Page 71 of When The Night Falls

‘No,’ I said with ease, but what I actually wanted was to tell the truth. In fact, I wanted to tell every single person in this room – the whole fucking world – that I had slept with her, only so I could deprive her of the excuse – the poor and pathetic excuse – which was but one among the several ridiculous excuses she had used to reject me. At least then, I would have been one step closer to achieving my goal – she would no longer have been able to hide behind the erroneous conviction that people would care about whom she invited into herself.

But I had made her a promise, and I intended to keep it. Besides, I could only befriend her if she remained unaware of my antagonism. I couldn’t imagine she would want anything to do with me if I told Jason prematurely.

I frowned when I realised that I ought to be questioning why it should matter whether I had been flirting with her or not.

‘Why?’ I asked, and his potential answer filled me with dread. Had we, unwittingly, shared a woman? ‘Is there something I should know?’

It bothered me that he decided to put on his jumper at that precise moment, because it made me wonder if he had done it deliberately to veil his reaction, or whether it was merely because he didn’t care all that much for the subject. Was it genuine or feigned nonchalance?

‘What do you mean “why”?’ he asked, but his voice was muffled. ‘Are you asking whether I fancy her?’ he continued as soon as his head popped out.

‘Do you?’

Something strange happened inside my chest as I considered the idea. There was a contraction, and for a moment, I stopped drawing breath.

‘Not really. She’s hot, though, really hot. Or perhaps beautiful is a better word to describe her. I’ve never been able to decide – she’s a good blend.’

‘Have you slept with her?’

Jason laughed. ‘No, we’re not like that. I’m only saying she’s attractive. Hardly think that’s worth fucking up our friendship for – pun intended.’

I faced my locker again, and it demanded some effort to remain composed. He hadn’t really denied anything – not as clearly as I would have preferred, anyway – and I couldn’t keep probing him about this without raising suspicion.

Would he have slept with her if offered the chance?

‘You don’t agree?’ he asked.

‘On what?’

‘That she’s attractive?’

I hadn’t the faintest idea why, but the question pissed me off.

‘Jason, she’s your best friend. Quit sexualising her.’ What I said gave the illusion that I refused to speak further on the matter for moral reasons, but the reality was that I wasn’t exactly sure why I wanted him to shut up. Perhaps it was because I felt nauseated at the possibility of him being sexually interested in her. The disgusting images were already feasting on my mind. Or perhaps it was because I wanted her for myself but didn’t want to take her from him. He was my brother, after all – the person I cherished the most. If he wanted her too, would I be able to let her go for his sake? Would he even desire her if he learned the truth about our past?

Now more than ever, I felt the strain of keeping the truth from him. I wished she hadn’t begged me not to tell. I wished she would have understood that, while Jason might have disliked the news at first, he would have come to terms with it within the span of a mere day – I was certain. Unlike me, he simply wasn’t capable of holding grudges. But now that she had demanded my silence, I couldn’t break it without self-sabotaging.

Jason’s eyebrows leaped up his forehead. ‘Damn, someone’s triggered. I wasn’t sexualising her, I was admiring her. There’s a difference. Christ.’

‘She’s well fit,’ a random bloke commented behind us then. ‘The bird with the black jumper covering her arse, right? I’d do her in a heartbeat.’

That sort of crass, macho behaviour was exactly the reason why women often felt hostile toward our gender. Like them, I had no patience with it. But that was only one among several reasons why his statement roused great ire in me.

I refused to acknowledge him. If I did, I worried I would inadvertently get myself into a fight. If there was one thing I had learned over the years, it was that my mouth was quite adept at getting me into serious trouble. It had earned me a black eye on more occasions than I cared to count, especially on the football pitch during my teenage years. So, with difficulty, I bit my tongue and faced away.

Jason appeared to notice my riled state, so he merely gave the bloke a nod before he turned his back to him as well.

‘What’s put you in such a foul mood?’ he asked very quietly.

I lost it. ‘Men who constantly sexualise women, as if their primary purpose is to please us, as if their personality and intellect are of secondary importance. I wish they’d understand that, by behaving that way, they’re doing us all a great disservice.’

‘Are you talking to me, mate?’ the bloke asked, sounding menacing.

I turned toward him, my muscles tensing as my stance grew hostile. I hated violence of any sort, but if he attacked, I was prepared to defend myself.

‘Well, since you ask, you must have identified with the men I’m referring to.’

His brown eyes lit with anger, and I could tell he was considering whether to strike me. Judging by the look of him, I was confident he had steroids to thank for the size of his muscles. I was still stronger than him, though, and much taller. He would be no match for me. Studying me from head to toe, he seemed to realise the same, so he took a step back and clenched his narrow jaw.

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