Ridge Creek (19 page)

Watching as various documentaries, car racing and other
boring shows flick across the screen, I realize that it’s Sunday.  Hitting a
channel doing a rerun of ‘That ‘70’s Show’, Emma shrugs and hands me back the
remote.   “Not much on in the country on a Sunday.”

“Better than nothing,” I muse as I stare at the screen,
already bored.  I’m not too sure what I was expecting but this was not it. 
Somewhere in the back of my mind I was convinced that if we turned on the
television I would suddenly see images of myself as the hottest topic in
Australia. 

Apparently not.

“Beer and chips?” Emma asks as she gets up off the couch and
heads towards the bar.

“Sure,” I agree as I start flicking channels again.  There’s
a boring looking midday movie on one of the major channels.  I settle for the
movie.

Returning with chips and beer, Emma settles back in and we
both lean back to relax and enjoy our afternoon.   Jambo flies over and starts
strutting happily along the back of the couch.  With the room to ourselves, we
both find ourselves quickly relaxing and we spend the time catching up on each
other’s news.  Of course Emma knew most of mine but I still hadn’t heard all of
her goings on since I disappeared. 

It is about an hour later, as we are both deep in
conversation about some of her work that is backing up and how I can help with
it that a newsbreak comes on the television.  Hearing the announcement, we both
freeze mid conversation and swing our attention to the television.

Mentally bracing myself, I stare at the television waiting. 
And that’s when I get the biggest shock of my life.  A picture of Tony appears
on the screen.  Not me.

What the?

Flicking Emma a confused look, I continue staring at the
screen as she grabs for the remote and starts cranking the sound up.  It is
then that my brain freezes.  All conscious thoughts fly from my mind as it
struggles to receive small snippets of what the reporter is telling us. 

Tony is dead.  Executed in his home,
our
home, last
night.  A dark twist to the shocking disappearance of his beloved girlfriend
Arianna Lovett.  A presumed mob hit.  Investigations continuing into the nature
of Tony’s illegal business affairs.

Oh my God.

Finding myself panting slowly as I stare at the screen long
after the news item has finished, I suddenly become aware of Emma’s warmth at
my side.  At some point she has moved closer and wrapped her arms around me.

“He’s
dead,
” I squeal hysterically as I turn to lean
into her and push my head against her shoulder.  I’m thankful for her warmth
because I suddenly feel cold.  Ice-cold.

“Fuck,” Emma mutters against the side of my head as she
wraps me closer to her body.  “They got him.  They fuckin’ got him.  Jesus. 
Fuck.”

“Who do you think got him?” I ask hesitantly.

Pulling away slightly, she moves her face to look at mine. 
Looking serious she says, “The mob. I guess?”  It’s more a question than an
answer.  “Didn’t you say he said they’d kill you both?”

I nod in agreeance.  “Do you think they’ll be coming for me
next?” I ask, my voice trembling as all the old feelings of fear for my life
come pouring back in.

“I… I don’t know,” she sighs heavily as she stares at the
movie that is now running on the television again.  “It would have to be
unlikely wouldn’t it?  He was the one running the business through your site. 
I don’t suppose they care about the site designer specifically.  And maybe they
will figure that retribution has been taken.  You can’t be sure though.  I’d
say that this doesn’t mean you should reappear.  I think that if you place
yourself under their noses, they might be tempted.”

Shuddering, I lean back onto the couch and clasp my hands in
my lap.  Squeezing and massaging them together I try to focus on my hands as I
work through Emma’s theory in my mind.  She’s right.  As long as I stay out of
the scene it should all be okay. 

Tony’s dead.

At least I know
he
is not still looking for me. 
That’s some measure of relief.  And as Emma says, with retribution against him
now taken, perhaps they’ll forget about me?  Perhaps they’ll just assume that
Tony had me ‘whacked’ and the loop is now closed?  It’s likely I’m still
safe-ish.

“It’s probably a good thing, yeah?” I ask Emma as she
watches me, her face soft and concerned.

“Yeah, babe,” she agrees.  “He deserved it.  You know he
did.”

