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“You are an idiot. To submit is to give willingly what you have to somebody else for whatever purpose. I was going to give myself to you. My support, my help, and my team of contract negotiators, so they could screw your suppliers and get you a fair deal. Instead, you lash out and threaten me in my own home. When have I ever threatened you, Anthony?”
“When we were kids, you bullied me, Jason—”
Jason cut across him with an icy dismissal. “Finished. You know that. Mum ended it.”
“You bought out my company—”
“You signed the fucking papers handing it to me. You agreed. It was only afterwards you felt embarrassed because I managed to pick up the pieces and put it back together. I make a career out of disassembling and resembling companies. Yet you assume I did it to spite you. No fucking gratitude from you. Not a word of thanks. I lost money and time saving your company. I will do the same for you again. But, you have to ask me. Ask me, Anthony, and I will help you. I’m begging you to ask me, Anthony. Make this work.”
Leaning against a wall, I put my hands to my mouth and smothered a sob of anguish. To listen to this conversation was painful in a way canes or clamps could not hurt. My husband was, in his world of business, giving himself to his brother. In the same way I gave my body and let him control me, my husband wanted his brother to take what he could give Anthony, his wealth of experience and resources, although not money, at least not directly.
An eerie silence followed Jason’s appeal. I held my breath, anxious to know if it had worked.
“I’m going let you go now. Okay?” said Jason.
“Yes.” A single word with no embellishment, it gave me little comfort.
Feet shuffled on the boards and I pictured two dishevelled men facing each other, red-faced and tense.
“Shall we go into the kitchen, sit down with a drink, and talk this through sensibly?” suggested Jason.
I scampered back to the sink, the farthest point from the door. Bad-tempered men, uncontrollable men—the fear refused to abate, and I started to shake.
Jason came through the door first, his outline a hazy blur, a figure moving in the light of the kitchen, and behind him was Anthony, his hand swinging by his side. What was he doing?
I honed in on Anthony’s jeans as he fished something out of the back pocket. Something metal glinted. It shone like handcuffs. I shuddered violently, unable to focus because the terror had returned, unleashed and sucking my rational view of the world away. Sweat collected under my armpits, in the palms of my hands, and across my forehead. I wanted to scream a warning, but my lungs refused to expel their contents and I froze, mouth open. Above all else, I needed space, fresh air, and a sanctuary. Where did I run to?
My vision tunnelled. Nothing made sense any longer. I’d begun to superimpose other images clambering for release from the dark recesses where I hid them.
Dear God, no. I closed my eyes and swayed, tipping forward.
“Jeez, babe.” Jason’s voice penetrated the darkness. “Don’t, babe. You’re safe, Gem.”
Jason clung to me, and I merged into his enveloping limbs.
We were both on the kitchen floor. He’d been whispering to me. Jason’s words of comfort in my ears re
minded me my blue-jeaned nemesis was gone, dead and buried, and I was safe. No one would hurt me again. Ironic, because my bottom throbbed. I smiled.
“What’s the smile for?”
“I’m not comfortable,” I murmured.
“Oh. Perhaps if we got off the floor?”
As we rose, I spied Anthony on the other side of the kitchen, perched on a chair. With Jason and I hidden behind the breakfast bar, he’d remained out of view. He held a metal object in his lap—a small pocket comb.
Crap. What an idiot I’d been. If I had kept my eyes on reality, inside of drifting off into a world of flashbacks, I would have recognized a comb.
The tears lapping on the edge of my eyes were brought on by shame. Why couldn’t I control my traumatic past or stay rational in the face of anxieties?
“Gemma?” piped up Anthony, rising from his seat. “Are you all right? You went white as a sheet.” His hands trembled, and his cheeks tinged with paleness. He didn’t appear angry, quite the contrary, he had the air of somebody who was embarrassed as myself. His awkwardness fed my own. How to explain my sudden breakdown?
“I…I…got a bit scared, that’s all. Shouty men. It’s not my thing. I don’t cope well.”
Jason touched my arm. “Nothing to do with earlier?” No, the caning hadn’t been the image in my mind prior to the panic attack. I shook my head.
Jason led me to a chair and I sat.
