Page 3 of Choose the Bears

And now I needed to take the final step to sever the relationship completely.

Mike wasn’t supposed to be home. He usually spent hours after work drinking with his workmates, and on a Friday night? He might come home sometime in the early morning when the alcohol ran out, but not before. So, when I walked up the steps to our place and saw the door was open, I approached with trepidation. Had we been broken into, or…?

“Got a fishing rod, mate?”

That voice, it was like slimy fingers trailing along my neck, across my bare shoulders. Phil worked with Mike and was at least ten years older. He seemed to have taken Mike under his wing, encouraging his worst habits. He looked up when I walked in the door, the chaos here even worse because it seemed like Mike had emptied every cupboard and drawer to look for what he was after.

“Where’s my fishing rod, Imo?”

Not, “Hi Imogen, how was your day at work?” Not a kiss on my cheek or a hug, a smile to indicate that he was pleased to see me. Mike’s distant nature, his recklessness, his willingness to rebel against society’s rules, were what attracted me to himwhen we were still in school. Years later, this was exactly what exhausted me. He looked me up and down, a small look of displeasure on his face when I didn’t immediately reply.

But it wasn’t Mike’s look that worried me.

There was something hungry about Phil. He seemed to suck in the details of my body with a greedy slurp, like someone eating a bowl full of noodles. Those pale-blue eyes creased slightly as he shot me a sly smile. He made me uncomfortable, but more than that, he liked my reaction.

“Hall cupboard,” I said in my most neutral tone.

Mike’s eyes were slightly unfocussed, his mouth a little slack, so it was fair to believe he’d been drinking. This was when he was most volatile. He never hit me, I clung to that over and over, but that didn’t mean this wouldn’t devolve into an argument that lasted for hours and hours. One he would continue on his own even if I locked myself in our room. I felt a rush of relief when he pulled away, walking down the hall to drag out the ironing board, our suitcases dropping to the floor.

Saved me from getting them out later, I reasoned.

With a sound of pleasure, he pulled out his wrapped roll of fishing rods and his tackle box, then went staggering towards Phil.

But Phil wasn’t focussed on Mike.

His eyes hadn’t left me during the entire exchange. I’m sure he noted the way I took a step backwards without thinking, and that had his smile widening.

“Ready!” Mike announced, hoisting both items in the air.

“Nice gear.” The relief I felt when Phil finally glanced down at Mike’s equipment was palpable. “We’ll be fishing up a storm with that. Let’s head out to the fishing spot and eat fresh fish all weekend.”

They were going on an impromptu fishing trip for the next two days? I sent up a quick prayer of thanks to any deitylistening. Work had me doing a couple of shifts over the weekend, but I’d manage to drop in before and after them to grab the rest of my stuff.

“We’ll meet the others out there,” Phil continued. “It’ll be wild. The other fellas are bringing their women.” My whole body went stiff as he turned to me. “You should bring Imogen.”

I didn’t want that, some instinctive part knowing that going out bush, far away from the city, from people, from the police, was a very bad idea. My head moved of its own accord, shaking slightly back and forth in denial.

“You bringing your wife and kids?” Mike asked, peering at him owlishly.

That was exactly the wrong thing to say.

The hunger in Phil’s eyes intensified and transmuted, fusing with rage to become something truly terrible. I didn’t give a shit about my clothes, my sentimental keepsakes, right now.Get out, my heart thudded over and over.Get the fuck out.But I’d been forced to ignore that frantic beat over and over for months now, so I guess it was no surprise when I did just that now.

“No, mate.” Phil put on a veneer of civility like a mask, clapping Mike on the shoulder. “They’re not coming, but Imogen.”Stop saying my name, I thought furiously, but didn’t say a thing. “She could drive us out to the fishing spot. Means we could drink on the way.”

“Like we wouldn’t anyway.” Mike’s sloppy smile contrasted with my memories of news reports of people dying from being hit by drunk drivers. The impulse to bring that up rose and died, viciously smothered. He’d just get pissed and start arguing if I mentioned it. “But yeah…” It felt like my boyfriend looked at me for the first time since I’d gotten home. “You can come, Imogen.”

Gee, thanks, I thought, remembering the times when my heart would’ve leapt at the chance.

“I’ve got work—” I replied, my usual defence against his demands.

“Call in sick,” Phil said, the look in his eyes daring me to say no. “A weekend out in the bush is better than standing behind a cash register ringing up haemorrhoid cream and tampons.”

“Yeah—” Mike added, a belligerence that had nothing to do with me in his tone and everything due to alcohol and Phil’s presence.

“And then I’ll lose my job.” I stared at Mike, seeing the cogs in his mind turn slowly. We’d struggled to make rent, buy his precious beer, when I’d lost my job before due to his bullshit. His lips thinned and a familiar mulish expression on his face had me worried for a second.

“She can drive us out there then.” Mike nodded sharply even as Phil’s brows drew down. “Take us out and then pick us up.”

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