Page 50 of Rectify

I hear her sharp intake of air. “I’m so sorry, Jay.”

“Don’t be. Shit happens,” I snicker.

The conversation loses traction as the heavy silence stretches over us. I don’t know how to comfort myself in moments like this, let alone make her feel less guilty for asking.

The progress we made is taking a nosedive because I don’t want to talk about how it felt like the pieces of my life were all starting to finally fit together, just to be reminded of how easy it can all be taken away.

Now I’m just used to it. For any good thing that comes my way, I expect something to heartlessly whisk it away.

“Jay.” Her scared voice interrupts my pity party.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to let you go.”

“Sasha, I—”

“Jay. Don’t,” she says in a commanding voice. “Don’t pretend you’re okay for my sake. Get off the phone, and let yourself feel however it is you want to feel right now.”

“But I called to talk to you.”

“And I’ll be here the next time you call.”

I don’t want to admit that she’s right, that I need to work out how to get out of my own head now that Bianca is in it.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“And I’ll be waiting,” she responds earnestly. “Night Jay.”

“Night, Sasha.”

* * *

I’m feeling a little off centre as I get Lily settled in at school. After hanging up with Sasha, I got lost in a fog of memories. Bianca’s been dead for as long as Lily’s been alive, it will always be the double-edged sword of my life. The highest of highs, right there with the lowest of lows.

Usually I push that shit right to the back of my mind, but watching Max in her depressed state, and dealing with my own version of mourning Leroy, is bringing up wounds that will never heal.

I’m two steps away from the exit when I hear my name.

“Jay.” After last night I had no idea what it would be like when I saw her again, praying there would be no pity. It’s the last thing I want, and especially from Sasha.

But as those beautiful toffee coloured eyes look at me with worry and concern, I know I have nothing to be worried about.

We meet each other in the empty corridor. I shove my hands into my pockets, forcing myself not to touch her. She looks around, to see if anyone is watching, and it feels very reminiscent of our teenage years.

The coast must be clear enough for whatever she has planned, because she wraps her small hand over the inside of my elbow, and drags me into a nearby room.

The door slams, and automatically locks as we face each other.

“Do you think it’s a good idea if we have sex at your workplace,” I joke, knowing very well there is little to no chance that will ever happen.

“We’re not having sex here she,” she whisper-shouts while softly hitting the top of my shoulder.

“I know, Pretty Girl, I’m kidding.”

She places her hands behind her back and steps a little bit too far away before speaking. “I just wanted to see how you were.”

“Aren’t you sick of asking me if I’m okay?”

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