Page 69

Willow

By day three of my period, the pains were easing, and the sickness disappeared. Regrettably, I was in full-grump mode. I couldn’t do anything without irritating myself, and even worse, I was snapping at Jack.

He insisted he understood and there was nothing to apologise for, but I felt guilty, nonetheless.

With the curtains shut, blocking out daylight that begged to flood the room, I was slumped beneath a blanket on what was fast becoming my go-to sofa, whilst Fran was stretched over the other as we watched the previous night’s episode of The Graham Norton Show.

We’d fallen into a comfortable silence with the occasional chuckle or comment about a guest.

I had a lot of time for Fran.

She could have found my relationship with her dad strange, but from the off she’d treated us the same as before, just with an extra-fond smile whenever we showed fleeting physical affection.

By all accounts, she was pleased her dad had found someone who loved him as he deserved, while Fran and I behaved as the close friends we had always been destined to become.

The closing credits played, and I huffed. There were only so many reruns and daytime television I could entertain myself with. I was almost itching to return to the office or commit to a course just to fix my boredom. It was like I was waiting for something to happen, yet nothing had.

“What’s the time?”

“Um, three o’clock,” Fran replied, glancing at her phone.

“I want to do something. Fancy going out for dinner?”

“I don’t know…” she replied sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

“What’s that look for?” I sat up, letting the blanket pool around my waist.

“Nothing, let’s just stay in?” She snuggled further under her blanket, avoiding me.

I pushed off the sofa, ignoring the niggling pain in my stomach, and yanked the blanket down her face, finding her typically porcelain skin-stained pink.

“Tell me Francesca Lambert or I’ll take a marker to your shoe collection. ”

“You wouldn’t! ” Her eyes flashed with fear.

“Test me.”

“You bitch,” she joked. I smirked but held my position. “ Fine. Dad said we’ve got to stay in for a while. He said it isn’t safe for either of us, so w-we’ve got to stay in. It’s too risky—”

My head turned to fog as I clung to her words. We’ve got to stay in. Fran continued to ramble, justifying herself. But all I could hear was Jack’s lack of communication. Demanding I stay locked in his fortress to keep me from the big bad wolf.

We’d talked about this. We’d agreed we were entitled to continue living our lives to the fullest whilst keeping a watchful eye out.

But this was the opposite of living our lives.

He’d never given me those instructions, just whispered it behind my back.

How many others had he told? He was allowed to worry, but I was over men telling me how I should live.

“Willow?” I realised I’d been staring at Fran whilst in my haze.

“No. We’re going out. I’m going for a shower,” I snapped, and stomped out of the living room, up the stairs and into the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes in my wake.

As hot water rained over me, I seethed. I trusted Jack to never put limitations on my life.

He experienced first-hand the extent to which Cain had held me back, prevented me from creating a life and fulfilling dreams, and yet Jack had the audacity to force the same constraints on me.

Better yet, he was unwilling to share those constraints with me , communicate with me.

We’ve got to stay in.

My skin reddened, from the heat and my rage in equal measures.

Nothing could stop me now. I was leaving this house for some well-earned girl time.

Jack needed to sit and think about what he’d done.

I was completely fucking over people walking all over me, simply because I was a kind, sweet-natured chronic people pleaser.

If people hurt me, they deserved to feel shit, and I deserved to fight my own corner.

Was I extra angry because of my raging period? Possibly, but it was time society stopped assuming women’s feelings were solely down to their fluctuating hormones.

My inner rageful monologue continued as I dried myself off, fit my period cup and moved into the wardrobe, picking out a casual outfit for dinner and drinks. Laying my clothes out, I dried my hair into soft waves.

Jack entered the room as I stood at the floor-to-ceiling mirror in my black underwear, adding a light veil of makeup.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you. ”

He wrapped his arms around my middle, adding the pressure to my lower belly that I’d told him I loved when I was on my period. Where the gesture had felt loving, it was now suffocating.

“You’re beautiful.” He kissed the space between my neck and shoulder, and I battled with the need to revel in his comfort and stand my ground.

I wriggled out of his grip, returning the mascara to my makeup bag and grabbing a mauve lipstick. I felt his eyes on me as I returned to the mirror.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” I continued to ignore him, lining my cupid’s bow and bottom lip, then filling the rest in. “Willow? What’s wrong?” He placed a hand on my shoulder, and I snapped around, his hand flung from my skin like he’d been burned.

I scowled up at him, desperately trying to remain angry at the man with the beautiful face and sweet gestures. His actions had hurt me, regardless as to their intentions. I was angry and it was mostly his fault.

“What’s happened? Talk to me, baby. That’s what we do, remember?” The fucking cheek.

