Page 13 of Twisted Thorns

"I’m sure he was just nervous," Amanda suggests, pushing a chocolate croissant towards me. “Maybe he just rambles when he’s nervous and was talking about things he knows well.”

“Perhaps,” I begin before Amanda cuts me off.

"You need to give him another chance. I know you two could hit it off. Give him another shot at the Preston Gala."

I nibble on the pastry, its sweetness failing to mask the dull ache of disinterest. The thought of enduring another night with Mickey, with his smug smile and roving eyes that undressed me rather than seek out the soul beneath, is nearly unbearable. Yet Amanda's hopeful gaze pins me down, a gentle yet insistent pressure.

“I don’t know, Amanda,” I sigh. “I don’t think Mickey and I are the right fit for each other. He’s interested in things I’m not.”

“It’s not like you need to marry hm, Avalina! Just go with him to the Preston Gala. Everyone else has a date, and I don’t want you to feel left out.”

"Okay," I begrudgingly reply, knowing that what I crave isn't the shallow sparkle of gala gowns and forced laughter. It's the earthy embrace of the forest, the soft touch of moss under my fingertips, and the mysterious pull an enigma named Kieran Calder, who haunts my dreams with stormy eyes and a passion that whispers of forbidden longing.

Amanda beams as if I’ve just handed her the keys to the castle, oblivious to my own inner turmoil. “I was hoping you would say that!” she exclaims as she pulls a stack of magazines from her giant shoulder bag.

“What are those?” I ask, setting down my coffee and croissant, trepidation crawling its way up my spine.

“I thought we could look through these for ideas for your hair and makeup! You already have the dress, so it’s just a matter of finalizing your look.”

My mind flashes back to the green velvet dress that my sister convinced me to pick up when we had on our girls weekend away. It is a gorgeous dress, and I have to admit that I am looking forward to wearing it. Even though it is an evening gown, and represents a part of my life I feel no longer fits me, the gold thread woven through the hem and draping skirt looks like falling leaves, a nod to my love of nature and the safety I feel in the forest.

Even Amanda had caught onto the reasons why I gravitated towards the dress, encouraging me to purchase a necklace during our trip that looked like little pink and green flowers on a vine.

Watching Amanda sort through her magazines, looking for just the right one, I can feel myself being torn in opposite directions. I want to feel close to Amanda, the way I must have felt before the accident snatched away my memories of our friendship. I understand that Amanda feels at home in the world of fashion, and this is her way of connecting to me.

But a part of me, one I don’t completely understand or recognize, rebels at this part I’m playing. This inner version of me feels like a wild thing, savage and untamed in her ferocity, refusing to be put in a box that limits her freedom.

I know that part of me is there, but I also recognize that I’m just not ready to admit it, not really. As much as the dresses and gala chaff, as much as they feel constraining and restricting, there is a comfort in sticking to what I know.

Reaching for my coffee, I take a sip to buy myself some time, the idea of walking myself willinging into a cage as bitter as the coffee.

“Do you have some ideas? I don’t know what’s in style anymore…” I trail off, the unspoken reference to my missing memories an opening that Amanda latches onto.

“Oh, yes!” she exclaims, flipping through the magazine to look for an image she had marked with a sticky note. Turning the glossy page towards me, she points with a manicured nail. “I was thinking this hairstyle would look amazing with your dress and face, it will really bring out your eyes.”

I nod and murmur my assent, grateful that I’m connecting with Amanda, but wondering why I still feel like I’m lost at sea.

Chapter 8

Kieran

Finn receives word that Rocco still isn’t behaving after our little chat, so we make our way down to Rocco’s Cabaret on a quiet Wednesday afternoon. The fallen leaves crunch under my shoes as we walk towards the double doors stained a dark brown. The building itself is a bit garish, looking more like the ancient pantheon with its white plaster columns supporting the triangular roof.

Finn leads the way inside. I scare people because of the whispers that run rampant of my torture methods, but Finn is scary just because he is like myth made flesh, a huge wall of muscle and bone.

Glancing around, I don’t see Rocco anywhere, but Michelle, one of the girls that works at the strip club, is cleaning tables. Finn turns on his charm and waltzes over.

“Hey Michelle, is Rocco around?” he asks, resting his arms on the table she was cleaning.

Michelle straightens, glancing at me before turning to Finn. “He’s not here. Why are you looking for him?”

“We are concerned that some of management's decisions are negatively affecting the staff's morale."

A harsh laugh escapes Michelle, but I recognize the flash of fear that crosses her face as she tries to turn her laugh into a cough.

So does Finn. He tilts his head. “Maybe you can help us. Tell us what you know.”

Her head is shaking before she even begins backing away. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. I’ve worked too hard and long to become a manager here so I don’t have to be on the floor every night. I’m not risking it for some asshole.” Michele says, glancing around.

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