Off Limits

He doesn’t answer my question, but mutters, ‘Can this wait until tomorrow?’

Obviously it’s just about the worst thing he can say.

I clench my teeth together and nod—because while I’m fuming I know better than to make any rash decisions.

‘You’re an asshole,’ I mutter, pushing past him, taking satisfaction from the way my shoulder jams against his chest as I pass.

I stalk towards the front door but then change my mind and spin around, moving back towards him. My hand pushes at his chest and tears sparkle in my eyes. I push him and then I lift up on my tiptoes and I kiss him. Hard.

My mouth punishes him and I sob into the kiss, hating him, hating Lucy, hating it all so much but needing him to understand.

I rip myself away, my breath dragging ferociously from my lungs, my eyes whispering warm droplets from their corners.

‘That is about you and me. Nothing else. No one else. It’s us, Jack. Got it?’

He is infuriatingly immovable. His hands on his hips, his breathing even.

‘Tomorrow,’ he says softly, like a plea, and I nod.

But I know what tomorrow will bring.

Tomorrow is the dawning of a new day; tomorrow will be our end.

* * *

She is everywhere I look, despite the fact no visible sign remains. She’s in the rumpled sheets of my bed, the towel I dry myself with after the shower, the toothbrush next to mine in the bathroom vanity unit. She’s in the half-drunk coffee on the bench and the pool of coffee beside it, from where she presumably slammed it down.

I didn’t noticed at the time but she must have been angry to do that. Gemma doesn’t waste coffee.

My expression ghosts with a smile but I blank it.

I find myself standing in front of the newspapers once more and I look at Lucy. It’s like I’ve been stabbed through my heart, a pain familiar to me. She was so happy on our wedding day; we both were. How could we have known what darkness was in store?

I press a finger into the page, as though I can touch Lucy’s hair in real life if I press hard enough. But she’s just a collection of black dots on cheap grey paper.

Fuck.

My finger moves to Gemma’s face and lingers there, just beneath her chin. It’s a larger photograph—almost half the page. The way she’s looking at me... My gut twists and my throat aches.

Fuck.

The way I’m looking at her! How did I let it go this far? What madness has overtaken me?

I curl my fingers around the newspaper’s edges and fold it back together, then collect them all into a stack that I carry to the wastepaper bin.

I get rid of them, and wish I could do the same to this mess.

I have to end it.

Gemma deserves better than this—to be jerked around by a man who can never give her what she wants. She wants my heart and it’s no longer a part of me. I gave it to Lucy... She took it away with her.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

&n

bsp; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.