by Mj Fields
He deserves it.
He deserves monsters of his own.
He deserves them so much more than I do.
Lost in my own head, sinking in my own shit, I reach for a random face in the dark and feel scruff beneath my hand. I quickly swipe my thumb over his lips, because, in my head, a flinch would be an objection, and I would move on quickly.
When I feel a hand on my head, pulling me in a different direction, and the man whose lips I was going to kiss begin cursing in a foreign language, I open my eyes and look toward the handsy man … a man with soft brown and somewhat tormented eyes, framed in thick, black lashes, face lightly covered in black hair, and lips that look so soft that I have to kiss them.
My lips catch fire, his scent familiar, but I know that crazy notion is driven by my monsters, too.
When I get pulled back, I know the culprit’s firm grip. Ranger, my freaking bodyguard hired by my parents to protect me from possible crazed fans, or so they say. I know damn well he’s here to protect me from … myself.
Right now, he’s my least favorite person on the planet, because my lips still feel like fire, and I have never felt that from anyone, anyone except him … Marcello.
Eyes still locked to the man who caused the burn I feel hope for the first time, and behind his, this man whose name I don’t know and probably never will … regret.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth.
He cocks his head to the side, looking confused.
I shake my head as I’m being carried back, my hand to my heart, and yell out, “I’m so sorry!”
Ranger-ed
Tris
By the time he fades away, so does the anxiety caused by it all, and annoyance takes hold.
“You think your parents are going to back off now?” he snaps as he finally sets me on my feet backstage.
“They don’t get a say in a few short months. I’ll be eighteen,” I snap back, straightening my dress.
“Tris!” Dad yells my name from behind me.
“Here we freaking go,” I grumble.
Ranger scowls. “Don’t be a shit. At least they give a damn.”
If I didn’t know Brisa had a lady boner for him, I would have found a way to get rid of him when he started showing up everywhere I was trying to hide.
“Park your childhood trauma in the employee parking lot and leave me to deal with mine.”
“Why the hell I put up with you is beyond me,” he huffs as he turns and walks away.
“It probably has a lot to do with all the zeros in your paycheck,” I call behind him.
“You okay?” Mom throws her arms around me.
“Oh my God, Mom, I’m fine. Same show, different night.” I wiggle away from her insanely tight clutches.
Dad grabs me up next. “They almost came through the cattle control barrier.”
“It’s crowd control, and I’m fine,” I grumble as I attempt to wiggle away. “But seriously, you’re squishing me.”
He steps back and takes my hands. “Nothing squishy about you. Have you been eating?”
“Dad, we had dinner last night.” I pull my hands away and step farther back. “You need to loosen the damn leash, both of you.”
“Be easier to do if you’d follow some rules, you know.”
“It’s part of the act. And besides, I actually liked kissing that guy. That’s a first. You should both be happy with that, huh?”
Mom looks mortified. Dad looks briefly amused, briefly.
“Really, Mom?”
“I’m not sure what to say, Tris.” Tears begin to pool in her eyes. Tears are always filling her eyes. Well, ever since they found out their little girl wasn’t perfect.
“Say it’s a step in the right direction and smile, for God’s sake.”
“Tris, VIP area to meet your fans,” Tricks calls to me.
I look back at Dad and smile like Brisa does. “And I have fans.”
“Of course you do. But don’t you ever forget that your mother and I are your biggest fans.”
“Corny.” I shake my head as I turn to follow Tricks and the girls.
Standing in front of the pop-up banner with our logo on it, the crowd gathered outside the VIP tent is loud.
“Looks like a giant womb,” Rain whispers, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You bump up?” Zoey asks.
“Why would you ask her that?” Mae snips.
“She was a freaking zombie before we went on stage, and then—”
“High on the notes.”
“And the kiss.” Mae beams. “He was the hottest yet.”
“Grabbed your head with his big man hand and pulled you away from the other guy. That was hot, Tris, so freaking hot,” Rain moans.
“Why do girls like possessive dicks?” I half-joke, but only half because I get it. I so get it, but I hate that I do.
Rain shrugs. “Possessive sometimes looks an awful lot like protective.”
“And what exactly was he protecting her from?” Zoey huffs.
The conversation is interrupted by the first group of VIPs shrieking as they almost run in, all three young, too freaking young, to be wearing our band’s tee-shirt with the vag logo on it, which I’m pretty sure not everyone thinks is a vag, but that’s because they aren’t twisted like me. And Rain. I may just like her for real.
All dark-haired beauties are beaming as they all but rush and hug me, speaking in a language that doesn’t sound French to me, more Spanish, but let’s be honest, I didn’t pay attention at all in Spanish class and was kicked out of school in the tenth grade, so it could be Swahili for all I know.
After unwrapping themselves from me, they say the first thing I understand, “We love you!”
You wouldn’t if you knew me, is what I want to say, but they shouldn’t be burdened with my lunacy, any more than they should be unknowingly wearing a vag shirt. But this is “show business.”
“Thank you.” My smile is one that I hope matches their energy and doesn’t spill the fact that this is completely out of my comfort zone.