“Yeah,” I agree softly, my voice barely audible. Still
trembling, I feel the burn of tears in my eyes.

Why the fuck am I gunna cry?

He’s not worth crying over.  What’s wrong with me?

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to stem the flow of tears I
suddenly feel her arms wrapping around me again.  “It’s okay to cry, you know. 
You’re in shock.  Your body needs to let it go.”

“God,” I blurt before the tears start to let rip in earnest
and I find myself burrowing into her shoulder, sobs wracking my body.  Emma
holds me tightly for a few minutes as I let my feelings loose and cry.  It is
only as my sobs start to slow that she finally unwraps me and moves to stand
up.  “I’ll get some tissues.  And I probably need to change my shirt,” she
grins at me as she turns and shows me her wet back.

“Ewww, sorry,” I mumble as I start breathing heavily through
my nose to slow my crying jag down.  Watching her as she vanishes out the door,
I lean forward to grab my half consumed beer from the floor in front of me and
take a huge swig.  Time to buck up little camper and get the fuck over it.

What feels like a few seconds later, Emma reappears with a
box of tissues.  She is wearing a clean top.  “Sorry about that,” I murmur as I
take the tissues, ripping three out of the box and wiping at my face.

“No worries babe.  You okay now?” She asks her voice once
again concerned.

“Yeah.  Time to move on from that little episode.”

Sitting up straighter, wiping at my face, I do feel better. 
I watch as Emma slides back down into the seat next to me while saying, “Good
woman.”  Grabbing her own beer she takes a swig and looks at me thoughtfully. 
“What now?”

“Let’s download a decent movie, this one is crap.  Then
let’s get drunk so I don’t have to think about Tony anymore.  Then we can go to
bed, get up again and go shelf shopping with Luke.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

*****

Three hours later…

Returning from yet another trip to the toilet, I mentally
tally the drinks I have downed and start to wonder why I’m not drunk off my
ass.  Clearly being an alcoholic creates a certain tolerance.  I am getting to
the point where I can drink copious amounts of top-shelf spirit and still
function.

Nice.

Or maybe not so nice.  Getting drunk all the time is clearly
not the answer to all my problems. 

But it does seem to help.

Mentally chastising myself and making a promise to drink
water for the rest of the day and sober the fuck up, I find myself staring
straight ahead down the hallway at my bedroom door. 

I should turn left and head back to the communal room where
Emma, Towball, Pops and a couple of other guys are sitting at the bar waiting
for me.  But somehow like a moth to a flame I find myself walking along the
hallway, my eyes focused on the bedroom door.

Jake.

Perhaps it’s time for our chat?  Perhaps now is a good time
to try to clarify what is going on between us?  And I need to talk to him about
the shopfront.  Considering I am planning on heading off to buy a stack of
shelving tomorrow, I should probably bring him in on my plan.    For all I
know, he’ll wake up and go home and then I’ll miss my opportunity.

Surely he’s slept long enough?

Standing outside the door, I hesitate and stall as I
consider whether it is too presumptuous to walk in and wake him up.  I also
wonder if he’s one of those guys who wakes up in a foul mood.  If he’s one of
those types it might not be the best time to talk to him about
anything. 
Especially
about rearranging his shopfront.

Bah!  Who cares?

We need to talk.

Grabbing the door handle I twist it slowly and push the door
open.  The room is still grayed out from the heavy drapes drawn across the
windows.  I can see Jake lying on his side facing the far wall, one  huge arm
wrapped around a pillow holding it to his head.   The other is flung forward,
his hand resting in front of him.  He still looks to be sleeping soundly.

Closing the door softly behind me, I approach the bed as my
eyes accustom to the dim light.  I am soon able to make out the dark shadows of
the tattoo on his neck.  Flicking my eyes to the floor, I can see that he must
have wakened at some point.  His socks, pants, jacket and shirt are now tossed
on the floor next to the bed and he is underneath the doona cover.

Moving closer to the bed, I tread softly as I wander to the
far side of the bed to so I can see his face.  It is as I approach that I
notice his eyes are open.  He is blinking slowly as he watches me draw closer.

