Twisted Thorns

Chapter 1  Consequences

Vincent drained the last of his beer from the solo cup, swaying and grinding in time with the beat, then tossed the empty cup onto an unoccupied corner of the granite bar top. The green-eyed girl with purple streaks in her hair that he’d been dancing with slid her arms around his neck, pressing against his chest.

“Want to go somewhere a little more quiet?” She shouted over pulsing music. Vincent shook his head, and reached for the freshly filled cup his buddy was passing him from behind the kitchen island. He was having fun, and the girl was hot, but he’d promised Afton that he’d behave tonight.

Even though they’d lost the game, and been knocked out of the finals, the team had still congregated afterward to celebrate and in a way, drown their sorrows. It’d been the last game of the season, and some teammates were going to be graduating at the end of the semester and not returning. He took another long drink, tasting the burning tequila. The beat changed and the girl he was dancing with moved closer, sliding her hands down the front of his shirt, not stopping until she reached the belt that was threaded through his jeans.

“Steph, no! Afton will kill me!” he yelled, still swaying to the beat. Other classmates jostled into them, and his drink sloshed dangerously.

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her!” the girl called back, a smirk teasing up the side of her face. Vinent shook his head no again. Steph frowned, no longer amused. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and disappeared through the crowd of writhing bodies. Vincent shrugged, then  downed the rest of his drink before setting  off in the opposite direction, past the couch where people sat hooking up, in search of the girlfriend he’d just turned down a good time for.

He stumbled toward the stairs, head spinning. His friend mixed a strong drink. Lurching he staggered up to the second floor, running into walls and shouting at his buddies as they passed. Grinning stupidly to himself, he shoved past a pair of girls wrapped around each other at the end of the hallway, needing to use the bathroom. He pushed open the door, only to find it occupied by a couple making out.

“Woah, my bad!” Vincent held up his hand to shield his eyes, but not before he noticed something very wrong. The long, toned legs wrapped around the other guy's waist were familiar. He lowered his hand and his jaw dropped open.

“Oh, my -” Afton shrieked, her eyes going wide when she noticed Vincent standing in the doorway.

“What the-” Vincent grabbed the other guy by his collar and hauled him backwards. The guy tripped over the bathmat and fell, landing hard in the tub behind him. Shampoo bottles cascaded  from the shelves and landed with echoing thuds.

“Vincent, don’t.” Afton  hopped off the top of the sink and rushed to stand between them, throwing one hand out to stop him,  and using the other to pull her top back into place.

“I can’t believe you right now! After you said this afternoon that you wanted -”

“I know, and I’m sorry! I just got caught up in the moment!” Vincent shook his head, and then backed out of the bathroom.

“Whatever, I’m done. I’m sick of this on again, off again shit.” He growled before storming back down the hallway towards the stairs.

“Vincent! Wait! Come back!” But Vincent ignored Afton. He clambered down the stairs and then wove through the packed first floor, digging in his jeans for his car keys, head spinning.

“Hey, man! Are you good? You probably don’t need to drive.” One of Vincent’s team mates walked over to him, a cup in hand.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just need to get out of here for a bit.” Vincent told him, half sinking, half falling into the driver's seat of his car. Fumbling, his hands shaking, Vincent shoved his key into the ignition.

“Seriously, man. Just come back inside. Don’t drive like that.” Vincent ignored his friend, then stomping on the gas, he rocketed out of the driveway, tires screeching. He barrelled down the street, going way faster than he should have. His phone buzzed in the front pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out, and saw Afton’s face light up the display. His thumb swiped across the ignore button. A horn blared and he looked up in time to see headlights glaring through his windshield. He jerked hard on the wheel and felt his vehicle leave the pavement before screaming metal deafened him and darkness descended.

                                           ***********************

Low, consistent beeps sounded from Vincent’s left as burning torment flowed through his body like water through a river bed. Trying to wiggle his fingers and toes was agonizing. Vincent struggled to consciousness, trying to remember what happened and where he was. It was like trying to swim from the bottom of a deep pool when gravity tried to keep you crushed down.

"He's  in phenomenal health, despite the physical injuries so his body will recover with time. He will have some extensive scarring from the burn on his face and arm. Even with skin grafts it will never be the same. He was lucky to not lose that eye. We were able to get the fluid out of his lungs so he's able to breath on his own. Broken ribs take time to heal, so he will need to take it easy, but we all feel pretty confident about his recovery if he’s willing to put in the work."

Vincent Thorn finally opened his right eye to a slit. The blurry image of his father in a rumpled Armani suit swam into focus. Standing next to him was a petite woman dressed in medical scrubs.

Vincent groaned. His throat felt dryer than a desert.  Both his father and the woman looked in his direction.

