36
Ruby
There isno reason for me to be upset about this. We never discussed exclusivity. I was dumb enough to think we implied that.
Tell that to the blotchy faced, teary girl in the mirror.
Did I honestly think Jem Jones would treat me any differently? That the guy who cares about nothing would care about me? Yes. Because he treats me as if I’m important. Hell, Jem even told me I was. Now I’m convinced I’ve spent the last week projecting the fantasy over the reality.
Well, then it’s time I stepped back to that reality and away from the weird world I’ve ensconced myself in with Jem.
Jem returns early afternoon. I hear the heavy front door and his familiar footsteps as I’m packing up my things from the spare room I haven’t slept in for days. One set of footsteps and no voices.
“Ruby?”
My hands shake as I pack a sweater into the rucksack, heart pushing into my mouth as Jem heads down the wooden hallway, approaching the room.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
Straightening, I take a deep breath, switch off, and turn to him. “I think it’s time I went home—back to the share house I mean.”
Jem leans on the doorframe and crosses his arms, and all I picture is Kristie lying against him, his long fingers stroking her hair. I shift my look to his mouth, remembering his touch and kiss, and furious with myself for caring.
“I knew you were bothered,” he says.
“Bothered? About what?” I pick more clothes from the bed.
“Seriously, Ruby? Don’t give me that bullshit. About Kristie.”
I straighten. “You went out for lunch with a friend. I presume she’s some kind of fuck buddy, too. Why would I get annoyed about that? It’s not as if…”Shit. I focus on packing.
His tone hardens. “As if what?”
“It’s not as if we’re a couple. I mean, a committed relationship, in love, type of couple. Everything’s cool, Jem.”
He continues to watch me silently, and the hidden, stupid teen Ruby Tuesday wills Jem to come over, hold her and declare his love. I refuse to look around and instead behave as if he left.
“No, I don’t suppose we are,” he says quietly and walks away.
Taking shaky breaths, I inhale and squeeze my eyes shut, head tightening with the attempt not to cry. I slipped into this. Jem didn’t pull me. This isn’t his fault.
Bag packed, I head to the lounge to grab my keys and phone from the coffee table. Jem’s watching TV, one arm across the back of the sofa as he flicks through the channels. He fills my life, and until this morning, nobody existed outside of us, but I know now he’s not mine. This happening is what I needed because I was falling back into something I wasn’t ready for.
“I’ll see you on Monday at the studio,” I offer as I pick up my car keys.
Jem grunts. Oh, great, a male noise I recognise. An ‘I’m not talking to you’ grunt. What the hell did I do wrong here?
“Yes? Jem?”
“Yeah.”
“Enjoy your weekend,” I say brightly.
He turns to me, the expression on his face arresting. His eyes are darker, mouth pulled into a line I recognise from arguments we had early on. “Yeah, maybe I’ll call my ‘fuck buddy’.”
I reel at his tone. “Whatever. Your life.”
“Exactly.” He returns to his clicking through TV channels.