“You’re awake,” I whisper quietly, still not sure he is. 
Maybe he is one of the people who can sleep with their eyes open?

“Yeah,” his deep voice crackles from having just woken up.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you grumpy?” I ask hesitantly, wondering if he will
tell me to take a hike.

I hear his deep chest rumble as he chuckles softly.

Apparently not.

Standing next to the bed, I watch as he pulls his arm out
from under the pillow and rolls to his back.  “Why would I be grumpy?” He
crackles again, sounding amused.

“Because I woke you up,” I reply as I place a knee on the
bed and cross it under myself so I can lean back on the headboard, turned slightly
to face him.

Twisting his head to look at me, I can see he is smirking. 
The dark shadows of his unshaved face highlighting the strong shape of his jaw
and the brightness of his teeth.  His eyes look black in the dim light. 

Moistening his lips and then yawning, he says, “No I’m not
grumpy.  Yet.  But I suppose that might change, depending on
why
you
woke me up.  Or more to the point, what you plan to do with me now that I am
awake.  I can think of few things
I’d
like to do and I’m sure they’ll
make it a definite that I
stay
not grumpy.”

Oh.

Perhaps now is
not
the time for us to have a chat?

Staring at his darkened face, I find myself lost for words. 
What do I say in response to a statement like that?  Chewing at my lip, I watch
as he starts smirking again.  “Cat got your tongue?”

“Umm…”

“I’ll give it a chance to loosen up.  Gotta go for a slash
and brush my teeth.  Wait here.” 

Still unable to develop words, I watch as Jake throws the
covers back to reveal the entirety of his huge body.

Fuck he’s huge.  Everywhere.

And hard.  And very very muscly.  When does he get time to
work out?

I swear to God my heart stops as I stare at his body as he
rolls form the bed, grabs his jeans, pulls them up and strides to the door. 
Grabbing the handle he twists and yanks the door open quickly.  Then he is
gone.

Holy shit.

Should I get the fuck out of here?  Do I want to?  Staring
at the open doorway, I consider my choices and decide.

No I don’t want to go anywhere.  I’m staying put.

I want Jake to come back and do whatever it is he wants to
do to me.  We can talk later.

Expansion Of Morality

Jake wanders back into the room carrying a bottle of water. 
He closes the door behind him and walks to the window to open the curtains just
far enough to spread dim light through the room.  Returning to the bed, he
peels his jeans off as he approaches before sliding himself back under the
covers.  After fiddling with his pillows, he settles with his back against the
headboard.  With a single twist, he removes the lid from his water bottle.  I
sit and stare in silence as he lifts the bottle to his lips and drains the
contents in one go.  He replaces the lid and flings the empty bottle on the
floor.

“Jesus,” I mutter as the bottle skids across the floor
before coming to rest leaning against a wall.  “Do you ever put rubbish in the
bin?”

“If a bin is within easy reach, yes.  If not, no.”

“No wonder this room was such a mess when I first got here,”
I mumble swinging my eyes away from the bottle to settle on his bright green
ones.  That is, after my eyes take their time drinking in his enormous chest,
tattoos and eyebrow piercing.  “I estimate the room held a few years of rubbish
before you mother cleaned the floor.”

“Yep,” he agrees, grinning like a cheeky schoolchild.  His
eyebrow piercing lifts and his eyes sparkle a brilliant green.  I note he
doesn’t look tired any more.  He looks wide-awake and refreshed. 

With a small grin of my own, I shake my head and roll my
eyes.  Without warning, the cheekiness slides from his face and his eyes
narrow.  “A word of warning.  I’ve already told you I don’t like the bitching
and moaning about mess so don’t fuckin’ start on me woman.  It won’t end well. 
It never does.”

Right then.

We shall not be mentioning his rubbish tossing habits
any
more.

“Noted,” I say as I roll my eyes at him again.  “Any other
warnings?”

He starts to grin again, and looks even more pleased with himself
as he adds, “I don’t clean.  Ever.  If you want something clean, have at it.  I
also don’t cook.  The main reason being that if I did, it would force a need to
clean.  So to avoid cleaning, and because I don’t like food poisoning, I either
buy take-away or go out to eat.”