Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(26)

“Phone him yourself! I don’t have his number anyway.”

“I need to talk to someone, you stupid girl!”

I straighten; scalp prickling at his behaviour. “I doubt anyone wants to talk to you if you’re behaving like an *!”

He looks over his shoulder. “Get me my keys and my phone.” I arch an eyebrow and he huffs. “Please.”

“Where are they?”

“Upstairs. By my bed.”

Jem’s inner sanctum. Huh. Who’d have thought? Days of curiosity and I get to take a look.

Jem’s room is tidy, apart from the scrunched up bedclothes on the king sized bed. The main reason it’s so tidy is there’s barely anything in it. He has a guitar by the bed; one I’d love to inspect but don’t. A set of keys and a phone rest on the black bedside table so I grab them and head back downstairs.

When I get back to the kitchen, Jem is sitting on the counter and he’s arranged mugs into a line, ones he keeps shifting to make the painted patterns line up.

“Catch.”

I throw him the phone and I’m about to throw the keys when he shakes his head. “You keep them. Don’t give them to me.”

“Then why ask me to get them?”

“Because I don’t want to leave the f-ucking house!” He tears a hand through his hair. “f-uck! Leave me alone!”

I’m too tired for this shit and, to be honest, scared. I’ve lived with my share of unpredictable men; and at this point, I question if staying here with another was the right decision.

“Don’t worry, I will.” I stalk away and get as far as the lounge before Jem’s phone sails through the kitchen doorway and lands near me.

“Did you just throw that at me?” I yell.

“No! I can’t see you! I want you to use it.”

“What for?”

“Bryn’s not answering! I need to speak to him!”

I step back into the doorway, relieved the broken glass is between him and me. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be woken up at three o’clock in the bloody morning!”

Jem jumps down from the counter straight onto a pile of glass and I wince for him. “Shit! f-uck!” He jumps back up and pulls a shard of glass from his foot, grabs a tea towel and presses it to the wound.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“This isn’t a normal reaction to insomnia. What’s with the attitude and the glass?”

“If I leave this house, I won’t stay sober. So take my keys and f-ucking leave me alone, if you won’t phone Bryn.”

I drop my shoulders; suddenly aware I’m in the room with an ex-addict who needs help. “What happened?” I ask gently.

Jem shakes his fringe from his face. “This is nothing to do with you. Just throw my phone back and go away.” The hostility has dropped from his voice, replaced by a tired defeat.

What do I do? Should I try to call Bryn, too? Do I wait with Jem and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid?

I sit on the floor and cross my legs.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Talk to me. And if you don’t, I’ll sit here anyway.” Jem’s eyes narrow until they all but disappear beneath his heavy brow. “You helped me the other night. I want to help you.”

The response is a short bark of a laugh from Jem. “Right.”

“Your foot is bleeding through the tea towel.” I point at the seeping blood on the beige cloth.

“Don’t care.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

Jem inhales. “Yeah. Everything f-ucking hurts.”

“What’s wrong, Jem? There’s at least three broken glasses on the floor here. Did you need me to call someone; do you have a counsellor or something?”

“He’s no use. I want to speak to Bryn.”

“We’ll keep trying him; he’ll answer eventually.”

“We?”

“I’m staying here until I’m sure you won’t walk across broken glass to attack me for your car keys, then disappear somewhere to get high.” I cross my arms over my chest in what I hope looks like determination and not an attempt to hide the shaking in my hands.

“Fine.”

Silence descends, apart from Jem’s tapping on the counter and the slow movement of an occasional car outside. I pull my knees into my chest and rest my head on them, listening to the blood whooshing through my ears.

“How long are you going to sit there?” he asks.

“Until we get in touch with Bryn.”

“Why?” asks Jem.

I want to say because I see your pain as readily as I feel it; because I know he needs someone here even if he wants to be alone. Jem shouldn’t live on his own and whatever’s triggered this need to get out of the house and relapse, it must be significant.

“Because I’m worried about the manager of Ruby Riot,” I reply. “I don’t want to go back to square one and look for another.”

Jem meets my eyes and the understanding passes. His mouth curls into a half-smile but he doesn’t respond.

If the broken glass didn’t cover the kitchen tiles between us, I’d go to Jem, pull him back to reality, and tell him I understand. We’re connected, existing on the fringes of the world. Two shattered people with broken glass surrounding us; we’re unable to step out, or risk hurting somebody else by allowing them in.