by Monica James
Of course at that precise moment, the sky decides to open up and pour down on me as I am attempting to maneuver down a hill and not break my neck. I can hear Quinn call out behind me, but I don’t stop. His echoed voice sends me charging down the hill at a faster pace, not caring that the rain is impairing my vision and I am squinting to see.
“Red! Stop! Let me help you,” I hear from behind me, but I can’t.
My feet have a mind of their own as they quicken in panic, afraid of what will happen if Quinn actually catches me. The rain pelts down around me, turning the grass into a slippery sludge, but I can’t stop.
Thankfully, the ground becomes flatter and I jump down, landing onto the even ground, making a mad dash for my room. I can hear Quinn is close behind, and that only sends my already thumping heart into a symphony of unhealthy, piercing beats.
Quinn’s shoes crunch loudly over the gravel, and I smell him before I feel him pull me into his soaked, breathless chest.
“Stop running,” he says, panting deeply.
And I know there’s a double meaning behind his words.
He wraps a strong arm around my small waist, pinning my back to his front, stopping me from wriggling out of his grip. We are both sopping wet, and as the rain continues to pound heavily around us, Quinn doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move me under the safety of the walkway, or shelter me from the punishing rain.
And because of that, I have never felt so protected, so safe than I do right now in his arms.
“Trust me,” he whispers, his soft breath brushing along my neck and cheek.
I shiver with the sensation of his hot breath warming my cold, wet skin.
“I want to,” I reply honestly, closing my eyes.
“Then do it. I promise you, I will never hurt you. I will fucking cut out my own tongue if I say anything to hurt you,” he declares loudly to be
heard over the rain, ricocheting off the tin roof.
I can’t help but soften at his words, as no one has ever cared if their words have wounded me or caused me pain.
“Give me a chance, please.”
And before I have a second to process what he’s doing, I feel his wet lips press a light kiss over my frantic pulse. The kiss, however, isn’t seedy or presumptuous, it is chaste and heartfelt.
But I don’t reply, as this is all too much. And Quinn mistakes my silence for aversion.
“Get inside before you catch a cold,” he sighs, not allowing me to comment on his previous admission.
And with that, he leaves me standing sopping wet, in the pelting rain.
But I am not cold, I am far from.
Chapter 17
And that’s how the Story ends...
“Mia, get down here!” my dad calls out to me while I pace upstairs, waiting for him to tell me what the hell is going on.
When my dad told me to dress nicely because he had a surprise for me, I did what any daughter would do, I listened.
I don’t actually own anything ‘nice,’ so I settled for my short denim skirt and lacy cami. That’s the nicest thing I own—how sad.
My heart is in my throat as I thump down the basement steps, unsure of what I’m about to be confronted with. Maybe, just maybe he’s about to tell me he’s finally coming clean. I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping this is how our conversation will go.
Sadly, it doesn’t.
As I peer around the basement, I raise my eyebrow in confusion. The room has been converted into a makeshift bedroom, with a small, single dirty bed sitting off into the far corner of the room.
Maybe my dad is going to go cold turkey and sweat it out down here. Makes sense. I suddenly can’t wipe the smile off my face.
“Daddy?” I ask when I see him standing with his hands behind his back ominously. “What’s going on?”
I can’t help the endearment that slips past my lips, as the thought of my father sobering up and kicking the habit transforms me into a little girl wearing rose-tinted glasses.
“Mia, come here,” he says gently, and of course I oblige.
Looking into his sunken eyes, I hope the next words that come out of his mouth will change my life forever.
And they do.
“Mia, I need you to do something for me.”
“What?” I ask suspiciously as I look over at the bed and back at him.
“I need you to help me, Mia. I need you to take care of me.”
“I do take care of you,” I answer. Suddenly my throat feels like I’m swallowing lead.
“I know you do, but Phil and I—”
As soon as I hear the name Phil pass through his lips, I know nothing good can come out of this conversation.
“No. Whatever you have planned—no, Dad. I’m not doing it… I’ve done enough for you!” I scream, my hands shaking in fear.
My father cocks his head to the side and reveals what he has hidden behind his back.
A revolver.
“What the fuck?” I ask, my breath leaving me winded as I eye the gun he’s holding toward my chest.
“This isn’t negotiable. Phil will be here in five minutes, and he has a john willing to pay big bucks for you. A virgin as pretty as you, Mia, you will be very valuable to me and Phil.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I hate when one betrayal tear slips down my cheek and into my parted lips.
This is the last time I will cry.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my chest rising and falling quickly.
My father takes a menacing step toward me, and it takes all my willpower not to buckle and show him fear. He slides the nose of the gun down my throat, and dips it between my breasts.
I close my eyes in revulsion, and swallow down the bile that’s creeping up my throat.
“Me and Phil, we made a deal. We both think you’d be a lot more valuable spreading your legs instead of using them to drag your lazy ass around the streets of L.A.”
The realization of what my dad is proposing hits home, and I sway, having to hold onto the wall for support.
