Page 113 of Cuts like a Knife
There’s a blast of music as someone emerges from the same sliding door Drew popped out of, but whoever it is doesn’t bother closing the door behind them, so the sound persists — bathing us in thumping beats.
Oh s—. It’s Rian McDougal. And he’s clearly very drunk. He lurches towards us, swaying with the rocking of the boat.
“Oh, look who it is,” he slurs and I immediately break out in a fine sweat. Almost inadvertently, I step away from Drew, trying to put some distance between us. Trying to hide our connection. Why? Deep down I realize this is exactly what Drew is talking about. It doesn’t really make sense. Rian, of all people, couldn’t possibly care less whether Drew and I are together. He doesn’t even know Drew. He barely knows me.
But he hates me. For no reason.
I can see it now — the blatant, unmasked dislike in Rian’s eyes. It’s never made any sense, but it’s real. And it’s scary.
Why did he even come out here? For me specifically or was it a coincidence? I don’t know. My brain short circuits and I just stare as he approaches. Then he speaks again.
“You look like you’re having a good time, Madison. Look at your in your fancy dress. F—ing ridiculous.”
I look down at my dress? What’s ridiculous about it? Nothing. Why is he like this? What did I ever do to him?
“Thanks,” I say in a voice that I wish could make drip with disdain. It doesn’t. It comes out sounding weak. There’s even a little tremor in it. I can hear it, just under the surface.
“We’re actually in the middle of a private conversation,” Drew interjects.
“Oh, you were, were you?” says Rian. His voice actually does drip with disdain, but the effect is undermined by his obvious drunkenness. His eyes are bloodshot — redder than his stupid hair — and cold.
“Yeah, man. We were.” Drew sounds both confused and annoyed, and I don’t blame him.
I close my eyes for a moment, my head suddenly pounding. I hate this. I hate this world. I hate these people. I hate my job. It’s not worth it. I want out of here. I want away from all of it. I want away from all of this.
“Ignore him,” I say to Drew, before taking his hand and beginning to pull him away.
“Ignore me? You’re going to ignore me?” Rian slurs. “I don’t think so.”
“What’s going on?” Drew says to me in a quiet voice, but I can’t answer. I just shake my head.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you here. How the f— did you get another writing job, Madison? It’s absurd. You don’t belong here.”
“Buddy, you seem really drunk. Get a grip,” Drew says.
I pull on Drew’s hand and make my way toward the sliding door. It’s so loud inside. Even if Rian follows us, no one will be able to hear him over the music.
“Hey, does your hot shit advertising boyfriend know what you did? Or did you keep it a secret somehow? Is that what happened?”
We’re through the door and the music is pulsing all around us, but Rian’s right on our heels. And now he’s shouting.
“I’m just baffled. Who hired you? You shouldn’t be working after what you did. Not here.”
I push my way through the centre of the dance floor, Drew’s hand in mine, hoping the crowd will swallow us up. The space is packed with sweaty bodies, bouncing to the beat334.
And I was wrong. It’s not loud enough. Rian’s words are fully audible, at least to the people in our immediate vicinity. Heads are starting to turn, the dancers are starting to part. I see Callum. He cocks one eyebrow, as if to ask why I’m making a scene. Rian is still with us. He won’t stop.
“Please just come,” I say to Drew, as I keep trying to pull him forward and away.
Rian registers Callum moments after I do.
“He’s your editor, right?” shouts Rian, pointing at Callum’s face. “Does he know? Should I tell him?”
Jesus. I stop short, drop Drew’s hand and whirl around to face him. Enough is enough. A space clears around us as the dancers retreat from bubble of bad vibes.
“Shut up, Rian. I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I say.
It doesn’t make an ounce of sense. It never has.
