Page 66 of Fletch

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, shovelling eggs into my mouth.

“She’s not gotten out of bed all week.”

“She’ll be fine, Ruby. Sometimes adults just need time to process.”

“And sometimes they need to see a doctor, but I can’t even get her to shower let alone leave her room.”

I drop my fork on the plate with a clatter. “Who’s looking after you?”

“Me,” she says with a laugh. “I always take care of myself.”

“That’s not on you. She should be keeping an eye on you. Have you been eating?”

“Yes, Fletch, I can cook for myself.” She adds a laugh, and it just reminds me of how much I don’t know about her.

“That’s not the point,” I snap. I spent my childhood looking after myself, and I won’t let Ruby do the same. “I’ll talk to her.”

“No, it’s fine. I think you’ll make it worse.”

“Worse than it already is?”

She shrugs. “Good point. She told Mark that she’s planning on moving away with me.”

“That ain’t happening.” I’ve spent every day this week getting to know Ruby, and no one is taking her away again. “Besides, she can’t do much when she won’t leave her room.”

“Mark said she can’t leave until her job has finished their investigation. Do you know what they’re investigating?” she asks.

I shake my head. My first lie. “Stay here, give me your key. I’ll go and see her.”

She reluctantly hands over her key. “Please don’t make it worse.”

Gemma

I gasp, sitting upright and coughing violently. “Get the fuck up.” Cold water soaks into my pyjamas and bed sheets. I look up in shock to find Fletch glaring at me with an empty bucket in his hand. My heart slams hard in my chest. I grab the wet sheets and lie back down, pulling them over myself.

“Ruby is going out of her mind with worry,” he yells. “Sort yourself out.”

“Leave,” I whisper.

“Gemma, please.”

“I can’t be around you,” I mutter, realising how true that statement is.

“Until you start looking after Ruby, I’ll be here.”

“Please,” I murmur, embarrassed at how desperate my voice sounds. “Just leave.”

“What do you want, Gemma?” he snaps. “What’s the plan here? To live in your bed forever? The problems won’t go away.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“So, face them. Stop hiding.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re not facing them.”

“I’m done,” I tell him, letting my tears mix with the wetness on my pillow. “I just want to go.”

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