Page 77 of Into the Dark
“I need to get out of here right now,” he’s saying as he goes toward the door, lifting his car keys from the kitchen table. “I’ll call you later, yeah?”
And then he’s gone.
Even after I hear the front door close I just stand there, rooted to the spot, staring in the direction he just went. With a heavy heart I conclude he’s right: we do perhaps need space tonight.
Halfway up the stairs, I freeze when I remember Jake had three beers with dinner and is now driving into London under the influence. Christ, Jake. On the off chance he’s just sitting outside in the car sulking I go to check, but his car is gone. I consider ringing his cell phone, but he probably won’t answer it anyway, and I don’t want to risk distracting him from the road.
The bed is cold and empty without him. It’s not our first fight, and it won’t be our last, but I still hate it. With a deep sigh, I switch off the lamp and try to force myself to sleep.
Friday at work is long and hectic, and around 1:00 p.m. I start to wish I’d called in sick, as was my first thought when I opened my eyes in the stuffy brown light of my bedroom. I’d felt nauseous and exhausted despite the deep sleep—a sleep infused with disturbingly vivid nightmares that lingered long after I got out of bed.
Jake and I were in France at the farmhouse. It was a hot night and the sweat clung to my body in sheets, thick in the air. I lay on top of the large dining table that looks out onto the pool, the patio doors wide open to allow the soft night breeze to float through. My dress was pulled up to my waist and my legs were spread wide apart as Jake sucked and bit and devoured me with his mouth. But as I thrashed on top of the table, I turned my head toward the patio and saw him standing there. Jake. His face was a mask of murder and fury, and when I looked down I found not Jake but Laurent smiling up at me, his mouth wet and eyes glittering with unbridled lust. Then I was crying, sobbing hard, as I tried to explain to him that it was a mistake, that I thought it was Jake there, that just a moment before it was him. He didn’t listen, only raged and roared names I never imagined he’d ever say to me. His eyes were hard and cold as I begged him to believe me before everything faded to black.
When I woke up, I felt pure relief that it was just a nightmare. Then I remembered Jake hadn’t come home. The nightmare was likely what he imagined happened between me and Laurent anyway.
By 4:00 p.m. he still hasn’t gotten in touch, and the worry and stress begin to twist and transform into something else. Anger. What exactly does space look like to him? We have enough going on without this. He’s trying to negotiate his way out of a life of illegal dealings via the police while ensuring the man who’s like a father to him doesn’t find out, but he has time for this? I told him nothing happened, and so either he believes me or he doesn’t—in which case our problems aren’t going to be solved by space. And why wouldn’t he believe me? Have I ever given him any reason to doubt my fidelity? It’s ridiculous.
Yes, I’m definitely angry now.
Huffing, I pull my phone out of the drawer for the hundredth time today. I’m unsurprised to see he still hasn’t texted.
Me: Jake, this is ridiculous. We need to sort this out. Can you please call me? I love you, Axx
I’m still at the office three hours later, catching up on what my sluggishness caused to slip during the day. I manage to lose myself in work, though, and so when I pull open the drawer to check if he’s responded, my heart lifts to see a notification from him.
It falls again when I open it.
Jake: Busy, at the club. Call you later. Jx
I chew my nails for a minute—something I don’t even do—as I try to decide my next move.
Christ, I need to get out of here. I’ve been here for ten hours. I haven’t eaten in six.
Decided, I stand up from my desk and slip my phone into my bag.
Miraculously, I manage to find a parking space on the street behind Surgery. After double-checking I’m not on faded double yellows or a disabled box, I start toward the club. I feel less helpless having made the decision to come to him. To make him face this—me. The anger is still there, but it simmers gently on the back burner now.
His curt text had the reverse effect than intended, I’m sure. He’s clearly still angry, and now I am too. I’m not a confrontational person by nature, but if almost twenty-four hours isn’t enough time and space for him to calm down then I have to intervene. We’re in a relationship and our lives are entwined now, and I’m not going to have him stewing over this any longer than necessary. Also, I’m bloody pregnant. We have more than enough to worry about.
“Can we help you, sweetheart? You on the list?” the security guard says as I reach the entrance. He’s a massive man with a scar down his left temple and cheek, but apart from that he has a friendly pair of eyes.
“What? Oh, no. No, I’m not. I’m here to see, Jake.” I realize then how ridiculous I look turning up to a club on a Thursday night dressed in office wear asking to see the manager. I look like an environmental health inspector here to check the beer taps.
“Jake who?” the other one asks, head cocked to the side.
I smile as politely as I can. “Lawrence. The owner.”
I suppose he’s trained to be suspicious. I guess not many people turn up here asking to speak to Jake by name.
“He expecting you?” He frowns, large, bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle.
“Oh, I doubt it. Still, if you could let him know Alex is here, that would be great, thanks.” My tone is professional and polite. These two don’t intimidate me as much as they’re trying to.
“You got a second name…Alex?” the first one asks.
“Oh, he’ll know which Alex you mean. Trust me.” I smile again. I contemplate saying “Alex whose mouth he came in last night before walking out on her” but decide against it for obvious reasons.
“Wait here,” he says and disappears into the club. The other doorman gives me a long, curious stare of his own before turning to let a few more people in.