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Diamond in the Rough
Diamond In The Rough
Fiona silently moves around the lower floor of her house in case she wakes Jem up. He had cried into her arms and sobbed himself mercilessly to sleep. She had never seen a grown man act like that, at least outside of court. Despite trying to get him to open up to her, the shutters came down. She pours herself a coffee and sits down at her laptop, searching for any information she can get on how to help him. Suddenly she feels someone looking over her shoulder.
"You don't need to be looking at that shit" Jem says evenly, his eyes still a little puffy.
"I'm trying to help"
"I don't need your help" he snaps and goes into the kitchen.
Naturally, she follows him.
"You need something" she protests.
He reaches into her cupboard and pours a generous sized drink of whisky. He knocks it back.
"I got all I need right here" he splays his arms in the direction of the bottle and her.
"I hate seeing you like this" she says with frustration."You need to deal with what happened. Maybe see a psychiatrist or a support group or something"
Jem's face suddenly goes red.
"And they'll cart me off to some fuckin loonie bin? Is that what you want?"
"What I want for you is to get help."
She asserts herself, not backing down.
"And I want to forget about it" he says closing his eyes."But every time I shut my goddamn eyes it's there."
Fiona reaches out to him and he
goes to her, his eyes racked with pain. She wraps her arms around his toned waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. His stubble scratches at her skin, making her shiver.
They stand like that for a while, just holding each other like nothing else matters.
"I need to go"
***
Over the next few weeks Fiona had heard less and less from Jem, only seeing him once or twice and then nothing. She had tried calling him a few times and the call was either rejected or went straight to voice mail. She had even stopped by his house and was ignored. After three weeks of hearing nothing from him, she realises that it's clearly over between them. At night she had cried and anytime she thought of him she unravelled into a mess, sniffling and crying. She had wondered if she had pushed too far with him that morning after the nightmare, trying to force him to get help. But Jem was too proud and that was part of the problem. Born with Irish blood and brought up in criminalised community certainly had an effect on him. He was expected to be the bad boy, the guy destined to spend the rest of his life in prison. The guy who didn't fall for anyone or show weakness. Around her he was so different, relaxed and affectionate. She wonders if it had just become too much for him and he ran off, scared of maybe falling for someone. Maybe he had better offers elsewhere and that stung, really stung. Jem Coughlin would never be short on the receiving end of women who practically threw themselves at him. He would never go without that ten minute fumble in a dirty back alley, coked out of his mind. Fiona knew that side of him existed and wondered if his troubled past had an overbearing influence on it. Going with her gut she know's she's right.
****
He snorts a thick line of cocaine off the stripper's chest, darting his tongue out to collect the residue. With a wink she saunters off and climbs onto the pole, bending and stretching, giving her customers a good view of everything she has to offer. Gloansy nudges Jem and nods his head to the red head who is leading a customer to the private booths for the advertised "private lap dance" If you had the money you could pay the girls for sex and they would do anything you wanted, if the price was right.
The two men laugh loudly at the customer who darts back out into the main room, it looks as if he's having second thoughts. Pretty wasted after the numerous shots and bottles of beer, the cocaine buzzing their senses, Jem steps outside. His ribs feel better and his jaw hurts less, the bonus is not dribbling and being able to talk.
He checks his cell phone and notices the text message from Fiona. She had stopped calling and had stopped showing up at the house, turned away by Krista whose reward was a few pills. He debates just deleting the message, but he stops and opens it instead.
"My friend told me you were a mistake, but I can't believe that. I don't want to believe it. To you, it was maybe just sex, something we both needed and wanted at the time. But the truth is I wanted more. I still want more. You once told me that we all have a past that we can't run from and I've been trying to help you with yours. I've only ever wanted to help. I'm probably asking for a lot here, but I need you to just let me know you're okay. I wish things could have been different, but they're not. Look after yourself, Coughlin."
"You don't need to be looking at that shit" Jem says evenly, his eyes still a little puffy.
"I'm trying to help"
"I don't need your help" he snaps and goes into the kitchen.
Naturally, she follows him.
"You need something" she protests.
He reaches into her cupboard and pours a generous sized drink of whisky. He knocks it back.
"I got all I need right here" he splays his arms in the direction of the bottle and her.
"I hate seeing you like this" she says with frustration."You need to deal with what happened. Maybe see a psychiatrist or a support group or something"
Jem's face suddenly goes red.
"And they'll cart me off to some fuckin loonie bin? Is that what you want?"
"What I want for you is to get help."
She asserts herself, not backing down.
"And I want to forget about it" he says closing his eyes."But every time I shut my goddamn eyes it's there."
Fiona reaches out to him and he
goes to her, his eyes racked with pain. She wraps her arms around his toned waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. His stubble scratches at her skin, making her shiver.
They stand like that for a while, just holding each other like nothing else matters.
"I need to go"
***
Over the next few weeks Fiona had heard less and less from Jem, only seeing him once or twice and then nothing. She had tried calling him a few times and the call was either rejected or went straight to voice mail. She had even stopped by his house and was ignored. After three weeks of hearing nothing from him, she realises that it's clearly over between them. At night she had cried and anytime she thought of him she unravelled into a mess, sniffling and crying. She had wondered if she had pushed too far with him that morning after the nightmare, trying to force him to get help. But Jem was too proud and that was part of the problem. Born with Irish blood and brought up in criminalised community certainly had an effect on him. He was expected to be the bad boy, the guy destined to spend the rest of his life in prison. The guy who didn't fall for anyone or show weakness. Around her he was so different, relaxed and affectionate. She wonders if it had just become too much for him and he ran off, scared of maybe falling for someone. Maybe he had better offers elsewhere and that stung, really stung. Jem Coughlin would never be short on the receiving end of women who practically threw themselves at him. He would never go without that ten minute fumble in a dirty back alley, coked out of his mind. Fiona knew that side of him existed and wondered if his troubled past had an overbearing influence on it. Going with her gut she know's she's right.
****
He snorts a thick line of cocaine off the stripper's chest, darting his tongue out to collect the residue. With a wink she saunters off and climbs onto the pole, bending and stretching, giving her customers a good view of everything she has to offer. Gloansy nudges Jem and nods his head to the red head who is leading a customer to the private booths for the advertised "private lap dance" If you had the money you could pay the girls for sex and they would do anything you wanted, if the price was right.
The two men laugh loudly at the customer who darts back out into the main room, it looks as if he's having second thoughts. Pretty wasted after the numerous shots and bottles of beer, the cocaine buzzing their senses, Jem steps outside. His ribs feel better and his jaw hurts less, the bonus is not dribbling and being able to talk.
He checks his cell phone and notices the text message from Fiona. She had stopped calling and had stopped showing up at the house, turned away by Krista whose reward was a few pills. He debates just deleting the message, but he stops and opens it instead.
"My friend told me you were a mistake, but I can't believe that. I don't want to believe it. To you, it was maybe just sex, something we both needed and wanted at the time. But the truth is I wanted more. I still want more. You once told me that we all have a past that we can't run from and I've been trying to help you with yours. I've only ever wanted to help. I'm probably asking for a lot here, but I need you to just let me know you're okay. I wish things could have been different, but they're not. Look after yourself, Coughlin."