Page 70 of Cross To Bear

I listened to music all the time on my headphones at work. The hustle and bustle of the office, particularly around tax time, could be irritating, dragging me away from my computer screen and out into the hallway to hear Deidre complaining about her kids again, or Melanie from HR discussing her weekend plans. Right now the only thing that moved were my fingers as I entered data, sent emails or wrote up reports.

Music was made to be moved to. That realisation probably seemed absurd, but for someone who never felt comfortable dancing, it hit me hard. The notes, the bass line, the beat all dictated what you were supposed to do, how you were supposed to move. And when you didn’t, you missed a whole element to the experience. Of feeling loose, languid, letting yourself be carried away, out of year head and into some kind of state where your body flowed to and fro in response to the music. I smiled then, really smiled, feeling a laugh build up in my chest, ready to be expelled.

When I heard someone else do it for me.

It was a sharp sound, a cruel one and that caught my attention. My eyes flicked open to see Tiffany, the girl from Bjorn’s studio standing there with Krystel, Jesse’s new girl, standing there, staring at me. And just in case I hadn’t worked out who they were looking at, Tiffany raised a hand and pointed directly at me.

It felt like a bucket of water had been dropped down upon me, but not the sexy kind à la Flashdance. This was more like the bucket of pig’s blood in Carrie. Just like the disturbed girl from that movie, I had a little moment, thinking all was good in the world, then the reality came crashing back in. I stiffened in Razor’s grip and then went to pull away, to go right back to where I was supposed to be, in a chair on the sidelines.

“Where are you going?”

Razor turned me around to face him. I saw the concern, the way those blue eyes took in every part of me in one glance. He’d work out what ruffled my feathers if I stayed with him or sat down at a table, so I said the only thing I could to throw him off the scent.

“Just need to go to the loo.”

I pulled away then, and he let me go, even as he called my name. The crowd now was an obstacle course I had to traverse, wiggling between bodies, fighting my way between them until I stumbled out of the crowd and close to the toilet doors. A guy came out, eyebrows jerking up as he took in my ridiculous clothes, his mouth opening, about to say something, but I dove past him and into the ladies to avoid hearing it. I found an empty stall and locked it and then sucked in a breath.

What the fuck was I doing?

I kept asking myself that, not really coming up with an answer. Sometimes, like with Bjorn, I just acted without thinking, some strange, spinning internal compass showing me the way to true north. But the problem with following your gut instincts is when they stop talking to you, you’re just left high and dry, wondering how the fuck you got here. I sat down on the toilet seat, hands going to my hair, trying to make sense of it all.

Part of the reason why I stayed home when Jesse went out was because I never felt like I fit in his world. When we were home alone, we fit together just fine. It fell apart as soon as we left the front door. Where he worked, socialised, the people he hung out with, they were so different as to feel like a whole other species. Razor, Bjorn, all of the sleuth had worked hard to make me feel so much more comfortable, but still… I saw the women’s vicious expressions in my mind’s eye and it seemed to be a rude reality check.

I rubbed at my eyes, as if that would dislodge the memory, but… I’d worked hard on this shit, getting past the need to fawn in the face of my mother’s scathing looks, so I knew what to do. Those two girls meant nothing to me. Their scorn triggered me, but it didn’t have to derail the whole night. I deserved to be here as much as anyone. Shit, even more than them. My boyfriend owned the place…

My boyfriend?

Jesus, what else was he, was the whole sleuth? That was why I was feeling so off kilter. I kept refusing to deal with the reality. This situationship had evolved past that and into a relationship and it was always going to. They were never going to settle for something casual when they could try and claim all of me. I pulled up my skirt then, twisting to look at the tattoo that Bjorn had covered up with a bandage, realising this was just the first step…

To becoming their mate.

The idea didn’t upset me, terrify me, make me want to run out the door anymore. Instead, a terrible warmth set up in my chest, filling me with a similar golden light to what I’d experienced under the needle, but it glowed a little more gently. I smiled at the feeling of it, realising I’d never experienced anything like it in my life. It was what helped me unlock the door and step out, making me feel so much better, stronger. Of course, I couldn’t be allowed to just feel that, could I? Because at the sinks were two women. They straightened up when they saw me then turned around, looking mean as snakes.

Krystel and Tiffany had followed me into the bathroom.

Chapter 41

I walked past them and towards the sinks to wash my hands, because hey, maybe they just really needed to pee. Their eyes felt like they burned into my skin as I pumped out some soap then started to lather.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Krystel snapped.

“I would’ve thought it was obvious.” I held up my soapy hands. “Washing my hands after I went to the loo. Do you know how much faecal matter is supposed to be on public toilet door handles? The answer might surprise you.”

I went to turn the tap on to rinse off, but she slapped her hand down on the mixer, preventing me from doing so. I went to move to the next sink, when Tiffany appeared there.

OK then.

“I meant, what the fuck do you think you’re doing in this bar?” Krystel growled. She looked me up and down with insulting slowness. “You don’t belong here, with your wannabe clothes and stuck up bitch airs.”

“That right?” I grabbed a hank of paper towel and wiped the soap from my hands, pretty sure I was going to need them now. “Well, I’m not sure what you think I’m doing, but I know why you’re here.” Curiosity and anger warred in her eyes, but curiosity won. “Jesse’s gone out with ‘his boys’ again, hasn’t he? And he either didn’t let you know, or left you behind when you asked to come along.” I stepped closer to her, forcing her to tilt her head to meet my eyes. “That’s what he does, y’know. Don’t think that’ll go changing.”

“He’ll change for me,” she snapped.

“Oh honey…” I gave her my best patronising look. “That’s not how shit works. Haven’t you learned that yet? He’s making clear how he’ll treat you and that’s not going to improve, no matter what you do. You can’t like him, fuck him, love him into being anything other than what he is.” I blinked, feeling like I was talking to a younger version of myself, not some belligerent skank. “This is as good as it gets, so as long as you’re happy with that, I’ve got no beef with you.” I moved closer, smiling when she was forced to take a step back. “And I need to go out that door now.”

“I’ll jump the bitch,” Tiffany told Krystel. “I’ll fucking smash her head in. Just gimme the word—”

“And what’s your fucking problem?” Giving your back to a girl who was busting to crack you in the nose was not wise, but I did it anyway, spinning around to face Tiffany. “You came into the tattoo studio, panting over Bjorn, even as you talked about this Mongrel bloke—”

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