Chapter 6. It Was About You
He told himself that it was only for one night, but of course, it didn't turn out that way.
After he'd finished unpacking the basics, Jack sat down on the bed to wait for his food. He still wasn't as hungry as he knew he should be, but he hadn't eaten since yesterday, so he figured he should at least make an attempt.
The room was too quiet, as was the street outside, so he switched on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found a program that looked halfway decent, but five minutes later, he still had no idea what was going on.
He switched the TV off again, paid the deliveryman when he turned up a few minutes later, and ate his dinner in silence, relieved when the clock finally struck ten and he could go to bed without feeling ridiculous.
It had started to rain by then, beating out a steady rhythm on the roof of the motel, so when sleep wouldn't come, Jack lay there listening to it, his thoughts returning to Kate. Everything here reminded him of her; right then, he was remembering how, when it started raining like this, and he ran for cover, she would pull him back, laughing as the water washed over them, soaking their clothes.
He'd always thought she was beautiful, wild and carefree, but not that he was older, Jack wondered if there wasn't something of a self-destructive urge in her impulsive behaviour too. She was carefree, but in a hopeless, despairing kind of way; she didn't seem to care if she got sick, or hurt, or worse. Maybe that was why she was with James now, because she didn't care. Not that that was any of his business, he reminded himself.
It was after midnight, and the rain had eased up only slightly, when Jack finally began to drift off to sleep. He was just slipping into his first dream of the night, something about the hospital, when he was woken by a soft knock at the door, almost too soft to be heard over the rain. At first he wondered if he'd dreamed it, but then he heard it again a few seconds later, louder this time.
He rubbed his eyes, glancing at the clock. It was 12:27, too late for visitors. He wondered vaguely if it was James, come to fight him now that Kate was out of the way, but there was nothing aggressive about that knock. It was gentle, timid, the knock of someone who was afraid of how they'd be received, someone who'd sworn they didn't need his help, perhaps, and was now swallowing their misplaced pride…
Sure enough, it was Kate, wet and dishevelled, her stringy curls hanging in her face as she kept her head down, avoiding his eyes.
Wordlessly, Jack led her inside, out of the rain, retrieving a clean towel from the bathroom. She smiled gratefully as he handed it to her, forgetting herself for a moment as she ran it over her face and hair, exposing an inch-long gash on her cheekbone that Jack knew for a fact hadn't been there this morning. It was definitely fresh, a heavy purple bruise colouring the surrounding skin, raising the possibility of a fracture in Jack's mind. Whatever, or whoever, had hit her, had hit her hard.
He knew he should tread carefully, but the sick feeling he'd had all day when he thought of her had morphed into anger at the sight of that wound. "What happened, Kate?" he asked, his voice coming out harsher than he'd intended.
She lowered the towel, staring at the spot of blood left by her cheek. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Nothing?" he repeated incredulously. "You're not even going to try to make excuses for him?"
She wrung the towel in her hands, pacing like a caged animal in front of him. "I really don't want to talk about it, Jack, okay? I came to see you."
Jack wanted to believe that this was true, but she was an expert liar, she always had been. "Why Kate?" he asked. "Would you still be here if he hadn't…?" She looked away, confirming his fears. She was only here because she had nowhere else to go. "Help me out here, because I'm trying to understand," he said, his mood still wavering between incredulity and irritation. "I tell you you shouldn't let him treat you the way he does, and you tell me it's none of my business. But then he hits you, and mine is the first door you come knocking on?"
The vulnerability he'd been privy to a second ago disappeared, as she dropped the towel onto the bed, heading for the door. "You're right, it was stupid. Goodnight Jack."
He could have let her go, it would have been easier, but he was pretty sure this chance would never come again. If he closed the door on her now, she would never come back. "No," he said, positioning himself between her and the exit. "You've been dodging me all day, Kate. Please, talk to me."
"I really shouldn't be here. James…" she said, trailing off hopelessly, seeing the determined look he'd fixed her with.
"James what? Will hit you again? Not if I get my hands on him first."
Her eyes were pleading as she said, "Jack, don't. It was my fault, okay? I shouldn't have gone after you at the diner."
"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, the sick feeling returning as he anticipated her answer. "What was the fight about?"
She bit her lip, staring at the floor, the window, the blank TV screen, before finally resting her gaze on him. "You," she said softly. "It was about you, Jack."