Jill Jackson - 04 - Watch the World Burn by Leah Giarratano Page B
Authors: Leah Giarratano
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the breach and automated lockdown, but something had changed. She realised now that all of their super-competitive workout sessions and playful wrestling had happened simply because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. And now...
A slow, delicious smile spread over Jill’s face and she reclined back on her elbows, seeing, smelling Scotty in her bed this morning. With Scotty she felt known, safe, loved. It was as though he could read her, anticipate her moods and go with them, her fears extinguished before they had a chance to take off.
With Gabriel she felt she didn’t know herself at all. She felt inexplicably capable of anything. And that something deep inside her, something she’d never known had existed, was asleep. And waiting.
Jill hadn’t spoken to Gabe for two weeks. She’d been busy having sex with Scotty. Right now, she wished she had a clone. That was a first. Most of the time she had trouble dealing with the one Jill Jackson.
She dropped her phone into her handbag. Forget about them for a while, she told herself. She unwrapped her salad roll, picked at the lettuce, then wished she’d bought a pie. She half-wrapped the roll again and reclined on the grass. Her T-shirt rode up at the waist and the grass was damp against her hot skin. She shivered, and laid right back into it. Stars. Huh. She’d grown used to empty black skies in the city. Street and building lights outshone the heavens in Sydney. But here, above a nook of Manly forgotten by progress, the stars cavorted and winked just as they did above Camden, her home town. The chill bit deeper into her spine and she shifted, preparing to sit up, but a warm sea-scented breeze played through her hair and tipped her sensory scales from almost painful to pleasurable.
She wondered whether pain and pleasure were so closely connected for everyone else.
10
Friday, 26 November, 8.06pm
After he’d helped Lucy wash up, Troy went back to the lounge room with beer number four. He turned the TV volume down so he wouldn’t distract Lucy from her homework. He pulled at his bottom lip. Oh, Chris, what am I supposed to do with you now? He didn’t know how to stop his brother taking the slide he seemed determined to take. He couldn’t physically control him anymore.
He wondered how much Chris still thought about what had happened before Troy got them out of foster care. Their father had been dead two years, and Chris and Lucy had had four ‘uncles’ by the time the state took them in. Chris’s kindy teacher had called DoCS when Chris had showed up one morning filthy and nursing his right arm. DoCS had taken him to hospital, and his broken humerus bone was their least worrying finding. When the doctor told them that the injury was most likely caused by abuse, they’d done a full exam. Chris had extensive anal trauma. He was four years old. They’d sent a squad car with sirens to get Lucy.
It had taken Troy months to get custody. But by age nineteen he’d effectively become the father of a four- and a five-year-old. He knew they were far better off with him than with his mother, but he often wondered whether he should have let them stay in a foster home with two regular parents.
Chris never spoke of the years between when Troy left the house and DoCS rescued them. Privately, Troy was relieved – for a few reasons. Firstly, he had no idea what he’d say to make his little brother feel better about what had happened – he’d probably say something stupid and make it worse. He also felt like shit that he’d left the little kids there when he took off. Life was pretty fucked up for him from age fifteen to eighteen, living where he could, but he knew that if he’d stayed no one would have hurt Chris that way. But mostly Troy was glad that his little brother kept quiet about those years because he knew that if Chris told him who’d broken his arm and raped him, he couldn’t have lived with himself until he’d found the cunt and killed him. And
A slow, delicious smile spread over Jill’s face and she reclined back on her elbows, seeing, smelling Scotty in her bed this morning. With Scotty she felt known, safe, loved. It was as though he could read her, anticipate her moods and go with them, her fears extinguished before they had a chance to take off.
With Gabriel she felt she didn’t know herself at all. She felt inexplicably capable of anything. And that something deep inside her, something she’d never known had existed, was asleep. And waiting.
Jill hadn’t spoken to Gabe for two weeks. She’d been busy having sex with Scotty. Right now, she wished she had a clone. That was a first. Most of the time she had trouble dealing with the one Jill Jackson.
She dropped her phone into her handbag. Forget about them for a while, she told herself. She unwrapped her salad roll, picked at the lettuce, then wished she’d bought a pie. She half-wrapped the roll again and reclined on the grass. Her T-shirt rode up at the waist and the grass was damp against her hot skin. She shivered, and laid right back into it. Stars. Huh. She’d grown used to empty black skies in the city. Street and building lights outshone the heavens in Sydney. But here, above a nook of Manly forgotten by progress, the stars cavorted and winked just as they did above Camden, her home town. The chill bit deeper into her spine and she shifted, preparing to sit up, but a warm sea-scented breeze played through her hair and tipped her sensory scales from almost painful to pleasurable.
She wondered whether pain and pleasure were so closely connected for everyone else.
10
Friday, 26 November, 8.06pm
After he’d helped Lucy wash up, Troy went back to the lounge room with beer number four. He turned the TV volume down so he wouldn’t distract Lucy from her homework. He pulled at his bottom lip. Oh, Chris, what am I supposed to do with you now? He didn’t know how to stop his brother taking the slide he seemed determined to take. He couldn’t physically control him anymore.
He wondered how much Chris still thought about what had happened before Troy got them out of foster care. Their father had been dead two years, and Chris and Lucy had had four ‘uncles’ by the time the state took them in. Chris’s kindy teacher had called DoCS when Chris had showed up one morning filthy and nursing his right arm. DoCS had taken him to hospital, and his broken humerus bone was their least worrying finding. When the doctor told them that the injury was most likely caused by abuse, they’d done a full exam. Chris had extensive anal trauma. He was four years old. They’d sent a squad car with sirens to get Lucy.
It had taken Troy months to get custody. But by age nineteen he’d effectively become the father of a four- and a five-year-old. He knew they were far better off with him than with his mother, but he often wondered whether he should have let them stay in a foster home with two regular parents.
Chris never spoke of the years between when Troy left the house and DoCS rescued them. Privately, Troy was relieved – for a few reasons. Firstly, he had no idea what he’d say to make his little brother feel better about what had happened – he’d probably say something stupid and make it worse. He also felt like shit that he’d left the little kids there when he took off. Life was pretty fucked up for him from age fifteen to eighteen, living where he could, but he knew that if he’d stayed no one would have hurt Chris that way. But mostly Troy was glad that his little brother kept quiet about those years because he knew that if Chris told him who’d broken his arm and raped him, he couldn’t have lived with himself until he’d found the cunt and killed him. And
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