31
Ruby
I wake confusedby where I am. Light shines across the bed from the open curtains as I gain my bearings. Jem’s house.
After our embrace, Jem hovered around uncomfortably until I told him I wouldn’t be pissed off if he walked away again. Following my outpouring over Quinn and Dan, I wanted time alone to compose myself too. Our shared understanding that this isn’t rejection, but dealing with our own headspace, is another indication of how similar we are.
My body aches and I examine my face in a small pocket mirror. My lip isn’t as swollen but the bruising around my eye and cheek darkened. Add to that the grazes on my face and I’m a delight. I pull out a bottle of thick foundation and set about painting away Dan.
I haven’t eaten since last night and the dizzying hunger forces me into the kitchen. My stash of instant noodles I left behind are tucked in the back of the cupboard, so I pull them out and break them into a bowl.
Jem appears as I’m pouring boiling water onto the noodles. We eye each other warily, but I’m relieved to see a calmer Jem, one whose face lost some of the strain from earlier. The loose white shirt he’s wearing is partially unbuttoned and enough to see his ink covered pecs. After one hug, my body and imagination fire to life at seeing him. Not good.
“Please don’t tell me you’re eating that crap again,” he says.
I poke at the noodles with a fork. “I’m hungry and there’s nothing else.”
His brow tugs. “What do you mean? There’s a shitload of stuff in the fridge.”
“Your food.”
“So?”
“Don’t you remember your housemate agreement? I’m not allowed to touch your stuff.”
Jem flicks his tongue against his teeth and then realises what I mean. “Oh. That. You’re a guest, not a housemate.”
I turn back and rip open the packet of powder loosely described as flavouring, the kitchen feeling smaller than it once did. Also, not good.
“Leave that. I’ll order some proper food. I’m hungry too.” He crosses and rests against the counter next to me. “You put make-up on?”
I avert my eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure nobody else likes looking at the mess; I know I don’t.”
“Doesn’t it hurt putting that crap over a cut?” Jem looks at me with concern.
I shrug.
“I prefer you without make-up. I can see your eyes properly.” He touches the skin under my uninjured eye, wiping at the kohl with his thumb. At his touch, I shiver and the softness in the way he studies my face grips me.People don’t look at me like this.“You shouldn’t hide.”
I turn my face away. “Like I said, covering up.”
Jem remains next to me and the physical desire I’ve fought since he walked into the kitchen—since I met him—intensifies. He laces his fingers through mine and I look up in surprise.
“Are you staying, Ruby? I know I upset you before.”
Why does his hand fit so naturally in mine? “Yes. If you want me to.”
“Good.” Jem takes his hand away and indicates the drawer I’m standing beside. “Grab the menus from there. What do you want? Chinese? Thai?”
His ‘Jem thing’—breaking away the moment he’s too close—knots my stomach. I shouldn’t crave his attention let alone expect him to hold and kiss me.
Half an hour later and we sit in the lounge, boxes of noodles and rice spread across his low glass coffee table. I’m impressed by Jem’s ability with chopsticks; instant noodles never called for such sophistication.
“I can show you how, if you like?” suggests Jem, passing me a pair.
“I’ll use a fork. I’m too hungry to mess around with those.”
We’re on the floor and I rest against the sofa, holding a box in my hands as I eat. Jem sits in his favourite armchair opposite.