"I'll give you a minute." She excused herself and left the room. His father walked over to the chair beside his bed and Vincent heard him sit down. The only other sound was the drone of the many machines filling the room. At last his father broke the chilly silence.

"I'm at my wits end, son. What the hell were you thinking?" Carson tossed a wrinkled newspaper onto Vincent’s prone form, and his own face filled the front page. The head line stood out in a bold font, LOCAL SPORTS STAR BENCHED PERMANENTLY.

Vincent found that he was no longer surprised at his father's anger. At this point he had grown to expect it. Nothing had ever been good enough. Not his grades, not his track record with sports, his friends, his course study in college. The list was un-ending, but Vincent knew this was his worst screw up to date.

"Did you hear the doctor just now? You are lucky to be alive! You are lucky you didn’t kill anyone!  Drinking and driving? Do you know how much money you have cost me? It’s going to be an insurance nightmare!" Carson Thorn ranted.

"How stupid are you?" he demanded before blundering on, not waiting for an answer.

"It's a good thing insurance is helping pay for your medical bills. Because I am done. I read your toxicology report. You are lucky you didn’t kill anyone.”  

Vincent said nothing as the rage inside him boiled and laced beneath it, guilt. His father was right. It had been a stupid decision. One of the worst he had ever made, and not because it had ruined his own life, but because he could have taken someone elses. Because he nearly had.

"You are selfish. All you think about is yourself. You obviously don't give a shit what people think of this family, and everyone knows it. You are an embarrassment to me and your mom. To the whole family. And I’m not paying for that damn school. Not another cent! You can party your way through on someone elses’s dime, but not mine, not anymore."

Hot tears pooled in Vincent's eyes,  but still he said nothing. There was no point. He knew that when Carson Thorn had made up his mind about someone, there would be no going back. He was past the point of no return. And he deserved it.

"Where’s mom?" Vincent finally asked. His throat was so raw it felt like he had swallowed  an entire box of nails or a brillow pad, and his lips were cracked and dry.

"She was here earlier. She left because she couldn't stand the sight of you." Vincent clenched his jaw, and felt the skin around the left side of his face pull painfully beneath the bandage that was wrapped around his skull.

"So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away, like I don’t exist or anything?" Vincent rasped.

"You’re damn right I am. You need time to think about your future. Because you will never be normal again. And I'm not leaving everything I've worked for to you, and have you ruin it all." Carson sneered.

Vincent's heart monitor began beeping faster, indicating his rising heart rate. The woman in scrubs, a doctor Vincent assumed, reappeared in the doorway.

"I think that is enough visiting for one evening.'' Her tone indicated she would not accept any argument.  

"I was just leaving. I am done here. You should give him a mirror. He should see how he looks now. Give him time to reflect." Carson chided before he swept from the room without a backward glance. The doctor followed. The next few days passed in blurry isolation. Vincent learned that the damage to his body had been extensive.   He reveled in the moments of solitary he was afforded. His life was in shambles. A destroyed past and no future. His mind, body and heart were all broken. His life had become a path leading  to nowhere. His father had been right. He was alone, and no one could be bothered to care.

Several skin grafts took place on his face, arm and shoulder over the next couple of months. He could only consume liquids until the bruising to his organs healed. He was weak. Walking the corridors of the burn unit winded him like suicide sprints in the dead of summer. His only visitors were the nurses and aids that came in on rounds and his Uncle Percy. Neither Afton nor his friends tried to call him or check on him.

 In the beginning,  mortification consumed him when he had to have help showering. His tender, healing skin was more sensitive than a newborn. It stretched tight and itched. Numerous IVs pricked his arms and hands adding to his discomfort.

  From what he could tell it hadn't done much good to have the surgeries. His skin was varying shades of pink and red now. Around his left eye, the skin was mismatched. The tender flesh was shiny and stretched in some places, wrinkled and puckered in others, like a candle that had dripped and reformed. It extended to his lower cheek and up into his hairline, which they had shaved.

He couldn’t stand to look at the sight of his own reflection and had broken the mirror in his room. The hospital staff had  wisely decided to not replace it for the duration of his stay.

Regaining his strength had been a challenge. He had hated physical therapy, feeling shame and humiliation whenever he couldn't complete an assigned task. He had gone from being a star athlete to not even being able to do simple stretches. Only when the doctors informed him that he wouldn’t be released unless he started showing progress with his rehabilitation, did he finally concede to their recommendations.

After months of rehab and surgery recovery, the blessed day of his release arrived. His skin had finally healed into a gruesome scar and his hair had miraculously grown out enough to help begin hiding it. His shoulder had mobility again and his ribs had healed. He could bend over and touch his toes and breath without pain.