“How could you? I’m your daughter!” I sob angrily, not caring that I am openly weeping, showing weakness.
“You are her daughter,” he sneers. “Nothing but a whore, just like your momma!”
I sniffle, not understanding what he means by that, but I don’t have time to think of anything but getting the hell out of here.
Think, Mia, get him talking. Distract him.
“What’s in it for you?” I ask, wiping my fallen tears away with the back of my hand.
My father waves the gun, using it as an explanatory tool.
“Phil can use the basement to conduct his business out of…”
“You mean use as a brothel!” I shout, trying to buy time.
“Call it what you want, Mia, but you are doing this. The sooner you get used to the idea, the easier it will be for everyone. You don’t have a choice. You don’t do this, then, you cease to exist.”
I stare at my father, my mouth agape. Did he just threaten to… kill me?
My father continues like he didn’t just threaten my life. “Phil gets paid a lot more using this tight body of yours than he would with you just delivering his stuff. And in return, I get an endless supply of all the gear I need, and maybe make some money out of it, too.”
In the end, it comes down to greed.
Both my father’s and Phil’s.
Over my dead body. There is no way I’m doing this.
No more.
“Don’t worry, princess,” my dad adds softly, totally flipping a switch. “You’ll get paid too, baby. Phil will take good care of you. He can’t have his number one girl being a mess. You won’t have to work late nights delivering gear, putting yourself in dangerous situations. Those days are over, baby.”
I cannot believe it. My father is actually trying to justify prostituting me out to complete strangers, behaving like it’s in my best interest to do this.
He is so far gone and I hadn’t even realized it.
As I look into the eyes of the man I used to call my father, I know the man I used to love is gone. He is now replaced with a sick, twisted monster. Or maybe he always was, and I just chose to believe he would change.
I have no other choice than to put him out of his misery.
“Okay, Daddy, I’ll do it,” I say in a small voice, trying my best not to vomit in revulsion.
I watch my father’s face radiate happiness, and that’s only because I have submitted to his sickening plan of using his own daughter in a way no parent should.
He lowers his hand and opens his arms out for me to give him a hug. I feel sick. I actually feel if I live through this, I’m going to be one warped, bitter individual.
I take a step toward him and pretend to trip over my feet.
Then it all happens in a matter of seconds, but those seconds, I swear, are in slow motion.
Pulling my Colt 911 out of my right combat boot with lightning quick speed, I press the barrel into his chest before he can move.
My father’s eyes widen and he attempts to raise his gun, but I shove the barrel into his chest, shouting wordlessly that I’m not joking. I will fucking shoot him if he moves.
“Drop the gun, or I will shoot you,” I say, never breaking eye contact with him.
“How could you? After everything I’ve done for you, you ungrateful little whore!” my father sneers, spittle coating my face.
I don’t have time to explain that he has done nothing to help me. I survived all of this because of me, no one other than me.
“Drop the gun!” I shout, cocking the trigger on mine.
He raises a hand in the air in surrender, and slowly lowers the gun to the ground.
He gradually stands and mocks me.
“So, what are you going to do now, Hotshot? You’re going to shoot an unarmed man?” he spits, his eyes narrowing in rage.
I kick the gun and it skids across the floor, away from my father’s dangerous hands.
“No, I’m leaving. I’m doing something I should have done a long time ago. I was stupid to think you’d ever change. That you’d ever do anything for anyone other than yourself. No wonder Mom left you,” I spit out, walking backward, my gun still aimed at his chest.
“Good, go, I don’t need you!” he screams. “You’re just like her.” He grinds his jaw, and I know when he looks at me, all he sees is my mother.
“Good. I would rather be like her than a pathetic excuse of a person like you.” I snicker, still walking backward.
In hindsight, probably not the best thing to do in a basement, as basements are usually filled with junk. Junk that one can easily trip over, and lose one’s balance, which is what happens.
I stumble over a discarded box and lose my footing for a second, but that’s all it takes. In that second, my father dives for his gun, aims it at my head, and shoots.
Luckily for me, my father has always been a lousy aim, and misses, the bullet imbedding into the wall behind me. But as he lines up the gun, ready to pull the trigger again, I know he has a better shot. So I raise my gun and I shoot.
And I don’t miss.
My bullet rips into my father’s stomach, and he stumbles back a few feet from the force of the momentum. He gradually stares down at his white t-shirt, a look of confusion spreading across his ashen face, as the white material begins coloring to a bright red. He looks up at me, his mouth opening and closing slowly, before he drops to his knees and crumbles into an injured heap, bleeding out steadily.
I stare at the sight before me and freeze. Holy fuck, what have I just done? I never meant to shoot him. Or did I?
I have to get out of here, as the neighbors were bound to have heard the gunshots. And Phil is minutes away from turning up with my ‘john.’ But before I leave, I have to ensure that what I did is real.
As I take two small steps toward my father, who is laying prone, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, I lean forward and peer over him. The small shallow breaths he’s taking, and the way his chest is jerking intermittently, indicates he’s dying.
