17
Ruby
The bass musicplaying thumps through the house and into my dreams until I can’t ignore the noise any longer. My phone illuminates 2:45 a.m., not a thoughtful time of day for Jem to play music so bloody loudly. Half an hour of shifting in bed, attempting to cover my ears with a combination of pillows and blankets, and I give up.
I pad along the polished wooden hallway floor into the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and rest my tired head on the counter as I consider what to do. I don’t have any rights to go upstairs and tell Jem to turn his music down, but I’m working in five hours and need my sleep.
The music stops.
Did I psychically do that? I hesitate in case the music starts again, but after a few minutes, the house remains silent.Yes.
Heading out of the kitchen, I almost walk into Jem who’s walking in.
“Shit!” I say in surprise.
He’s shirtless, the curls hanging in his face unable to obscure the confused look. “Forgot you were here.” Jem pushes past.
“Obviously,” I mutter.
“What does that mean?” Jem snaps.
I turn to retort but he’s scowling at me. Edgy. Unpredictable? “Nothing. You woke me up. Night.” If I return to bed now I can get an extra couple of hours.
“Shit. Sorry. Ignore me.” Jem crashes around in a cupboard, swearing under this breath.
Jem Jones apologising?
“It’s okay. This is your house.”
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” He grips an empty glass as if confused over what he needs to do with it. His pupils are dilated. Is he high?
“You okay?” I ask tentatively.
For a long moment, Jem stares at me unblinkingly, face pale. No, not drugs, something upset him. “Doesn’t matter.”
When he turns away to fill his glass, I edge away.
I’m in bed less than five minutes when a crash jerks me awake. When this is followed by several more crashes, I climb out of bed and head back into the other part of the house.
In the kitchen, Jem rests his hands on the bench, head bowed, breathing deeply. Broken glass surrounds him on the floor and blocks his path out of the room.
“Jem?”
“Do you know where my keys are?” he asks, not looking around.
“Your car keys?”
“Yeah. Can you get them?”
I chew the edge of my mouth and point at his naked feet. “How will you walk out of the kitchen to leave?”
“I don’t want to walk out of the kitchen,” he growls.
“Then why do you want your car keys?”
“Just fucking get them!”
I bristle. “No, I fucking won’t if you swear at me.”