Page 38 of Saving Ren
“Gabe noticed bruises on Lauren’s jaw and wrist last night.” Jo ignores my question and instead addresses Jemma, who tilts her head to the side and studies me while topping up her glass with wine. I break eye contact and fill up my own.
“Like Jemma said, you being here isn’t what she’d want, but if you’re determined to pursue things with Lauren, there are a few things you need to know.”
Jo’s still talking when I hear the double doors behind her open. I tilt my head to look around her, my brain taking a moment to process what I’m seeing, my skin reacts with a prickling sensation rushing across it before my brain can catch on.
I should stand up. I should go to her.
“Lauren,” Jemma whispers from beside me. A glass is knocked over, red wine spills, and the legs of a stool scrape across the tiled floor, but I don’t move. I stare, but I don’t move.
Looking slowly from Jemma to Jo to me, Lauren shakes her head as her lips tremble.
“Why?” she asks, sounding croaky. Clearing her throat, I watch as tears fill both her eyes. Her left eye is red and bloodshot, a purple bruise surrounds her right eye which barely opens. A tear escapes and rolls down her cheek, the knot in my belly tightens, and I instinctively stand but hold back from moving towards her.
“Why is he here? Why would you do that to me?”
The room remains silent, and I think I must’ve been holding my breath from the moment she appeared in the doorway because when a “What the fuck?” escapes me in a whispered rush of air, I feel like I can barely breathe like I’ve been punched in the gut and left winded.
Jemma moves around me and towards Lauren, who holds up a hand to stop her.
“Lauren,” she whispers on a sob. “I’m so sorry. We should’ve insisted, as your friends, we shouldn’t have let you go back there. . .”
“He did this to you? Your husband? I fucking told you, I asked you not to go back there last night. Where is he now? Did you have him arrested for this?” The instant the words are out, I feel like a total dick.
“Will you both sit the fuck down and shut up. This is not what she needs to hear right now,” Jo snaps.
Lauren stands in the middle of the room looking small, battered, bruised and beaten, and for a few long moments, my head spins as I fight to control the anger brewing inside me. I grip the edge of the benchtop as I watch her wrap her arms around her middle in what I assume is an attempt at holding herself together.
“I’m sorry,” Jemma repeats. We’ve both ignored Jo’s order for us to sit down. Lacing my fingers together at the back of my head, I take in a few deep breaths as Jemma moves towards Lauren while she talks.
“Not just that this has happened, but that it’s been happening for so long. You’re always there for all of us, Loz, and we weren’t there for you. We weren’t there and I’m so fucking sorry.”
I watch as Jemma gently touches Lauren’s hair and face while she stands there with her eyes closed.
“What’s his name?” I ask. “Your husband, what’s his fucking name?”
Lauren opens her eyes, steps around Jemma, and moves to stand on the other side of the benchtop next to Jo, all without answering my question or looking at me.
“Have you had him charged?”
Leaning forward, I watch as she picks up the wine glass that’s lying on its side and drinks what’s left of the contents.
“Loz, I don’t think that’s a good idea, not with those pain killers. . .” Jo says.
“You don’t think that’s a good idea, but inviting him here to see me like this is? Fuck you, Jo. Why would you do that? Why would you do that to me?”
“I didn’t invite him.”
“She didn’t invite me.” Jo and I reply at the same time.
“Then why are you here?” Lauren asks through a swollen top and split bottom lip.
Unsure of what to say, I play her at her own game and ignore the question, and instead, repeat my own.
“What’s his name?” I ask again.
“Who?” she questions.
“Don’t fuck around, Ren, you know who, the prick who put his hands on you?”