“Picture?” I ask, putting a final nail in the comfort coffin. Then I squat down between them, and one of the three girls, who are definitely related—hopefully not second cousins, or one will no doubt be fucking the other’s boyfriends in just a few short years—holds out her phone for a selfie and can’t quite get us all in.
“Dad!” I yell, knowing he’s here somewhere, even if I can’t see him. Since the “revelation” that their little girl is no longer a little girl, they are no different from Ranger who, when I’m eighteen, is totally gone because I can’t fucking breathe with everyone always up my ass.
“On it,” Dad calls.
“Papá?” one of the girls asks before handing him her phone.
“Yes, Papa and Mom.” I smile as I look at the camera.
“Papá, ven a conocer a Tris Steel. El tío Matteo también!”
“First picture, yeah?” I ask, wrapping my arms around two as Mom fusses with getting the other in front of us.
After the first picture is taken, Mom insists, “Now, one at a time.”
I want to tell her that this isn’t going on a Christmas card or put into a yearbook, and that there are obviously VIPs lined up outside the tent, which, by the way, we had exactly fifteen at our first show in Russia, and all related to me, except for Rain’s folks and Mae’s, but … whatever.
We had exactly the same number of people waiting in the VIP at our second show in Romania. Manchester, England, was different. There, we had a really long line until STD started, and then, well, let me just say I was relieved, because the contact high from the crowd’s energy had been wearing off, and I had started to get anxious.
Anxiety is a cunt.
“Picture with the band?” Mom waves the girls over.
I look at Dad, who gives me a quick wink, basically telling me to let her do her thing.
I’m not so far gone that I don’t know that I have put them through hell, been doing that most of my
life, so I oblige them. It’s not like I can ever make up for it, and I’m hoping once they trust me again, I can distance myself and pop in and out when things aren’t staticky.
“Papá! Matteo!” one of the girls exclaims.
“This should be entertaining.” Zoey chuckles as she wraps her arm around my shoulder.
I look at her, expecting her to elaborate, and also hoping that she remembers the girls are young, like G-rated, maybe PG.
“Kissy, kissy, Tris.” The same girl giggles. “Matteo.”
Zoey busts up laughing, and Rain whispers, “Dayum.”
I look away from them, and my eyes land on the same man who my lips burned for minutes ago and seem to be having some sort of muscle memory from said kiss, because they are tingling. And Rain is right; dayum.
I feel an elbow jab my side. “Say something.”
I glare at Mae, and she giggles.
Annoyed at her, I look back at him. “You’re welcome.”
A smirk forms on his perfect lips, and then he smiles a dazzling smile. But I’m not focusing on it. I’m tripping on a dimple, a tummy flutter and, of course, a racing heart.
“Bien.” His voice is a smooth and deep, no rasp like … him. It’s soothing and should be bottled up, labeled “melatonin magic,” and sold worldwide.
“Bien?”
His dimple deepens. “Fue un bonito beso.”
Mae leans in and whispers, “He said, it was a beautiful kiss.”
I scowl at her again and snap because, like, step away, girl.
“Well, of course it was.”
I glance back at him, feeling all sorts of emotions, and desperately hoping not to see the regret I have seen before, and wishing once again that I kept my lips to myself and my mouth shut.
There is none. Concern maybe? Confusion because we obviously don’t speak the same language.
Then I hear Dad’s voice boom, “Sono suo, padre.”
“I really wish I had some snacks for this,” Zoey says in a way too amused and annoying as hell tone.
He points to the girls then behind him. “Their papa.”
“Good call.” Dad actually smiles and the man, Matteo, nods once before reaching his hand out and offering Dad a handshake.
Great, just great, I think.
“All right, we’ve got a line,” Tricks announces kindly.
“Más tiempo,” one of the girls frowns.
“More time,” Mae whispers the translation.
Tricks gives them that smile that makes all females, from eight to eighty, swoon. “London, Madrid, and then Reggio Emilia. Lots más tiempo coming up.”
“Papá?” they all call out, and I dare look back at the man who seems to have my body blushing from the inside out.
His eyes and smile soften before he turns to exit the VIP tent.
The other man, Papá, has a shit-ass grin on his face that makes me sick to my stomach as he says, “Ese era mi beso.”
Mae whispers, “That was my kiss.”
“Chicas, vengan cinmigo,” Matteo calls to them, and his voice, although still smooth, carries much annoyance.
I look at the father and state firmly, “Obviously not.”
“You look tired,” Mom says from beside me in the SUV that Dad insists on driving, taking us back to the hotel.
“That’s not tired; that’s lust,” Rain states like it’s no big deal that she just outed me in front of my parents.
“He was handsome,” Mom says, her lips too tight to be genuine, her eyes too squinted to be truly okay with this.
“Handsome? No. That man was hot.” Zoey chuckles.
“Ladies,” Dad softly scolds us.
“With all due respect, I get that she’s your daughter, but she’s gonna be eighteen, and if that doesn’t make it any better, at least it’s not Satan she’s doe-eyed over.”
“I’m not doe-eyed,” I defend then scold her under my breath, “The fuck, Rain?”
