Page 30 of London's Calling: Part 1
Mickey
“No,” I say, barely holding on, barely refraining from smashing this apartment to pieces. I scoop up a quarter of the aloe vera, oats, and honey paste and gently spread it over the burn. These are not thermal burns, they look like friction burns, likely from a carpet or the ground. My blood boils in my veins at the thought of how she got them. She told me it wasn’t Clayton, but who then?
My thoughts are broken when Roni lets out a small sigh as I finish with the first arse cheek and move on to the other.
“What is that? It feels so good,” she says quietly.
“It’s something my mum used when I fell off my bike once and got bad road rash on my knee.”
“You should bottle it. You’d make a fortune just from the relief alone.”
I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure someone already did.” I apply the last of the paste, then hop off the bed, trying not to jostle her too much. “Just need to wash my hands. Don’t move, Roni,” I say as I head to the ensuite.
After washing my hands, I return to the bedroom, picking up the tube of arnica from the bedside table. Rounding the bed, I climb up beside her. She flips her head my way to watch me, her eyes following my every move.
Squirting some cream onto my fingers, I hold them up, then point to her side. She nods, giving me permission. Not that it matters because I’d do it regardless.
She flinches, wincing in pain as I carefully apply a layer of cream over her bruised ribs. It’s not big, but the bruise is deep and appears as though something hit her side.
I have to bite my tongue from demanding she tell me what—or more importantly who the fuck did this to her. But I know she’s not going to tell me no matter how much I press her.
I screw the lid back on the tube and toss it onto the bedside table.
“Thank you,” she whispers, and I almost don’t hear her.
Resting my hand on the bed, I tilt my head, taking her in. “Nothing to thank me for, Ice Queen,” I say, using my nickname for her because I understand how much it’s cost her to be vulnerable in front of me. For her to drop the tough as nails exterior she presents.
Something passes between us in that moment, and despite everything, all the things I should be angry at her for, my fury with her father, my dad’s warning about who she is, I know I’d do anything to protect her.
It’s a pipe dream.
I shift, ready to get up and leave her to rest, but her hand covers mine still resting on the bed, catching me off guard.
“Stay. I don’t want to be alone.”
Against my better judgement, I flip my hand over, wrapping hers in mine for a moment. “Okay,” I tell her, then I kick off my shoes and lay down beside her.
This should feel awkward, too intimate, as I lay on my side facing her, one hand tucked under my face, but surprisingly it’s not.
Her eyes close and several minutes pass. I think she’s asleep, then she breaks the silence.
“I’m sorry about last night. I had no idea we were meeting you.”
“Would it have stopped you from coming if you had?” I can’t keep the edge from my voice.
“It wasn’t my choice,” she says, eyes still closed, and I recognise the same edge to her voice as was in my own moments ago.
I hum something resembling a response while my mind drifts to reading between the lines of her answer. Something you don’t learn about living in this world, one of corruption and backstabbing and lies and violence, until it’s too late is that very little is by choice. Outsiders see all the riches, the flash cars and expensive houses, but beneath all that extravagance is a lack of control over almost all aspects of your life.
Your friends are those forced to spend time with you as a child in the hopes they can offer you something of value later. Decisions about where you live, eat nice meals, drink with your so-called friends and even down to who you marry, to some degree, are manipulated, coerced, so you choose someone who will be a benefit to the cause.
My father is one of few who have never tried to steer me into marrying for money or business. You only have to look at my sister to know that. Simone is shacked up with a cop, and in this world, if they aren’t on the take, then they are the enemy. While Dad isn’t happy about it, he hasn’t forced her to come home and ditch her cop boyfriend, even though there isn’t a chance he’ll sway Mitch to take a payoff and look the other way.
A soft snore comes from Roni, snapping me from my thoughts. I contemplate leaving—I should leave, but as I watch her sleep, I can’t seem to pull myself away. It’s a terrible idea to allow myself to get this close, but what started as a need to scratch an itch created from a fierce hate has morphed into something deeper and entirely more dangerous.
A vibration against my leg pulls me from the depths of sleep, but as I open my eyes, it ceases momentarily before starting up again. Roni is on her side facing me, still asleep—at least I thought she was.
“Are you going to get that?” she says as the vibration continues.