“Oh, I remember. Shame it slipped your mind.” I moved to step around him, but he blocked my path, frowning at me.

“What are you talking about?”

I turned the other way, moving to where my clothes were laid out whether he liked it or not. I circled the TENS belt around my lower belly, laying it just where my pains persisted.

“The communication rule only applies when you’re seeking information from me, right?” I was being a petty bitch.

“Of course not, sweetheart—”

“Then why the fuck are you telling Fran I’m not allowed out the house?”

His frown crumpled with realisation. He sat on the bench opposite the mirror, folding in on himself. I pulled on my cropped black jeans as he mentally backtracked.

“Willow, no… it wasn’t like that—”

“Then what was it like?” I hauled my black tee over my head, tucking it into my jeans.

“I-I just want to keep you safe,” he whispered.

“So, she wasn’t wrong then? Who else did you tell to keep me locked away? Mack? Elle? Is that why they’re coming round rather than me going out?”

“No, Elle conveniently offered,” he whispered before getting brave. “And if I remember correctly, it was your suggestion for Mack to start sessions here.”

His clever comment irked me, and I pointed a finger at his chest, seething .

“ Don’t get clever with me Jack Lambert. Can’t you see how this looks? How I might feel?” I grabbed my Converses from the shoe cubby he’d sweetly made space for.

“I’m sorry.” He hung his head in shame.

I wiggled my shoes on from standing, unwilling to sit by him. If I sat, he might comfort me, and I might relent. I had to stand my ground.

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked if you understood how I’d feel if I found out you’d told people I couldn’t leave the house.”

“I only said it to Frannie. I have to make sure you’re safe.”

“But what about me?” I raised my voice. “What about communicating with me? From the start, you were clear about us working together. Through fear, through the big feelings. Yet you can’t tell me you’d feel more comfortable if I stayed in the house for a few weeks rather than keeping me hostage just in case ?

Did it ever occur to you that I might want a say? ”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it—”

“No, you fucking shouldn’t. It’s humiliating and I thought you were better than this, Jack.” I stomped as I finished tying my shoes.

“Where are you going?” He stood as I grabbed my leather jacket and moved out to the bedroom.

“I’m going for dinner with Fran. We’ll be back later.” I began the journey downstairs, catching Fran hovering on the stairs above us watching in horror.

“Like hell you are.” He grabbed my wrist, and I swung round glaring.

For a split second, my life flashed back to the cold semi-detached house in Kenton. Hands I never consented to gripping me tighter than was comfortable. Venomous words I was too scared to question.

“I suggest you remove your hand before I really lose my shit,” I bit out. He dropped my wrist instantly. My heart rate calmed. Jack wasn’t Cain, and this was just an argument. We’d be fine once we had time to calm down.

I marched down the stairs, Jack hot on my heels. “We’re going out. I’ve already lived a life of sepia tones, I deserve technicolour. You don’t get to make decisions for me, Jack.”

“Please don’t go,” he choked out, and I almost, almost gave in. “Willow, I’m begging you. I’ll make you dinner, watch whatever film you want. Just please stay here.”

I looked at him, his face struck with grief, a tear dripped down my face and his gaze tracked it.

“You can’t keep me locked away,” I whispered.

“I know.” He stepped forward, cupping my cheek in his palm and brushing the tear away with a thumb. “But I need you to trust me, you’re not safe out there. I need to keep you safe. ”

“This isn’t some chauvinistic fairytale. You don’t trust me, Jack.”

“I do trust you.” His arms snaked around my waist, tugging me into a hug. “I don’t trust him .”

“Then let me go out tonight. Trust me to keep myself safe. Trust Fran to keep herself safe. We can text you when we arrive and—”

“No.”

His voice was stern. I pulled out of his embrace, stepping back. The words that followed were unequivocally the most hurtful and most inaccurate I’d ever say to Jack Lambert.

“Then you’re no better than him.”

Tears cascaded as I watched pain slice through the love of my life. I held eye contact with him as I hauled on my jacket. “Let’s go, Fran.” I saw her beyond Jack halfway up the stairs. Jack spoke with grief and heartache.

“I swear to god, if you leave that door—”

He was interrupted by Fran, standing between the two of us as if we were at risk of headbutting.

“Dad, don’t. I know whatever you’re going to say you’ll regret.”

Through heavy breathing, our eyes remained connected over Fran’s head. Fear, heartache, and frustration were silently conveyed. Words had been said, hurt had been shared but still there remained so much love.

“We’ll stay at home. Go to Mike’s and calm down,” Fran instructed uncharacteristically strictly. When Jack didn’t move, she called his name. His eyes flicked to hers before returning to mine and nodding.

He grabbed his coat from the newel of the stairs and moved towards the door. As he brushed past, he stopped.