“She’s chasing the same dream as you all are. She needs to focus on herself and not a guy. Besides that, he’s too old for my girl,” Dad says, turning into the parking lot. “Eye on the prize, ladies. Your fan base has multiplied by a dozen from Russia. Keep focused, and it’ll quadruple before you know it.”
“Isn’t love the ultimate prize in life?” Mae asks sincerely.
Dad tosses back a quick, “Start with finding your true passion, which you’re all doing now. Then self-awareness, what do you want, need, and desire in life. Then self-love. Out of all that, what makes you the best you, and focus on it. Let go of all the shit that doesn’t make you happy. Set a firm foundation, and you’ll find your one true love.”
Zoey leans forward. “So, you’re saying you and Mrs. Steel—”
“Bekah,” Mom corrects her sweetly.
“You and Bekah had it all figured out before you met?”
“Yes,” Dad answers, and Mom says, “No.”
The girls all laugh.
He clarifies, “I knew immediately that she was going to change my life for the better, so I stand true to yes.”
“And I was hesitant.”
I bet you were, Bekah, I bet you were, I think.
After the fight, getting kicked out of school, and my entire world ultimately imploding on me, I was told, until I could talk about what was going on inside me, I couldn’t go home.
As staticky as things were, I could still see that the news was devastating to my parents. I don’t really have a relationship with God, but it had to have been divine intervention that allowed me to see and feel what this was doing to them. Yet, still being angry and blaming them, I decided to unleash hell on them, because I wanted them to hurt like they were hurting me.
“Tomorrow, okay, Tris?” my shrink asked.
“Yes.”
The next day, in the room filled with greens, comfy couches, and a blue lighting that was supposed to calm, I felt anything but calm. It fueled the fire inside of me.
I didn’t sit in a comfortable chair. I paced.
I didn’t feel like I was in a forest. I was locked inside what appeared to be a five-star resort, a place that could give help to fragile people.
I wasn’t fragile. I was infuriated.
I wasn’t free. I was locked up.
I didn’t see blue. I saw rage. For clarification purposes, rage is red.
I didn’t feel calm when they walked in, appearing to be some uppity couple who had done everything right.
That was fake news.
“I know about your life before us, so don’t you dare judge me!” Were the first words out of my mouth. “You were as fucked up as I am, and as fucked up as he is.”
“Tris, I think you should sit and try to utilize the calming skills you’ve learned here over the past—”
“And I think you should go fuck yourself!”
Dad then snapped, “Okay, sign her out. This clearly hasn’t helped.”
“Oh, wow, really, Zandor! Really? You haven’t seen that in the past two motherfucking days?”
“Tris, don’t …” Mom whispered as tears began to fall a-fucking-gain.
“Don’t you dare play the sweet and innocent southern belle card with me, Bekah. Your wedding dress was white, lacey lingerie, and your ring, a black leather collar. You professed your undying love in a sex club at a collaring ceremony. You didn’t get to—”
Her knees buckled, and Dad caught her. Of course he did.
She sobbed out, “No, no, no, no—”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” I raged.
The doors swung open, and two large women walked in.
“You let them take me, and I will never speak to you again. I will ki—”
Dad moved between them and me. “Don’t touch her.”
“Mr. Steel, she just said that she was going to kill herself. Obviously—”
“She said kick, not kill,” he lied, he so fucking lied, but it was to my benefit, so I didn’t call him on it like I was going to on everything else.
; The shrink tsked. “That’s not what she said, and I am—”
“Paid by me. So, with all due respect, I suggest you start earning some of the three Gs that I lay down a day, or I’ll lay down thirty to get your ass closed down.”
“Zandor!” Mom gasped.
“Bekah, with nothing but love and respect, I’m telling you to sit down and let me deal with this.”
That pissed me off, too.
“Because you’re a fucking man? You think, because you’re a fucking man who collared his—”
“Because I’m your fucking father! And because I said so!”
“I hate you!”
“Good.” He crossed his arms and stood toe-to-toe with me.
“Good! What the hell is wrong with you, Zandor?” I screamed.
“It’s better than looking right through me. You wanna kick me, Tris? I can handle it. You wanna judge your mother and me for being a little—”
“Zandor, no more!” Mom covered her ears.
I laughed at her. I laughed so hard. “You’re a pussy.”
“That’s a month.” He said it so calmly, like grounding me for a month meant a damn thing.
“And so are you. You’re a pussy, too.”
Lips tight, he added another. “Two months.”
“In two months, I’ll be—”
“Shut your mouth, Tris, because if you keep your shit up, in two months, you’ll still be here and I won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”
Mom squeezes my hand, interrupting my little walk down memory lane and bringing me back to the here and now. “You okay?”
“Yeah, Mom, I’m good.”
But I’m not. I’m not at all.
Monsters
Tris
My head won’t stop spinning with thoughts of that day and the months preceding it until I found my outlet. And when I close my eyes, I see … Matteo’s and feel like I’m floating. Then a sick part of me feels guilty about feeling that heat, that desire, and that part of me that makes my stomach turn.
I don’t owe … him … Marcello anything.