Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(18)

“She’s right. You don’t understand,” he says quietly to Jax.

“What the f-uck do you know about my situation?” I snap at him but the address on the card he gave me already answers my question.

“I’m not blind, Ruby. And I know more about this shit than you realise.”

His admission silences me, but doesn’t quiet the adrenaline fuelling my system. I turn away and stomp back toward the stage.

“Come on!” I yell to Jax.

A couple of minutes later, the pair appears. I don’t know what Jem said to Jax but he gives me an apologetic smile before retrieving his guitar. I mouth ‘sorry about your elbow’ between verses in our first song. He winks and mouths back ‘no problem.’

Jem Jones said something, explained to Jax what I couldn’t. He understands.

Jem’s getting too close.





Chapter Eight



Ruby



I check my calendar for the fifth time. A week to go. Yesterday I lied, I told Jax and the guys that Dan knows about the tour. I didn’t miss how Jax swept a look over my visible skin; like me, he expects Dan’s reaction to leave marks. I change the subject, preventing the guys asking me to elaborate.

We haven’t seen Jem since the tense rehearsal last week, although Jax chats to him on the phone most days. This irritates me and, the fact it does, annoys me further. I’m used to Jax dealing with all things Ruby Riot but I want Jem’s attention too. Why? Validation? Something more? I’m in a f*cked up place in life and my head; I don’t need to look elsewhere.

Returning from a rehearsal, buzzing with the endorphins the music floods into my system, I step into the house that’s my self-imposed prison. Ruby is on day release and comes home to become Tuesday again. I can spend my whole life denying Tuesday exists, but I’m lying to myself.

Each day that Ruby Riot step closer to being my waking life is an extra step away from this Hell with Dan. Every gig is a push in the direction of the belief I deserve more, that I can be more. And every penny I put in the tin Jax has hidden in his bedroom is the means to taking the final move.

Lights are on in the house but Dan isn’t around. Anxiety grips, tightening my chest. Did I leave them on this morning or is Dan home? I hold my breath. No sound of the TV. Kicking my boots off, I creep along the hallway, warily listening and checking rooms.

Nothing.

With heart-thumping relief, I head to the bathroom. As the shower runs, I undress and study myself. The other day Jax commented that I’m getting skinnier and I told him to piss off, but he’s right. I never noticed; I don’t obsess about my weight the way I once did. I forget to eat because I have little appetite.

The brightness of my ink matches my hair, the tattoos symbolic of my attempt to cover up the girl beneath. Some people have tattoos because they’re significant, I went for the brightest pictures I liked because I wanted a rainbow of colour to cover my life. Two blue and red birds are inked on my collarbones, pointing inwards to a winged heart. Jax loves the winged heart so much; he decided to use it as Ruby Riot’s logo. My newest tattoo is a string of red roses and thorns, spread across my lower belly.

Inked along my rib, beneath my small b-reasts are words from the Rolling Stones song “Ruby Tuesday”, a homage to the name I wish I didn’t have. As I study the tattoos, the bruises stand out too. They have their own dull pattern, from black to purple. The place I plan to tattoo next are my upper arms; that’s the place rings of fingermark bruises circle my skin. I want a sugar-skull there, black to hide the marks.

Dan’s increasing violence and shift away from psychological abuse worries me and is gradually pushing me toward the decision I need to make.



****



The girl who steps from the shower is make-up free and bare to the world. I rub steam from the mirror and brush out my hair. The colour’s fading and her eyes are too; Ruby is slipping away. Wrapping a long, blue towel around my body, I head to the bedroom.

Dan sits on the end of the bed in the dim light, his large figure straight and hands resting on his knees. Waiting.

I hesitate in the doorway, unease setting the hairs on my arm in alert. “I didn’t realise you were home,” I say lightly, and cross the room toward my chest of drawers.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks in a low voice.

“I was having a shower. Have you eaten? Do you want me to fix you something?” With shaking hands, I pull a pair of cotton panties from the drawers and quickly put them on. I know he’s watching me, but there’s nothing sexual in the room with us. I drag a faded blue tee over my head, ridding myself of the vulnerability of being naked in front of Dan.

“No, where have you been tonight. I came home earlier and you weren’t home. Why weren’t you home?”

The light from the hallway casts shadows across his face and his thin mouth tells me all I need to know. Some situations I can’t escape and this is one of them.

“I… I went to a rehearsal,” I say quietly.

“You never asked.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“So why not tell me? All you had to do was text me,” he says, voice dropping the room temperature.

Not true. Dan would’ve dragged me home again.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”