The Half That You See Rebecca Rowland (smart books to read txt) 📖

The whisky no longer burns as it goes down, but it’s still providing clarity. His words hit hard as only the truth can. “Fuck off, Jed. You’re just jealous.”

He leans forward and tops us both up.

“We used to go out on the town every week. The world was your oyster. Why did you have to get yourself tied down to that skank?”

He’s starting to slur his words already. And I know that tone; good things never follow.

“Take that back!” I demand.

“I’m just saying—you’re obviously not happy. We could do it again; the old team reunited. There’s an ocean of pussy out there, and you’re just playing it safe in the shallow end.”

“Jed, I’m not interested in that.  Look, I really don’t want to talk about it anymore!”

I lift the glass and tip its contents into my mouth. He fills it up as soon as it comes down.

“I care, that’s all,” he says, tone changing to a drunken and patronizing melancholy.

The blanket is being unwrapped; I am starting to feel vulnerable again, exposed.

“She doesn’t care; she doesn’t give a fuck—you know that. When was the last time she did anything for you? When was the last time you made love? Hell, when was the last time she even asked how you were doing?”

“She’s got a lot going on,” I reply.

“Don’t we all, goddammit! You need to stop being such a pushover!” he says, slamming his hand on the coffee table.

I sink the whisky. He’s getting to me. This is what he does; he’s even more manipulative than her. I feel my anger rising, not just with him, but with it all.

“It’s your own fault. You let her get away with it,” he continues.

My hand is shaking as I pour another.

“You’re just shit on her shoe, Paul. She just wants to control you. That’s why she’s always on you to take your pills. She’s part of the system.”

I drink the contents and refill the glass. He’s right; I know he’s right. That’s why it hurts. Each day, I hope it might get better. I don’t want much—just to be seen.

“I love her, Jed.”

“I know, Paul, but it isn’t mutual. Face it. It’s you and me against the world—always has been, always will be. I’m the one that’s been there from the start. Only I know what you went through as a child—the abuse, the trauma—nobody else will ever truly understand. How could they?”

I still have nightmares about it to this day, being hunched over in that small space, wet from my own urine and shaking at the sound of creaking floorboards. Christ knows how long they used to lock us in there, but it was a damn sight safer than being out in the open. I still have those scars to bear. They only let us out to clean and do the jobs they didn’t want to—God forbid if the work wasn’t up to scratch.

When they found us locked in the cupboard, I was only ten years old. I was almost starved to death—filthy and terrified. It was the neighbors that got the police onto them, just a few years too late.

Our so-called mother and father were sent from hell; I know that now. They’ll rot in prison, hopefully. I also know that being fed scraps underneath the door and being brought out for random beatings isn’t the usual childhood. To this day, I still walk with a hunch and wince at the sound of a squeaking floorboard. I wanted to get carpets put through the house, but Jacqui wouldn’t let me, even though she knows what I’ve been through.

Jed’s right. He’s the only one I really trust. The only one I can rely on to be there.

“I’m going to tell you this for your own good, Pauly,” he says. His face is suddenly creased with seriousness.

“Go on,” I encourage.

“I fucked her, too.”

The words don’t make sense at first, as if not in the correct sequence. The room is already starting to feel slightly off kilt, and everything seems a little less sharp.

“Oh, perhaps a handful of times. She’s an animal, Pauly. I’ll give you that.”

The room begins to slowly rotate. I feel disoriented—present, but not, as if out of my own body. I close my eyes to stop the spinning and take in some deep breaths. Finally, I’m coming back, and I land with a thud.

“And I have to wonder how many dicks she’s wrapped her hands around tonight.”

I can feel the rage consuming me. My body is shaking, blood pounding in my ear. My grip around the glass tightens, and some of the liquid splashes over the rim.

He’s smirking. Is he enjoying this?

Even as I bring the glass into his cheek, his face is twisted in a sneer, just like Father’s used to be. The glass shatters, sending shards to the floor, but some of it embeds in his skin, creating a stream of fresh crimson. His taunting smile fades, and almost immediately, I’m reeling backwards as his right fist connects with my cheekbone. My vision is filled with bright white, and there’s a loud ringing in my ear.

“How could you? I trusted you!” I scream, spittle spraying ahead. I reach for the marble bookend and bring it onto his nose. The pain in my head is off the charts, and my ears are still ringing, but I’m filled with uncontrollable fury as I continue to smash the paperweight into his face.

I don’t see the sucker punch coming, and the wind is immediately knocked out of me. I flail out for him, but he gets me again in the stomach, and a tiny bit of vomit spits out onto the floor beneath. His hands are around my throat now and squeezing tightly. Gasping desperately for air, I kick out redundantly. The pressure in my chest and my head is building, but I can't get any air in. Suddenly, I’m back in my old home, Father's arm around my neck. He's scolding me