”Are you high, my friend? Because it’s a lil’ bit early for that, don’t you think?”

”Bette, c’mon…” Shane said, knowing Bette long enough to understand that the brunette had gotten ticked off.

”Come on, Bette, my ass! Are you really that stupid, Shane?”

Shane maneuvered off the bench, taking a rigid stance in front of Bette. ”Okay, now you tell me, what exactly are you mad for? What did I say that is causing you to call me names now?”

”I am so fucking… Fucking mad, furious, livid at every fucking thing you’ve just said!!!” Bette yelled. ”When have you become such a fucking dreamer? You have no idea what an utter bullshit has just gotten out of your mouth, Shane! Helena, you, Marcus have had enough? Oh my God, I ain’t even holding you three back!! Do I hold you back, Shane!? I do fucking NOT, all of you can go wherever you damn well please if you are sooo fucking tired or have had enough or whatever!”

”Stop right here! We are not going…”

”Oh my Goood!” Bette breathed out loudly, grasping her head, then sharply turning her attention back on Shane. ”Passion for music, Shane?” The brunette sneered, almost loosing herself in laughter again, but able to restrain the fit. ”I haven’t touched or seen my guitar for three years, it’s lying somewhere in the depth of my closet, waiting to be thrown off of my fucking balcony! Do you think a person who has passion for music would abandon his musical instrument like that? No, he wouldn’t. I have no passion for a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, none, you got that? I am just a pathetic criminal, just like Helena is, just like Marcus is, just like YOU are” Bette finished the statement, poking her finger into Shane’s chest slightly.

The two women glared at each other for the next passing minute or two, their eyes full of pain reflect in one another. Bette shook her head almost insensibly as she spoke in a quivering voice close to a whisper. ”You yourself told me earlier that if Dominic ever finds out about Miranda being still alive, furthermore, free and happy, he would murder us without a single nerve being budged in his pitiless long lost heart. So, I ask you a question. What makes you think he – along with his psychopath of an uncle, who thrones on the pinnacle, don’t you forget about that – would let us go happily, chanting ’Godspeed!’ to our retreating backs? What makes you think that? Huh? Tell me, Shane!”