Jem throws his head back and stares upwards continuing to swear under his breath. “Phone Bryn,” he says to the ceiling.
“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 doubtanyonewants to talk to you if you’re behaving like an asshole!”
He looks over his shoulder. “Fetch 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? After days of curiosity, I see inside.
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 the room. He lay 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 the keys. Don’t give them to me.”
“Then why ask me to get them?”
“To hold them. Because I don’t want to leave the fucking house!” He tears a hand through his hair. “Shit! 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 the phone.”
“What for?”
“Bryn’s not answering! I need to speak to him!”
I step back into the doorway, relieved the broken glass is between Jem 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! Fuck!” He jumps back up and pulls a shard of glass from his foot, grabs a tea towel, and presses the cloth to the wound.
“What’s happening, Jem?” 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 fucking 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 to me 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.