Page 41 of The Refusal

“Janus—” he starts.

“Fuck this, fuck all of this.”

It’s all I can manage, and before I explode with everything raging through me, my feet take me out of the apartment and down the stairs of his building toward the street and fresh air.

* * *

The creased T-shirt, the red curls in disarray, his black boxers. Jesus. I tip my head back as everything swims. Am I madder at him or her? He knew, he fucking knew I was into her, and he went and did that? I clench my fists, bouncing as I walk up the road; I could fight, I could. The empty street echoes around me, a blur of red brick. A rough snarl tightens my neck. I wrench my phone out of my pocket and stare at the screen, but I have no idea what I’m looking at.What? What was I fucking thinking?Uber. As I press on the app, a shout from behind me ricochets off the buildings and I turn to see Fabian running toward me, barefoot and clothes askew. I don’t need any more evidence that he just left a warm bed curled up with Jo. Something about his bare feet eats at me. He met me at his door in hisboxersfor fuck’s sake. Were they naked? Vomit crawls up the back of my throat again.

“It’s not what you think, Janus,” he shouts as he runs down the sidewalk, hands chopping, either in agitation or in an attempt to calm me down—I can’t tell.

And then he is there right in front of me and hot lava boils up inside and a deep sense of betrayal and before I know what I’m doing my arm has swung out and connected with his cheekbone, which gives a sickening crack. He goes down like a sack of potatoes.

“You fucking bastard!” I shout, leaning over him to make sure I’m right in his face, and my cab is forgotten in my rage and the satisfaction of being able to lash out. He moans and rolls onto his back on the damp sidewalk.

“Goddammit!” He shakes his head. “What are you doing?”

“You bastard,” I growl, taking three agitated paces away from him before stepping back. My leg twitches with the need to kick him.

“I didn’t fucking sleep with her, okay?” he groans, looking up at me. “My fucking face!” He sits up holding his cheek. “What the hell did you do that for?”

Spitting, face hot, I reel away from him. “You knew, you bastard. You knew I was into her and—”

“I didn’t have sex with her. Fuck, Janus, come on, I wouldn’t do that, you know I wouldn’t.” He’s shouting as loudly as me now, face twisted and flushed. I’m glad the street is quiet, the blank windows the only things witnessing this meltdown.

The words seep into my skin. I pull myself up, focus on him properly, but I don’t see any guilt; only knitted brows and a sharp rosy bruise appearing on his cheek. Honesty always, that was our motto, no matter how bad.

“Calm down,” he says, and it almost makes me laugh that he’s the one saying this to me. I turn away, running my hands through my hair and groaning. “Fuucck!” My voice bounces off the red brick of the buildings.

He pushes himself forward and gingerly probes his face. “I think you’ve broken something. That fucking hurt.”

He sits with his head bent between his knees as I pace up and down the sidewalk.

“Janus. I didn’t do anything with your girl. Honest to God, man, when have I ever even looked at a girl you were interested in? Seriously? You know me better than that. She came over to code last night, and we got on a roll and before we knew it, it was 3 a.m. and I gave her my bed and I slept on the sofa. All my bedding is still there; you can come and check.”

Blood thunders in my ears. Is he telling me the truth? Coding? I’m supposed to believe that?

“Why the hell were you coding with Jo?”

“I found your tracking program on my system.” He prods his face again, wincing.

And just like that my stomach falls through the floor. Oh! This is the worst possible thing. Apologies and explanations rush up my throat, but then it occurs to me that sleeping with Jo was possibly some kind of retaliation for him, and bile bubbles up again. The fucker.

“So you slept with her to get your revenge.” I fold my arms on my chest.

“No,hellno, you cunt.” His voice rises as he waves an arm dismissively, talking loudly like I’m a small child. “I know you found a map of your system on my desk; I know why you put the code on my computer—I’m not mad about that at all. After I discovered the tracking software, I went to see Jo, and she told me you’d chanced on your system diagram in my flat. I panicked that I’d messed this up”—he motions between us—“That’swhy she offered to come to my place to help, to have a more detailed look at your network with me.”

What is he talking about? “Why would you think you’d fucked this up?” I make the same gesture between us that he made.

“Because I hacked into your system, man! I thought you’d never trust me again.”

So, heisour hacker? Oh,holy shit. I turn away and stare at the red brick of the buildings disappearing down the street.

“What the hell were you doing, hacking into my systems?”

But he doesn’t answer the question; he just eyes my pacing and says, “Are you going to lay into me again?”

“What? No!” Somewhere in the course of this conversation my blood has cooled. I hunch my shoulders in on myself. There was no excuse to lash out like that. My dad always encouraged me to apologize quickly. The words“Rip the Band-Aid off fast”echo in my head.

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