The Mighty Storm (Raura Revised)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I've been with Will for two years. I first met him at university, but nothing ever happened between us, then after I graduated I didn't see him again until two years ago when I bumped into him on a night out with Simone. We've been together ever since.

"Hey yourself."

"We still on for dinner tonight?"

"We sure are," I smile.

"Wonderful, so I'll pick you up for your place at seven."

"See you then."

I hang the phone up with Will and stare at my screen. I open Google and search for pictures of Ross.

I click on one enlarging it on my screen. He's bare-chested, and he looks so incredibly beautiful.

Ross is lean but muscular, defined, with lovely slim hips. His hair is light blonde, shaved close around the sides, longer on the top, he wears it high and messy. On him it looks perfect. And in contrast to his blonde hair, his eyes are hazel coloured. 

Ross is also covered in tattoos. He's almost as famous for his tattoos as he is his music and bad boy antics.

Ross has a full tattoo sleeve on his right arm. Tattoos on his left forearm and T M S in script on its inner, but his most distinctive tattoo, well for me anyway, is the one on his chest. It spans right across, sitting just below his collar bone, which says ...

I wear my scars, they don't wear me

Sometimes I wonder just how true that statement is.

Looking back, I don't know at exactly what point I knew I was in love with Ross. I guess I just always was.

My mum used to say when we were toddlers I did follow him around like a puppy dog.

Ross and I were best friends – as close as you could get. And I know it was all he would have, and ever did see me as. He was always way out of my league.

I guess the sad thing for me, or maybe in hindsight the best thing, was just as I was realising the depth of my feelings for Ross, he was gone.

One thing I do find amusing is knowing how Ross is with women nowadays, he's basically a slut, but when he was younger he was never interested in girls.

Back then, we were all about the music. I guess it was what bound us together. Well that and the other stuff. The bad stuff in Ross' life.

Ross was always heavily into music, as was I, thanks to my dad.

My Dad used to be a guitarist in a small time rock band back in the eighties called The Rifts.

I was spoon fed music. And my dad fed it to Ross too. I think to my dad, Ross was the son he never had.

My life was a little different than other kids, when their parents were teaching them to sing Twinkle, Twinkle, my dad was teaching me the lyrics to (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction.

I was brought up listening to the likes of The Rolling Stones, Dire Straits, The Doors, Johnny Cash, Fleetwood Mac, and the Eagles, to name a few.

My Mum tried to balance it out, bless her, but my dad lives and breathes music, and he is such a force in my life she never stood a chance. I love my mum of course, but I absolutely adore my dad.

So because of my differences, and there were plenty of them believe me, I never really fit in with any of the kids at school, neither did Ross.

We were our own island, and when he left, I was left adrift for a long time.

My dad taught me how to play the piano, he tried with the guitar but I could never get the hang of it. Ross on the other hand was an absolute natural on the guitar. My dad gave him his own first six-string when he was seven. He always did say Ross was a born musician, so I guess it's no surprise to him Ross is as successful as he is.

My dad is really proud of Ross' career.

He's always said I should get in touch with him, but I brushed it off, so there is no way I'm calling dad to tell him I'm seeing Ross tomorrow. He'd probably try and come with me.

It's going to be surreal seeing Ross after all this time.

I click off the picture and open another, a close up of his face. I stare at the picture, my eyes tracing the scar on his chin, the one which stretches along his jawline, it's not as noticeable as it used to be, maybe he covers it with makeup nowadays.

I know more about Ross than anyone. I know about a part of his past he's managed to keep hidden away from the rest of the world.

Then a thought sweeps my mind. Maybe he won't want to see me. Maybe he feels like he left behind the life he had here, and that's why he dropped contact with me.

Maybe me, home, reminds him of a time he'd rather forget.

Ross had a pretty rough time growing up, which lead to his dad Paul going to prison when Ross was nine. Susie, Ross' mum, remarried a few years later to lovely man called Dale. He was an architect brought over from the firm's office in New York to work on a long term project in Manchester where we lived. Then when Ross was fourteen, Dale was offered a promotion back in their New York office and he took it.

Six weeks later Ross was gone. And my heart was left broken.

With a resigned sigh, I click off Google and Ross disappears from my screen.

I force myself to open my Word document to get the questions compiled for tomorrow before I go to dinner with Will tonight.

I don't go to interviews unprepared. Especially if said interview is with my old best friend and one time love of my life.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO SAMANTHA TOWLE