A lone tear rolls down my cheek as I watch my father fade before my eyes. He turns his head toward me, meeting my eyes with pure wrath in his. And in that moment, I know I did the right thing, because it was either me or him.
I give my father one final glance, and back away from him.
“Mia.”
It’s faint, but as I hear my name pass through the lips of the man I once called Daddy, I know that I too have died with him on that cold basement floor.
***
I wake with a scream that grates my throat raw.
Dreaming… who needs it?
Chapter 18
The Past
Well, today officially blows.
After my lack of sleep because of the worst possible nightmare ever, I’m stomping around room four, ready to stab anyone who gets in my way.
Of course the couple I’m cleaning up after had to be the biggest horn dogs known to mankind, as there are random condom wrappers pitched around the room, and bathroom, and… closet.
Last night is still playing on my mind, and no matter how hard I try to stop thinking about Quinn, it just seems to have the opposite effect.
Did he mean everything he said? Can I really trust him? Do I want to? I think that’s the question I need to figure out before I go frolicking in the rain with him again.
I groan when I see a hint of blue poking out from under the green rug as there is yet another condom wrapper.
I don’t get it. What’s the big thing about sex? Fair to say, I’ve never had it, so I shouldn’t comment—but it can’t be that good, can it?
Thinking back to the way Quinn felt, holding my trembling body against his firm chest, and how that alone gave me dirty images I’m ashamed to revisit. Maybe with the right person, it really is. But I wouldn’t know and I’m afraid to ask. But who would I ask anyway?
I toe the rug, lifting it with the edge of my Chucks to slide the wrapper out, when suddenly, a bug comes lazily crawling out from underneath.
My eyes bug (no pun intended) out of my head, and I hightail it out of room four on the verge of hysteria. In my panic, I bump into Grandpa, who’s carrying a stack of white towels.
“Where’s the fire?” he cackles.
“Hank, you seriously need to do something about this bug issue,” I say, trying to stop my voice from turning into a shrill.
Grandpa frowns and slowly nods. “I know, child, it’s on my To Do list. I’ll call the exterminators today.”
“Great. Good. You should move it up to number one on your list of priorities,” I smartly add, giving him a small smile.
Of course he just finds my phobia hilarious, as he looks at me over the stack of towels.
“They’re probably a lot more scared of you then you are of them.” He chuckles.
“Well, they have a lot more legs and eyes than I do, so I think my fear is a little more warranted than theirs,” I reply, shaking in revulsion at the thought of their endless legs and beady eyes.
“What time you working today?” he asks as I creep into room four to make sure the creepy crawler has gone.
“I start at two,” I reply. “Why’s that?”
“Because the motel will have to be vacated overnight if I get it exterminated,” he replies, his keys jingling as he shuffles into the bathroom, placing a new towel on the rack.
Oh shit, of course it does.
“I’ll book it in for a couple of days,” he says when he notices me mulling over where I am to stay.
“Oh, it’s okay, you just book a time and I’ll sort something out,” I reply, not wanting to put Hank out.
“You can always stay with my friend, Barry. That’s where I’ll end up,” he says with a crinkled smile. “I’m sure Barry will love to brag to his friends how a young lass like you will be staying with him. Of course he’ll leave out the part where I’ll be staying there also,” he adds with a wink.
I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s fine, really. I’ll make some arrangements,” I say casually, as Hank has done more than enough for me, and I refuse to let him worry about yet another thing.
“Okay, child. Have a good day at work. I’ll call you and let you know about the extermination,” he says and shuffles out the door to room three.
Shit.
Where can I stay? I could always find another motel, but I know how much they cost, and with money being as tight as it is, it just feels like money wasted.
This is just another reason why I owe Grandpa so much. He has opened up his ‘home’ to me, and given me so much more than just a place to stay, he’s given me a place I can call home.
***
My shift at the diner is crazy as usual. I don’t understand where all these people come from. Maybe they’re just like me and passing through. However, the more time I spend here, the harder it is for me to remember that.
“So, what are you doing tonight?” Tabitha asks, bouncing around in front of me as I refill the sugar canisters.
“Um, not too sure yet,” I reply, not wanting to let on that I may be homeless for the evening.
I still haven’t heard from Grandpa, so I’m pretty certain he has stuck true to his word and organized the exterminators for a couple of days, giving me enough time to arrange a place to crash.
“Did you wanna go shopping?” Tabitha asks, giving me big, puppy dog eyes.
Shopping? Really? I couldn’t think of anything more torturous. But as I look at Tabitha, her full, lower lip pulled out, I crumble.
“Okay, could be fun.” Not.
Tabitha squeals, throwing her arms around my neck. I’m actually proud to admit I don’t totally freak out now when she hugs me.
Who would have thought?
***
“Tabitha, this is kinda… pink,” I say, looking down at the top Tabitha insisted I try on, while she sits in front of me in the trendy change room, examining me closely.
Of course I only did so to humor her, but now I wish I hadn’t, because I know she’s not going to let me leave until I buy it, or its fluoro blue sister.