Page 352 of Hell Hath No Fury
"Do you think Jen would have enjoyed this?" Elliot asked, tucking a limp chunk of blonde hair behind her ear. With her sparkling eyes and bright smiles, Ellie normally reminded me of a plump ray of sunshine. But tonight, dark circles bruised the skin under dull, bloodshot eyes, her pale skin sickly in the dim light of the bar. I looked away, unable to bear witness to the grief etched on her face.
Swallowing, I drew liquid into my dry mouth. "Yeah. She'd love it."
Jen had been the kind of woman who loved to live. She'd been wild and carefree, running from one adventure to another and dragging us along with her.
A year ago, she'd been diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer. Despite her efforts to fight it, our friend had passedaway, leaving behind a gaping, ragged wound. In the week since she'd left this world, my life had shifted from living to subsisting.
Why her? Why now? Why?
Lilith rose gracefully from her seat, her black romper clinging to her slender body. Six foot two with a flawless complexion and near-umber eyes, she looked more like a supermodel than an electrical engineer.
"I suspect this will be our last drink for a while," she said, her Nigerian English accent easily cutting through the low drone of the mostly Australian crowd. Her lips quirked into a grim smile. "Shall we?"
Desperate to drown the turbulent emotions rioting under my skin, I shoved away from the table. "I'll help. Same again?"
"Yeah, thanks." Ellie nodded at Audrey who remained glued to her phone. "I'll stay with this one."
"Be back soon." I followed Lilith to the bar, joining the line of mourners.
"You're right," Lilith said, gesturing at the crowd. "Jen would have loved this."
University students mingled with patched members of a local motorcycle club. Jen had been the stepdaughter of a member. She'd once explained it as being a kind of chosen family—the kind you never quite knew what to do with.
Glancing around at the sea of patches and battered vests, I couldn't argue with her description.
"To Jen!" yelled a drunken man from the corner of the bar as he held his beer aloft.
"To Jen!" echoed the crowd, lifting glasses in salute.
My breath caught, the same impotent rage I'd suppressed for months shredding my control. Fighting for composure, I stared at the back of the man in front of me my gaze tracing the patch on his back. He leaned against the beaten spotted gum bar, his fingers drumming impatiently as he waited for service.
As I struggled with my emotions, the man shifted and in the mirrored backsplash of the bar I was confronted with my reflection—bloodshot eyes, red frizzy curls, and freckles that contrasted sharply with my pale skin.
And pain. So much pain.
The last time I'd stood here Jen had been by my side as we'd celebrated her birthday. It had been years before we'd met Audrey, Elliot and Lilith. Years before her cancer diagnosis. Years before I'd be standing here, staring at myself in the mirror, wondering if my heart would ever recover.
The man shifted again, blocking my view and shattering the shell I'd built around my emotions.
Tears blurred my vision as the noise of the bar faded, running secondary to the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
Run.
I backed up, stumbling as wave after wave of emotion crashed into me.
Lilith turned toward me, concern written across her face. "Jules? What's wrong?"
"I have to go." Barely hanging on, I twisted, shoving through the crowd as I searched for an escape.
"Jules? Jules. Jules!" I barely heard Lilith over the roar of my heart. "Where are you going? Jules!"
I ignored her, plunging into the crowd, dodging men with beers and women clutching tissues as I searched for an exit.
There!
The neon exit sign twinkled in the dim bar, the door under it scarred and coated in years of grime.
A scream worked its way up my throat, my hands clawing at the side exit as I stumbled out and into the cool night air, the door slamming shut behind me.