Donning sweats and hoodie, Vincent made his way down the burn ward for the last time. Some of the nurses came to congratulate him on his release. They had been kind, but distant. He was glad to go. Vincent craved solitude. No more prodding and jabbing from needles. No more hourly check ins. No more waiting for his parents to come visit.

In the belly of the parking deck he met Percy. He opened the door to the car for him. Vincent climbed into the front seat, slamming the door. Irritation pricked at him. His parents hadn't been to visit once. He was upset with himself for even hoping that they would show up at his release. Of course they wouldn't.

Percy slid into the front seat and buckled his seat belt before merging into traffic. They rode in silence for a few moments. Vincent caught Percy glancing his way periodically.

"What? Trying to get a good look?" Vincent finally snapped at him and gestured angrily at his own face.

"No, of course not." Percy soothed.

Percy had been to more of Vincent's school events growing up than his own parents, video recorder  in hand. Over the years he had become a permanent fixture in Vincent’s life.

They traveled in silence for over an hour. Percy had suggested several weeks into rehab that Vincent could stay with him and his Aunt Ginny when he was released. He’d been surprised at the offer, but Percy had insisted that since Ginny had retired, she’d been looking forward to getting out of the city, and wanted an opportunity to remodel the plantation. Having no other options, Vincent had agreed.

"We've got the house looking pretty great for you." Percy said after a while. Vincent turned his face away from his window, where he had been glaring at his own reflection.

"I know it's been a long time since you've been out this way, you might not remember what it looked like from when you were a kid." Vincent seethed. Heat rose in his face and spread down his neck.

"You can stop pretending. I know your babysitting me because you feel sorry for me." he growled.

"We aren't babysitting." Percy started.

"Call it what you want. I don’t care. It is what it is." Vincent snapped. Bitterness flowed through him like a poison. This was exile, despite the positive spin his Aunt and Uncle were trying to put on it, he knew better. He had nothing left in life to look forward to. This was it.  He was going to look like a freak for the rest of his life, and he’d lost his friends and family in the process. From now on it’d be him and his reflection, and his Aunt and Uncle who’d felt too bad for him to just walk away.

By sundown they had reached the sprawling plantation-style house. It was early autumn and the leaves were barely starting to  turn  brilliant shades of orange, red and gold.  The setting sun and the fall colors made a beautiful scene, but Vincent did not notice it. Golden bars did nothing to disguise the fact that this house was now his prison.

When the Mercedes halted in the driveway, Vincent threw open the door and stormed towards the house. His feet crunched the gravel as he went, spraying the tiny stones in every direction. Ginny was standing in the entrance when he crashed through the front door.

"Hi, Vincent! It's so good to see you!" her greeting fell on deaf ears as he surged past her, heading in the direction of what he knew would be his room. Antiques littered the halls on rickety table tops. The faces from the paintings on the walls followed his progress, their expressions judgmental.

He passed through sweeping halls, and climbed steep stairs finally reaching his destination. He threw open the door to find it exactly matched his childhood memory. A large four post bed sat along one wall. A fireplace large enough to stand in, along the other. A pile of folded blankets were stacked neatly in a large arm chair next to  a full length mirror. Vincent jerked to a halt in front of the mirror and glared at his own reflection before snatching up a blanket. He threw it over the glass making sure every inch of its reflective surface was hidden from view. He turned at the sound of a knock on his door and saw Ginny and Percy standing in the open doorway, holding pizza and a cake. They set them down on one of the vintage tables, and proceeded to stand in awkward silence.

"We got your favorite." Ginny said after a moment. Her expression was nervous. It had been months since Vincent had last had pizza. And he had to admit it smelled amazing. He stepped towards the couple hesitantly, then took a slice before slouching into the chair.

"We just wanted to let you know, we are happy to be here. And we just want to help." Ginny said. His anger flared and he felt the heat crawling across his face.

"Get out. I want to be left alone." He told them.

"But-"

"I said get out!" Vincent shouted.

Percy and Ginny headed for the door. Out in the hallway with the door shut, they exchanged dismal expressions.

"It's going to be fine. Everything is going be fine." Percy said with the air of someone who didn't believe a word they were saying.

"He needs time. He's been through a lot of trauma with this." Ginny said wisely.  

"I can hear you!" Vincent's muffled voice came through the heavy door. Percy and Ginny scurried back down the stairs, leaving Vincent to eat his pizza alone.

The next few weeks, He, Percy and Ginny became accustomed to living together.  Pretty soon they learned to deal with his temper tantrums. It was obvious that he was hurting in ways that were not exposed on the surface.  And while he could act like a brat, deep down they worried. They knew he needed someone, anyone to be his friend. Someone who could help him out of the depression he had sunk into, and not judge him for his one costly mistake.