“I know,” I murmur into my glass.
“I said something lame about her being a lying bitch. I wish I was more prepared. I would have nailed her.”
“I hate it when you do that,” Bridget says.
“Do what?” Abbie asks.
“You know, like have a fight and think of all the things you should have said long after the fight is over.”
Abbie lights a cigar and throws the packet to Cameron who is sitting down the other end of the bench table. He nods in thanks, takes one out and lights it before he passes the packet to Joshua. The dance music is loud and the crowd is noisy. We are at a bar on the beach of Phuket. Its about nine o’clock and we arrived an hour ago. A night out that we all desperately needed. Brock, Ben, Max and the bodyguards are on the table behind us, talking war and horror stories. Joshua and Cameron are sitting on the other end of the table, no doubt discussing the same as we are: The Margaret saga. They took it better than I expected. Joshua said he could tell by my body language when I got back from speaking with his mother at lunch that something had gone on. The sick truth is, I think this is the story we had all imagined, anyway. It’s not shocking… more disappointing. I wanted her to be the victim, the misunderstood mother-in-law, and I wanted to be her saviour.
I believed her and defended her, yet, in the end, it had all been a lie. I do believe she is an abused woman, neglected by her husband so seeking love from another man. Unfortunately, that’s a man whose only power is to take hers. He’s a wimp who blames his obsession and his inability to have her as the reason he abuses her. I know it’s common in domestically violent relationships, but when it’s someone you know, it’s hard to truly understand. He has brain washed her into thinking she brought this on all by herself, and that if she would just do as he asked, he wouldn’t need to hit, to rape, and to destroy her self esteem. She has obviously made an allegiance with the pain and needs the violence to feel his love, as if it validated it in some way. Sick, soul destroying and fucked up.
He doesn’t deserve her. Who am I kidding? How can you help someone who doesn’t want to be helped? They are as messed up as each other.
I am brought back to the here and now by a tall, well-built, blonde man standing next to Bridget. “Would you like to dance?” he asks her in what sounds like a German accent.
Her eyes flick to Abbie’s and mine.
“Yes, she would,” Abbie splutters.
Joshua and Cameron make eye contact, and Cameron smirks into his drink.
Bridget smiles nervously and he takes her hand, leading her to the dance floor. I look over to Ben for his reaction. He is still sitting at the other table, and his eyes flicker up to her, then he gulps down a large swig of his beer without even tasting it.
“What is she doing?” I whisper to Abbie. “What’s going on with her and Ben?” I frown.
“Ben is an asshole.” Abbie tuts as her eyes follow Bridget and Blondie through the crowd.
“Why?” I whisper, I’m confused.
“I hope she screws this guy into next week.”
“What happened between them?”
We are interrupted by Adrian and Nicholas, as they take a seat at our table. Adrian smiles broadly and kisses both of us on the cheek. “Hello, my beautiful girls.”
Nicholas is going home tomorrow and they went out to dinner on their own. I grab his hand under the table and give it a squeeze. Cameron gestures something to Nicholas and he stands and goes over to talk to the two of them. Cameron offers him a cigar, which he accepts.
“Where’s Didge?” Adrian asks.
“Dancing with a hot guy.”
Adrian sits up on his stool and cranes his neck to see before he lets out a low whistle when he catches sight of him. “Nice,” he whispers.
I hold my hands up. “Excuse me. Am I the only one who is batting for Ben here?”
Adrian shakes his head. “That ship sailed and he missed it.”
“Here, here,” Abbie mutters as she clinks her glass with Adrian’s.
I frown and am interrupted by two warm hands slipping around my waist from behind. “Would you like a drink, Presh?” my gorgeous Lamborghini asks.
I lean back into him and he kisses me tenderly over my shoulder. “Yes.” I smile against his lips.
“Margaritas?” He looks around at everyone.
“Yes, please.” Abbie smiles.
I stand. “I’ll come to the bar with you.”
He turns and walks through the club and I follow him like a puppy, my eyes drop to his behind as he walks through the crowded club. He’s in a black singlet and coloured board shorts. His ass looks taught, tight and totally fuckable.