“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 towel.” I point at the seeping blood on the beige cloth.
“Don’t care.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
Jem inhales. “Yeah. Everything fucking hurts.”
“What’s wrong, Jem? There’re at least three broken glasses on the floor in 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.”
His brow puckers. “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 against 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 manage to contact Bryn.”
“Why?”
I want to say ‘because I feel your pain as readily as I see it’. Because I know he needs someone with him even if he wants to be alone. Jem shouldn’t live on his own and whatever triggered this need to leave the house and relapse 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, unable to step out, or risk hurting somebody else by allowing them in.
“I’m fucked, Ruby,” he says hoarsely. “Totally fucked.”
“No, you’re not. You’re here and sober, not wasted and on your own somewhere.”
“The dreams…” He says through gritted teeth. “They don’t stop!”
“What dreams? Is that why you’re awake now?”
“Just dreams, Ruby. Just dreams.” He shakes his hair away again and leans down to retrieve his boots. I want to push him, ask more, and help the guy as he once helped me.
“Jem, if you—” I’m interrupted by a sharp ringtone, the sound shocking me in the quiet of the house. “Bryn.” I say as I look at the caller ID.
Jem holds his hand out and I throw the phone across the small space. His gruff responses to Bryn are accompanied by shifty-eyed looks to me. Unsure what to do, I stand and watch.
Jem holds the phone away from his face. “Bryn has keys. You can go. I’ll wait here for him.”
“You sure?”
“Go back to bed, Ruby.” His dismissive attitude pains me as much as the panic of the last few minutes.
The more time I spend around Jem Jones, the more aware I am that he’s a lot more complicated than the image he presents to the world.