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Chapter Six
Thorn
I sip my beer, lost in my thoughts and oblivious to the conversation going on around me. Tuning in for a moment, I realise that no progress has been made, so I tune back out.
I don’t know how I feel about seeing Raven. I’ve spent so long forcing myself to hate her, that I didn’t want to see her today. I didn’t even want to get on that flight and come up here. I guess that's why I got pissed and fucked the cabin crew. The entire cabin crew. Jesus. Probably not my best idea. It doesn’t work anyway - fucking away the pain - each and every lousy lay just serves as a harsh reminder of what I lost when she left. Not just amazing sex either.
Then today she looked amazing, and it wasn’t fair. She doesn’t deserve to look so good after what she put me through. When she told us her story and didn’t even apologise - even went as far as to say she had no regrets - I wanted to...I don’t know what I wanted to do. They hurt, her words, but they angered me too. At the very least, I wanted her to be sorry for leaving, vanishing without a word, putting us all through absolute hell. But she wasn’t sorry. It made my blood boil and my stomach churn. Even now, reliving it, my hands curl to painfully tight fists.
Then when she said that Michael had tried to hurt her, I saw red. I wanted to cause him so much pain, even though he’s dead, and that surprised me. Why would I care, if I hate her? I’m so confused right now. The only thing that seems to be helping is the alcohol. Only it’s not helping this time. Usually it makes me forget. Today it’s making me think. Obsess. I hate it.
“Yo! Earth to Thorn. Bro!” I blink rapidly and realise that my three best friends, my brothers, are all staring at me as if waiting for my input.
“Huh?” My brow creases in confusion. Smooth. I’m an idiot. Maybe I should sober up.
“Look, why don’t you stop drinking, snap out of it, and pay attention? We’re trying to figure out what to do next.” Rebel snaps at me.
“I don’t give a shit,” I lie. Even I can tell I sound petulant and sulky as shit. Moron.
“I came, I saw, I got answers...well, some answers.” Jax cuts in. “I’ll go back in a few days and get the rest of the answers that I need, then I’m out of here.”
I nod, like I too share Jax’s sentiment, but it’s all an act. Now that I’ve seen her again I’m not sure I can walk away. How pathetic is that? She’s like this colossal magnetic pull that I can’t resist, no matter how much I want to. I hate myself for being so weak that I want to stick and sniff around the girl who remorselessly ripped my heart out. Maybe Jax isn’t the only kinky one, maybe I’m a masochist.
“Don’t be stupid! You can’t leave, not when we’ve just found her.” Rebel and Jax are in a heated argument. I glance over at Ace and he just looks miserable. He always had it bad, wore his heart on his sleeve more than the rest of us. I bet the poor bugger is completely messed up by seeing her again. I take pity on him, and wordlessly offer him a sip of my beer, which he takes with a simple nod of thanks. I guess he’s feeling as confused as I am right now.
“Look guys, we have to face facts. She ran from us, and she’s not pleased to see us. She’s not even sorry for what she did. It’s over,” I state, cutting into the bickering and causing silence to fall all around.
“No,” Ace says shaking his head.
“No? What do you mean no?”
“Not sorry. Act. Tough guy,” he insists.
“You think Raven saying she’s not sorry and has no regrets is just an act?” I think I understand what Ace is getting at, but I’m not sure I’m buying it.
“Yes.”
“Mate, you’re deluded,” I retort.
“She clearly doesn’t give a shit.” Jax comes to my aid.
“I think Ace is right!” Rebel jumps in. I sigh. Two against two. The romantic and the desperate optimist, versus the liar and the heartless cynic. We’re getting nowhere.
“Be that as it may, it doesn’t hide the fact that she doesn’t want us here. We should go,” I insist.
“No,” Ace crosses his arms across his chest in stubborn defiance.
“No?”
“Not leaving. See again. More answers.”
“Are you forgetting she just confessed to murder?” Jax hisses through clenched teeth. The bar is relatively quiet but the few punters that there are have all turned to stare at us.
“Keep your voice down,” I snap.
“She didn’t confess to murder. She said she killed him,” Rebel points out.
“Semantics. He was our friend.”
