Justice(94)

“I know. Dobbs called down,” Justin says but doesn’t turn around. “I’m busy.”

I start shaking again, fingernails drawing blood in my palms. I hug myself. None of this helps. He’s sitting there nonchalantly in his hidden fortress hard at work on his secret life while I’m falling apart not ten feet from him. I can’t talk. I can’t move. I’m stuck here in this fucking depressing room with the man who shattered my everything.

After five seconds of silence, his head tilts to the side. His back straightens and his neck elongates. He feels my hatred as if I’m screaming it at him. Slowly, he swivels around, face filled with shock and fear. The moment our eyes meet, it turns into sadness. Sadness for me or for him, I don’t know. Yesterday I’d say the former, but sure as hell not today. He leaps out of the chair and for some reason I take a step back.

“I’m not…I…” he says, holding up his hand to reassure me.

He’s hurt. I’ve hurt him? That’s it for me. I snap.

I bridge the gap between us at a rate even he wouldn’t be able to achieve. My hand connects hard on his gorgeous face. “You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch!” It’s like hitting a slab of granite, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it again. And again. “You motherfucker!” Small smudges of my blood smear his face. I keep hitting and hitting him wildly with my fists now on his shoulders, chest, and face. “You piece of shit! I hate you! I fucking hate you!” I shriek at the top of my lungs. He grabs my flailing arms and I try to pull away. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He tries to pull me into a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he pleads.

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastard!”

His arms wrap me into a bear hug, so I’m pressed against his chest. “I’m sorry. Please. Please.” He hugs me even tighter.

For a moment I relent, clinging onto his shirt and breathing in his familiar scent I used to get lost in. This is my best friend. My essential person. But he’s not. He never was. “No!” I break away, sickened by his touch. “Stay away from me!”

“Just let me ex—”

“No!” I shout, holding out a finger to stop him from coming closer as I back away. “No. We have nothing to say to each other. Ever again. You stay the hell away from me. You don’t talk to me, you don’t look for me, you don’t even think about me. You are dead to me. If you ever come near me again, I’ll turn you over to Alkaline myself, I swear to fucking God!”

“Jo, please just—”

“If you ever gave a damn about me, just stay away. Just…go to hell.”

I turn around and run out, past Lucy, Cam, and Harry who stand at the entrance all shocked by our scene. Footsteps follow me. When I climb out of that hole, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding and take another. I’m gasping as if I’ve just run miles. Harry emerges from the darkness. “Jo—”

“Don’t. Don’t,” I say breathlessly. “Just don’t do…anything.” I take a few more ragged breaths. “I can’t do this. I can’t.” I’m close to hyperventilating. My chest hurts and I see spots. This must be a panic attack. I’m going to pass out in a minute, and I don’t even mind.

Harry rushes over to my side, hugging me. “Calm down,” he whispers as he pets my hair. “I’m here. It’s okay, I’m here. Just breathe.”

I force the air in and out and after a few seconds it’s back to normal. “Please get me out of here.”

“Of course.”

I lean on him as he walks me out of that house.

***

Harry drives me home in my car, which I was last in when I drove it over from Rebecca’s house a lifetime ago. A week hasn’t even passed and since then I’ve lost and regained a boyfriend, planned a funeral, made out with my dream man, been shot, and found out that my best friend lied about who he is. I need a vacation.

I’m lying in my own bed on my side, knees pulled into my chest. It helps with the pain. The adrenaline has worn off and now my ribs ache like hell. There’s a bruise the size of a fist every color of the damn rainbow. The Oxycodone left over from my root canal manages the worst of it and blurs the edges of my life. Maybe I’ll switch from booze to pills. Fewer calories at least.

Harry walks back in with a cup of tea as he flips his phone shut. In between long calls to the station, he’s been coming in and out to check on me, bringing food and kisses as if I had the flu. It’s sweet, nobody’s ever done this for me, but it’s driving me nuts. He sets the tea down and sits on the bed, gazing down at me. We smile at each other. “Who was on the phone this time?”