Page 65 of Beautifully Ruined
“For sex?” He shakes his head. “I agree.”
“For this conversation. Let’s go back—to my place.”
I almost said home. But it’s not his home anymore. The funny thing is, I have a place I bought for him, but I never got around to gifting him. I’d wanted Jack to show some growth, show he could be an adult. Pay rent.
I’m thinking about it because I can’t let myself think about this situation, not here. And without giving Jack time to respond with something snarky, I cast a glance at Vi.
Her head is down and she has pulled the hood up. Thank fuck she’s short and I’m tall and this particular hoodie is slightly oversize. It’s like a mini dress on her.
But I can see the pink of her cheeks, and she’s staring at the ground, one arm tight around her middle.
I take her other hand in mine, something I know isn’t lost on Jack.
But he just scowls and shoves his hands deeper in his pockets as we head to my place.
The walk across the road from the tree to my front door is about two minutes if that. It felt like two hours. The walk up the steps another four hours because it’s way too confined. And not even the overly dramatic stomps of Jack’s feet on each stair can alleviate the tension.
Jack takes out his key to open the door.
I never took it back. Never even asked.
He’s my brother for fuck’s sake but now…now I’m thinking I probably should.
The key, however, no longer works in the top lock. When he looks at me, hurt shining bright, I sigh and open it, motioning him in.
Violet peels away, hurrying into the guest bedroom, Jack’s old room.
Her embarrassment leaves a trail like perfume after her.
“New door?” Jack asks.
Any other circumstances, I’d enter into a conversation with him about the door, try and tease out his real motives of dropping by.
This isn’t just a visit. Even Jack has got an understanding of manners and what time visits require phone calls or texts. Even with siblings.
It’s late enough that this falls into the text or call kind of visit.
And, on top of it all, he caught us. Watched.
Me and Violet.
Now, of course, she’s hiding.
I cross to the kitchen bench and lean against it, folding my arms. Aware dinner is in the fridge, aware manners calls to offer him some.
I don’t.
“What do you want, Jack?”
“What…? What do I want?” Jack slams a hand on the table then stalks to the cupboard and pulls out the whiskey and then a glass. He sloshes some in.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Booze isn’t going to help him. But I straighten up, under the pretext of joining him, taking the bottle with me as I fetch my own glass and pour in a shot. I push the bottle behind me on the counter.
Jack just laughs and shakes his head.
He gulps down a third of the drink.
