don’t speak. I can’t. I’ll choke if I try; the lump in my throat is so big, It’s filling my chest, stopping my heart from beating and my lungs from functioning.
I drop down onto my knees, look up at him and say through gritted teeth, “He’s dead. They’re both dead. They’re never coming back and there’s not a f*cking thing I can do about it.” I pant as I breathe, trying not to let the sobs rise out of my chest. Roman looks down at me, that horrible look of pity that I hate so much on his face.