Khurrum Rahman - Ride or Die

I took a breath and tried to clear the vision of when we’d last met. A gun planted between my eyes. Hands shaking, unable to pull the trigger. A decision that would irrevocably change his life.

I glanced through the bay window as I approached the front door, and wondered if his eyes were on me. I pushed the letterbox and it clanged loudly in my ears and I realised that I should have pressed the doorbell. So, I pressed the doorbell, too. I don’t know why I did that.

I waited for the clanging and the ringing to die down before I jabbed at the bell short and sharp, but I wasn’t sure if it had rung that time, so I pressed it again, just in case, and then jammed my hands in my pocket, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do it again. He surely would have heard. I tried to work out his movements; the funeral had been the day before, I doubted that he’d be out. Chances were, Imy was curled up in bed, mourning his loss, with a pillow over his head, pissed off at the idiot insensitively jabbing at his doorbell like it’s a musical instrument. But I was here now, and I had to see this through. I side-stepped off the porch and pressed my forehead against the bay window and peeked through the small holes of the nets into the living room. It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust.

On the other side of the window Imy was sitting in an armchair with a glass in his hand. He was looking right at me with dead eyes. I swallowed and pointed at the front door as though to gently guide him through the door-opening process. Fuck, I was on form! I watched him for a moment through the nets, as he tried his utmost to ignore my existence. I could have and should have come back another time, but would it have changed anything? I was never going to be welcome there. I side-stepped back onto the porch and got down on my knees and pushed open the letterbox and spoke through it.

‘Imy,’ was as good a start as any. ‘It’s me, Jay,’ wasn’t the best follow-up. ‘Look, I… I… I wanted to chat to you… I heard… you know, I heard what happened… Can we talk… please?’

I let the flap drop and rested my forehead against the cold steel of the letterbox and sighed. He didn’t want to see me and I couldn’t blame him. I’d thought maybe the dark history that we shared would count for something, we’d both lost a big part of our lives to this. But I had to remind myself that my loss could not be in the same league as his. It was time to give the man some space. I pushed the letterbox and put my mouth to it.

‘Listen, Imy. I’m gonna go. I’ll try again later. Tomorrow maybe. Hopefully you’ll—’

The door flung open and from my position on my knees I lifted my eyes up to him. He wrapped his fists around the collars of my mac, hoisted me to my feet and dragged me over the threshold. He kicked the door shut behind him and then spun me around in a waltz before pinning me to the wall with force.

He gritted his teeth in my face. No words, just a feral growl coming from somewhere deep inside him. I smelt booze on his breath as he shook me. I allowed my body to slacken and let him just fucking get on with it, which he did. He repeatedly bounced my head hard against the wall. I took it. I’d take it all. He dropped his hands and balled them into fists, his forehead scrunched tight over his face as he breathed heavily through his nose.

I did what I went there to do: I looked into his eyes and said, ‘I’m sorry.’

His fist connected against my ribs, and again, two rapid jabs, painful as fuck. I slid slowly down the wall and crumpled to the floor. I lay on my side and held my stomach.

Imy leaned down, his breath in my ear, his tears on my face. ‘You ever, ever come to my home again, I’ll fucking kill you.’ He left me there on the floor, and through heavy eyes I watched him walk away.

I should have, too.

Jay was nothing to me but a reminder of a destination that I would never reach. I could not stand to look at his face. He had his eyes, his face, all I could see was his father in him. And I reacted. If I’d had a gun in my hand, I think I would have pulled the trigger without thought or hesitation.

I dropped down on my armchair and poured myself another shot. From the hallway I could hear Jay shuffling to his feet, muttering a swear word under his breath. I slumped back and took a sip of neat vodka. I placed the glass against my forehead to help cool a fast-approaching headache.

I know, I damn well know that Jay isn’t responsible for my family’s death, but if I’d never set eyes on him, they would be here and he wouldn’t.

The front door opened. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath as I waited for the door to close behind him. And only when it had, did I exhale and feel my heartbeat slow. A moment later, when I opened my eyes, Jay was peering into the living room.

He pointed to his bright white hi-tops and said. ‘Shoes off… or…?’

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ I said, ready to dish out more punishment but not having the heart, will or energy to go through with it anymore.

‘I’ll just keep ’em on, if that’s cool?’ Jay tentatively stepped into the living room, holding his side from where I’d struck him. He stood around awkwardly for a moment as he regained his breath. His eyes wandered over to the coffee table, to the bottle of vodka and the tumbler and then back to me. ‘In the kitchen?’ he said.

I clenched my jaw as he disappeared, and I could hear him in the kitchen noisily going through the cabinets before popping his head around the doorframe.

‘Can’t find any. There’s a couple of glasses in the sink, but they need washing.’ He waited for me to reply, and when I stared back at him in open-mouthed disbelief, he said, ‘It’s cool. I’ll wash them.’ And with that he disappeared again. My fingernails dug into the arms of my chair, and my heartbeat started to race again, my head started to pound.

I heard the tap come on, then I heard him hiss, ‘ Fuck! Hot!’ He clattered around for a while, longer than he would need to wash one glass. I got to my feet and peered around the door and into the kitchen. Jay had taken his coat off and placed it on the worktop, and he was bent over the dishwasher stacking days-old dirty dishes.

I backed away as he closed the dishwasher door. A moment later he returned, a clean tumbler in his hand which he placed on the coffee table. I held his gaze. He tried to return it, but I could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he stood awkwardly in front of me.

‘Do you mind?’ Jay asked, nodding at the bottle. When I didn’t answer, he poured himself a small shot and sat on the edge of the family sofa which I still hadn’t sat on since.

He took a sip. It started small and then developed into a gulp, possibly for courage. He made a sickly face before wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. I reached for the neck of the bottle and Jay covered the top of his glass with the flat of his hand.

‘Can’t. Driving,’ he said before realising that I was pouring one for myself. ‘Oh, right, yeah, you go ahead.’

‘What do you want?’ I asked.

‘Just…’ He shrugged. ‘Wanted to see you. See how you are.’

‘Why?’

Jay took his time finding the right words and, unable to bring them to his lips, he said, ‘You know why?’

My hand shook as I poured another for myself. ‘You think that you owe me something. Is that it?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’

‘As if it all happened because of you?’ I said. It sounded harsh, and maybe I wanted it to.

Jay’s eyes wandered round our living room, stopping at the canvas of Jack dressed as a sheriff on a rocking horse. ‘Is that how you feel?’ he asked, carefully.