Ah, fuck.
"She's upset?" Ronan's smirk fell away. He seemed genuinely bothered. Which was not like him at all.
"Yes." Declan folded his arms across his chest. "So what did you two fuckers do to upset her?"
Ronan and I looked at each other. We could lie, but Dec was a mind reader, and he'd figure it out.
"I kissed her," Ronan admitted with a gives-no-fucks glint in his eye.
"You kissed her?" repeated our older brother.
"Yes. Got a problem with that?"
"Yes, I have a problem with that." Before Ronan could argue, Declan punched him, splitting his lip. "You fucking asshole!" he roared. "Can you please try to keep your dick in your fucking pants for five fucking minutes?"
"That's a lot of fucks," Ronan joked, using his tee to wipe the blood off his face. "And five minutes? I'm offended." Declan swung for him again. But this time, my dumb brother ducked in time.
"Look," I interjected, acting as the peacemaker as usual. "He made a mistake. He's drunk."
Ronan glared at me, outraged. "Kissing her wasn't a mistake!"For fuck’s sake. Did my twin have a death wish this evening? It was the only explanation.
"Like I said, he's pissed as a newt, so ignore his ramblings," I plowed on. Declan glowered at us both, not believing my bullshit.
"Enough! I don't give a fuck why you did it. All I care about is that you don't repeat it. Verity is off limits. Are we clear?" It had been ages since our older brother laid down the law, but when he did, only a fool would ignore him.
Declan had calmed down a lot since he took over the family business from our pa, but he still had a vicious temper. As several members of the O'Rourkes could attest. If Ronan went against his express order, he'd be living in a world of pain before long. Being blood related wouldn't protect Ronan from the beating of his life.
But that wasn't my concern. My stupid brother could take care of himself. What bothered me more was hearing Verity had left this room upset. I knew how fragile she was, and I refused to let my brother fuck with her for his own amusement.
16
Verity
My reflection stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. Since being forcibly brought back to Ireland on a private jet, my Italian tan had faded.
Having a golden tan helped boost my self-confidence, which currently languished in the gutter, along with my mood.
Ronan had been conspicuously absent since our library kiss a few days ago, which told me he regretted it. Hardly a shock, but his unspoken rejection had left me feeling about as appetizing as a loaf of moldy bread.
The dark shadows under my eyes spoke of poor-quality sleep. I'd done nothing but toss and turn in bed for days, torn between raging anxiety and unfulfilled lust. Lust not quenched by my own fingers.
Basically, I was fucked. And not in a good way.
Saoirse had texted this morning to say she wasn't coming home this weekend, as we'd planned. Apparently, she had a paper to write and since she'd already asked for a deadline extension, submitting it late would land her in hot water.
Hearing her talk about college made me wonder if taking a gap year had been a good idea. It had made perfect sense at the time. I'd wanted to visit the country of my birth, and the college course I'd started bored me.
Now, though, college seemed like a summer vacation compared to the trauma of being confined with the men I wanted and couldn't have. And even worse, one of them had offered me a glimpse of heaven and then promptly rescinded the invitation.
I sighed.
Another day of reading trashy novels and wandering the estate like the ghost of some pathetic Victorian spinster awaited. Deciding not to bother with makeup since nobody gave a shit what I looked like, I pulled on a shapeless sweater over my baggy jeans, fixed my hair in a ponytail, and went downstairs.
Breakfast had been and gone, but I'd skipped it, like usual. Food no longer interested me these days. What little appetite I'd had vanished after the library incident with Ronan. The voice in my head took great pleasure in telling me I looked fat, and that was why Ronan hadn't been to see me since then.
Most of the time, I tried not to pay too much attention to the negative voice in my head, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the bitch. That same voice had told me Anton treated me like shit because I deserved it.
I should probably speak to a therapist. Hearing voices was a sure-fire symptom of mental illness, which suggested I needed urgent help.
