Saving Grace

9

The cork made a plonk sound as my brother ripped it out of the bottle.

With a concerned expression, he leaned over the small, round kitchen table and half-filled two coffee mugs with Alisa Caol. Scott looked a lot like me when he was worried – we had the same furrowed brow, nestled in on our acne-scarred foreheads, between our sympathetic brown eyes and mops of mahogany-coloured hair. Our shoulders, too, would tense up and hunch over, so I suppose the only real difference between us lied in our frames – mine a lanky, bone-jutting structure and his a lean and proportionally correct assembly. He pushed the cork back into the bottle and sat it on the table.

"So this girl, Grace," Scott said, turning his chair to face me. "You guys were just about to – you know – and then she yelled at you to leave?"

I took a scotch-laced mug in my hands, leaned back in the leather chair.

"Pretty much," I shrugged, examining the scotch.

"She sounds a bit..." Scott trailed off. "Bat-shit?"

I cracked a smile.

"I guess she is, but in a good way."

Just as the words passed my lips, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Grace's name blinked at me from the screen.

"Speak of the devil," I sighed, tapping the green icon. "Hello?"

"Look," she snapped. "I don't give a shit whose phone you're using or why you're using it, but if you don't stop fucking calling me I swear – "

"W-what are you talking about?"

"The phone calls, Richard."

"What phone calls?"

"The ones you've been making to me all day and night since we stole Jack's car."

"I have never called you. You always call me."

"Don't play dumb with me."

"I'm not playing dumb! I've not the slightest clue as to what you're accusing me of but the last time I checked, you were screaming at me for no damn reason, and now you're doing it again."

"It wasn't for no reason at all!"

"Then what is the reason?" I paused. Silence. "So that's it? Nothing to say?"

Grace's anger simmered through the line.

"Call me again and I'll have you charged for harassment."

She hung up.

With clenched teeth, I gripped the phone in my fist and threw it across the room. Scott jumped to his feet.

"Jesus! Richie!" He paused, eyes darting back and forth. "What the hell was all that about?"

"Who the fuck knows?" I growled, sinking the Alisa in one enormous gulp.

"God," he said, lowering himself back into the chair. "You've really got it bad for this girl, haven't you?"

I scowled at him, fell silent as I poured myself another drink. A moment passed and Scott narrowed his eyes at me.

"Don't go and start that," he demanded.

I eyed him.

"Start what?"

"Retreating. You always do that when you're upset – retreat into yourself and keep busy until you've convinced yourself and everyone around you that you're fine."

"I am fine."

"You're grinding your teeth."

I froze, pried my teeth apart.

"It doesn't mean anything."

"It means you love this girl."

"I don't even know this girl, never mind love her."

"Then why are you so emotional?"

I flicked up my eyes.

"I... I'm not emotional. I don't get 'emotional'."

"Oh, I know you don't get emotional," my brother said. "Which makes it even more curious as to why you are emotional."

I shook my head, averted his eyes.

"Come on, Rich."

"Leave me alone."

"Talk to me, will you? Before you go completely insane?"

"You're so pushy," I sighed.

"Then tell me, and I'll shut up."

I gave him a look. He wouldn't shut up and he knew it. Regardless, I bit my lip, lowered my eyes.

"I don't..." I choked. "I don't love her. Really, I don't. But god dammit, if she doesn't get under my skin. She just has this way about her, you know? The way she walks, the way she looks at you... it's intoxicating. And infuriating. I haven't known her long but I have known her long enough to realise..."

Scott leaned forward in his chair. I shook my head.

"To realise that she will be the death of me."

A look of genuine affection softened my brother's chiselled face and he cracked a smile as he leaned back in his chair.

"But you don't love her, right?"

I slapped his arm, a smile coming across my face.

"Hey, hey!" He said. "Alright, you don't love her. You just have some really strong, positive, warm feelings about a girl who you say will be the death of you – "

I leapt forward, tackled him.

"Talking shit again, hey brother? Teach you for talking shit – "

We hit the ground and laughed like children, before our banter dissolved and we poured ourselves another drink.

"I don't love her," I insisted.

Scott laughed at me.

"Sure you don't."

© A.G. Travers 2018