He opened the passenger door and waited for me to climb inside before shutting it with more force than necessary. He was clearly still pissed off with me. I watched him stalk around the front and then stop at the driver side. He just stared at me through the window, taking a few deep breaths as if he were psyching himself up to be in the car with me. I threw my hands in the air in annoyance and glared at him. I wasn’t exactly sure what his problem was, but I didn’t deserve his wrath. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was the judgemental one.

When he got in the car, he did up his belt and turned the ignition. He still hadn’t looked at me.

“Seriously. What is your problem?” I asked.

Without answering, he turned the engine off and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. After what felt like an eternity, he sat back and swivelled to face me.

“My problem, Juliette, is you.”

I placed my hand on my chest. “I’m your problem? Why exactly am I your problem? Please enlighten me.”

He just shook his head and started the car again. This time he put it in gear and took off.

I nearly said something about fifty times between leaving the fight and Leo pulling up in front of my apartment building. I was pissed off and completely confused.

“Well, thanks for the lift, I guess,” I whispered, not having a clue where his head was at.

When he didn’t respond, I reached for the handle.

“Wait.”

I closed my eyes briefly and then turned, giving him my best glare. “I’m tired, Leo.”

“Look. I haven’t seen you in a month. It was a long fucking month. Can you stop glaring at me? I’m trying to explain.”

“Fine.”

“I think about you all the fucking time. I think about how I hurt you.”

“We agreed at the time to forget it. I’m sorry I brought it up again. I don’t usually speak without thinking like that. Why are you still dwelling on it?”

“Because I had no control over what I did to you, and I like being in control.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I just sat there quietly, waiting to see if he would continue.

“Every day, I think about you staring at me through the cage, dressed in black, looking so out of place but daring anyone to send you away. Every day, I think about the next time I saw you, dressed in white lace, behaving like every bit the society princess you are. I feel like I’m in a constant state of whiplash.”

“Thanks for summarising my fucked-up life, Leo. Much appreciated. Can I go now?”

“God, you’re frustrating. Let me finish.” He stared at me for a few seconds with raised eyebrows, probably making sure I wasn’t going to interrupt. “I have my own shit to deal with, and whenever I see you, I feel like I’ve been in a head-on collision. I have no right to ask this, but I need you to stop going to fight night.”

“Why?” I choked.

“There’s something about you that brings out every protective instinct in me. I watched you take down that arsehole right in front of my eyes, but you’re reckless and you’re going to get yourself hurt. I need to be there and I need you not to be there.” He shook his head, clenching his jaw. “I know you have a boyfriend and I have no right to feel the way I do about you.”

“How do you feel about me?” I whispered, my heart racing and threatening to leap right out of my chest.

Leo’s shoulders dropped, and he rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “I feel like we were meant to meet, like we have some intense connection drawing us together. Even though I barely know you, my heart gets ripped out every time I think about you with someone else, and when I saw that guy hurting you, I would’ve ripped his heart out without thinking twice.”

“I feel it too.” Tears welled in my eyes at my own admission. “But have you thought about what I need? My bet is you think I’m a spoiled brat seeking attention through reckless activities.” I felt rage boiling up from the pit of my stomach and, for the first time, I didn’t restrain my inner voice. “You know what, you judgemental arsehole? I am so bloody sick of being judged, reprimanded, criticised and belittled. All I’ve ever done is try to be what others need me to be or do or say. You have no idea who I really am or what I go through every day trying to keep everyone happy. And you know what? It doesn’t seem to make any difference. No one is ever happy with me. I’m still judged for what I am and what I’m not. No one gives a shit who I am.” I gulped in a breath, choking back tears.

“Wow.” He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “Are you done projecting on me? Can I answer your question?”

Tears slipped down my cheeks. “I don’t remember my question.” A sob escaped from my throat in reaction to his gentle tone.

“You asked me if I’d thought about what you need.”

“Oh yes. I guess I didn’t give you a chance, did I?”

Leo smiled. “No, you didn’t. I learnt more about you from your rant though.”

My cheeks heated and I placed my cool hands on them briefly.

“I don’t know for sure what you need or why you’re there, but from what I’ve seen, you don’t either. I think you’re struggling to be two different people and it must be exhausting. I don’t think you belong with Richard, but as I’ve said, I don’t like thinking about that. I think all this fighting is making you miserable.”

I stared at him, rendered speechless by his summation. He wasn’t judging me. He had paid attention and had come to conclusions based on everything he’d seen. I’d attacked him unfairly and he’d taken it calmly.

“I’m sorry, Leo,” I said eventually. “I’m a hot mess. I think I should go.”

Leo reached over and lightly touched my face, instantly reigniting the heat. “I’m sorry for being angry with you. You were really impressive back there.”

“Thanks.” I tried to smile, but my mind was jumbled.

“Take care of yourself, Juliette.”

“You too.”

I got out of his car and watched him drive away, feeling depressed and lonely.

Chapter Seventeen

Juliette

The only thing I achieved over the weekend was finding a dress to wear to Juniper’s wedding next weekend. Determined to avoid the designer boutiques my mother insisted my dresses be bought from, I ventured past the inner city urban edge of Brunswick Road to a shopping district with Sia. We hopped on the number nineteen tram heading north, and fifteen minutes later, we arrived in the heart of Sydney Road shopping heaven. In a two-block radius, we were presented with a multitude of fashion stores filled with relatively inexpensive one-offs. Sia always told me it was hit or miss, but luckily for me, on my very first visit, I scored a home run.

Careful to stay away from whites, ivories and creams, I opted for a navy blue number with a sequined bodice, a layered skirt and a jewelled waist band. It was feminine, and in all honesty, wasn’t dissimilar from something my mother would have chosen, other than the tiny price tag that included shoes. The difference was that I’d chosen it, I’d paid for it and if I spilt something down it, no one was going to give me a hard time. I was taking ownership of something as small as buying a dress, but it felt massive, liberating, and I didn’t think I would ever love a dress more.

I struggled out of bed on Monday morning. I was sure I’d caught a few hours of sleep here or there, but I had so many thoughts running through my mind it was difficult to shut off. The recurring thought was that my adolescence and young adult life was a sham, glossed over by my futile attempt to save my mother. The worst part was that on some level, I’d known it was futile, but I’d done nothing about it. Actually, it was worse than that. I’d just dug myself in deeper by staying with Richard for so long.

I knew what I had to do. I didn’t love him, I never would and I didn’t think he loved me either. He had already seen my façade begin to crack. My feelings of guilt were solely for my mother and how miserable her life must have been to focus with such blinkered determination for her role of puppeteer. I would find a way to make her understand.