Feared

Thirteen: The Bar

The cameras only caught glimpses of her as she passed, her head bent against the flashing lights of the media. They shouted words and questions at her, but she continued to appear oblivious to their intrusion on her life. She wore a steely expression, indifferent, cold, strong. She paused for a moment outside the hotel, turning ever so slightly, her blue eyes locking with the camera.

And there the screen froze, holding her beautiful image still.

"There you have it," the female news-anchor interjected. "That is Charlotte Owens, returning to her hotel from another meeting with her parents – Caroline and Andrew Owens. All reports throughout the week seem to convey a very positive integration between the students and their families. Should we expect that they will be returning home soon?"

There was a noise at the door, interrupting Matt's moment of escape, glancing back at a world he no longer felt a part of. He fumbled with the remote, desperate to hide the fact he was indulging his pain. The remote toppled from the armchair, the batteries spilling onto the floor, as Freddie strode into the room, an irritated frown on his face.

"You weren't watching it again?" Freddie exhaled, a weary expression on his face.

Matt stood up, tramping over to the television and stabbing the button with his finger. He snatched his coat from the side of the sofa and dragged it on, refusing to answer his brother. He was well aware that Freddie already knew the answer.

"Matt, she's moved on. Obsessing on the news reports will only make it harder for you to get over her," he scolded.

Matt met his brother's gaze with a look that would have curdled milk, but Freddie seemed to be impervious to it, returning an expression meant for someone far more pathetic than Matt felt.

"You don't want to be that guy," he said. "It's not healthy".

"Message received, Freddie," Matt grumbled, pushing past his brother into the dark corridor of their grandmother's house.

"Matt, I'm only looking out for you," he sighed, shadowing him.

"I can look out for myself," Matt replied coldly, pulling his bedroom door shut, just as Rhian skipped down the stairs from the third floor.

"Great you're ready," she smiled, clipping her bag shut and tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder.

"I don't know why we have to do this," Matt argued, rubbing his jaw irritably and glancing from Rhian, dressed in a leather jacket, jeans and heels, to Freddie in navy chinos and a white shirt hidden under his maroon padded jacket. They were acting like overprotective parents.

"I think we have more than enough reason to do this," Freddie cut across him. "You need a break from the press, from the stress of it all. And you need to stop thinking about her".

"Look it's just dinner and a few drinks, Matt," Rhian smiled, linking his arm. "Just the three of us".

"Did you ever hear the saying that 'three is a crowd'?" he grimaced, but she was having none of it.

He had only been back home from the States four days when they seemed to come to the decision that an intervention was needed.

Despite the fact he knew they were only trying to look out for him, he couldn't help but feel resentful towards them and their constant interference and disapproval.

Matt knew he was not caught up in some depressive heart-broken fall-out after Charlotte had chosen Alexander. It wasn't that he wasn't sad it hadn't worked out either. The mere thought of her was killing him, an ice dagger in his gut, slowly rotating, slowly leaving him bleed to death, but that was not his primary concern, at the moment. He was beyond certain he was not after becoming some scorned suitor obsessed with what he had lost. He was not angry with her. He was not obsessed with her. He was concerned. And not with Charlotte.