To Capture a Thorn (The Society 2)

William had grown more serious with every passing day, and the biggest shock was I missed my old friend. I missed him telling jokes or laughing about something fucked up and silly. I wanted him back with a passion.

Then of course was Mateo. He’d gotten more silent. I had no idea what was going on inside his head. I could try to pretend, but it wouldn’t do us any favors. There were times I felt I had lost him.

Late at night, like now, with the guys all gone, our dads having spoken for long hours into the night, I lay in bed, waiting for sleep.

It never came. More often than not, I’d sleep as the sun started to rise. A couple of hours seemed to last me.

After grabbing my notebook, I flicked the pages over, assessing my work. The book I’d filled with Sian in the hospital was locked up in a safe in my closet. No one was to see that kind of work.

She refused to get her hair cut or trimmed to make the bottom look neater. I didn’t know what her protest was, but it was her protest to have, not mine.

I liked her hair. When she put it in a ponytail, no one was the wiser.

Who hacked off her hair?

I was tempted to call Mateo and tell him to get Fred on the case. The not knowing was worse than anything else.

We had a pact, though. None of us would bring an outsider into this world.

With my pencil to the paper, I started to sketch the image of Sian from memory. The way she looked at Heather’s graveside. The raw emotion, the pain, all of it adding up to the point today.

I heard the squeak of my floorboard, and I tensed up.

Sian did this regularly.

Did she know I heard her?

The light I had on in my room was quite dull. I didn’t need full light to work. The darkness helped me to draw the pain she was in.

I waited.

She stayed for many seconds or minutes at a time before leaving me. I wanted to go to the door, open it, pull her into my arms, and promise her it was going to be okay. Who was I to make such promises when I couldn’t guarantee them? I had nothing to back it up.

So I waited.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

There was a soft knock at the door, shocking me. At first, I didn’t respond, sure my hopeful mind was playing tricks on me, but I heard it.

After throwing my blankets off, I rushed toward the door and flung it open just as Sian had turned to leave.

“Sian,” I said.

She wrapped her arms around her body. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Sian, there’s no intrusion here. You’re always welcome.”

I wanted to go to her, but I stepped back into my room. “You can come in,” I said.

She glanced down the hall, and I held myself perfectly still before she nodded. Her hair fell around her in waves, and I saw the damage that had been done.

The sight alone sickened me. I wanted to kill the bastard who did that to her, seeing her best friend dying and then attacking her.

Anger rushed through me, but I kept it deep inside where it belonged.

Sian came toward me. Each step, I felt like doing a victory dance. When she stepped over the threshold, I had to promise myself to keep my cool. To not lose my shit.

After I closed the door, we stood still, neither of us moving.

“Did I wake you?” she asked, filling the silence.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You … you weren’t busy?”

“No. I’m not busy.” I ran a finger down her arm. Going to the bed, I grabbed the notebook and flipped it closed.

“You were drawing?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

I cringed inside but kept my face neutral. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why? Are they dirty pictures?” she asked with a chuckle.

I stared at her. “That wouldn’t be so bad,” I said.

“Oh, they’re bad?”

“They’re not good.” I looked at the notebook.

“It’s fine.”

I didn’t want her hating me, so I held the notebook to her. “It’s … I don’t mean to hurt you.”

She frowned as she opened the book. I waited, tense, wondering what she would say or do.

“Oh,” she said.

“Look, I know you probably hate them. I’m sorry. It was a private moment.” I stopped as she flicked the next page over, then the other.

“You draw everything.”

“I like to capture it all.”

She looked up. “You don’t like a photograph?”

“No. I hate how sterile they are.”

“You think they’re sterile?”

“It’s a … a picture can be taken from miles away. We’ve seen it all over the internet. Pictures of the world. There doesn’t have to be any contact at all. Art isn’t like that to me.”

“It must be nice being to draw everything you see. Those of us who can’t, the camera is always good.”