by Monica James
He is blindly fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, and getting frustrated when they remain fastened.
“Here, let me,” I say, stilling his fingers.
He drops them to his side, and slowly, with trembling fingers, I undo each white button.
As the buttons pop through the eyelets, I descend down his chest and my eyes follow the movement, because as each button comes undone, it reveals a sliver of white, creamy flesh. My eyes wander down his torso, appreciating the sight before them. But I feel wicked for even checking him out because one, it’s wrong, and two, he’s passed out.
Untucking his shirt and pulling it out of his pants gently, I try not to look at his chest as I somehow manage to maneuver his shirt off without breaking his arm. Looking at the sight of Tristan, helpless and topless before me, my gaze quickly drops to his pants.
There is no way they are coming off.
I toe off my boots and I slip in beside him, fully clothed. My back is facing his front, and I rest my head on the pillow that smells so much like Tristan.
Curling into myself, I process everything that has happened. Not only tonight, but since my arrival, close to three weeks ago.
I’m no closer to getting to Canada than when I first arrived, but I’m not too sure if I’m in such a hurry to leave anymore. My priorities have shifted. And that’s all because I have met a bunch of people who have made me feel at home. My eyes grow heavy and I can’t stop them from slipping closed, sleep overtaking me.
***
I wake in the middle of the night, aware of two things.
I am overheating, and someone is in pain.
Reason for number one is because I am wrapped up like a burrito in Tristan’s arms. His body heat is warming me from head to toe, and it’s a nice feeling, as opposed to waking up in a cold sweat.
Tristan’s exhalations are tickling my neck, as my back is pressed snugly into his front, and the rise and fall of his chest is soothing me back to sleep. But then I hear that pained noise again, coming from the room down the hall, which is Quinn’s.
Slipping out of Tristan’s embrace quietly, I thankfully don’t wake him as I creep across his carpeted floor and get to the door without too much noise. Turning the handle softly, I tip-toe out into the hallway and patter with light feet toward the noise that woke me.
The hallway light is off and I feel like a total stalker, creeping down the hallway in the dark. But as the pained noise turns into something more of a pleasurable scream, I feel my stomach drop. I should just turn my feet around, and go back down the hallway to where I won’t see a sight that will tear me into two.
But I don’t.
My feet continue their path, until I stand a few inches away from Quinn’s room. I am flush with the wall as I close my eyes, sickened when I hear the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, and the unmistakable sound of someone being pleasured beyond belief.
The sound belongs to a female.
Turn away, Mia! I scream at myself, but I can’t.
I need to see this to get him out of my head, and I know when I witness this one act, Quinn will be out of my system for good.
Inching myself toward the door, I peek through the tiny sliver as the door has been left ajar. But it’s enough to send my stomach rolling with nausea.
The bedside lamp illuminates Quinn’s naked body, pumping into a girl from behind, who is spread out on all fours, bucking backward onto him. My eyes lower to Quinn’s tight ass, which is clenching as he thrusts into the girl viciously. But she seems to like the force as she is moaning and buckling with Quinn’s violent strength.
This act is not how I imagined it would look; it looks fast, brutal, and mean.
My eyes drop to his tattoo and I can see it is a side piece starting from mid-chest, wrapping across his ribs and flowing down his lean hip. The colors are bursts of orange and red, and even though I can’t make out what it is, I can see script writing is meshed into the coloring.
As Quinn shifts slightly, the light catches off a nipple ring which is hanging loosely from his left nipple, and the sight before me is one of pure dominance.
Quinn has one large hand clenched around the harpy’s hip, which he’s squeezing forcefully, steadying himself as he pushes into her. Her long, brown hair wrapped tightly around his other fist, pulling her head back painfully with each thrust.
As he slams into her, she cries out, “Fuck me harder!” and I can see her ample breasts dangling beneath her, her nipples grazing the sheet underneath her.
My skin pricks in revulsion when I recognize her pained face and voice.
It’s Amber.
I cover my mouth to stop the vomit from creeping up my throat, but yet, I don’t move.
Quinn looks fierce and there’s no love in this act—this is cruel and almost punishing.
This must be what Quinn meant by him breaking me, because this isn’t heartfelt or kind. It is cold, animalistic fucking. The sounds coming out of his parted lips are raw and pleasurable, and I can tell by his harsh breathing that he’s enjoying every second of it.
I’ve seen enough and creep back to the safety of Tristan’s room.
I slip back under the covers and don’t shift away when he wraps a kind arm around my waist, hugging me to his chest. I listen to the thumping of his heart, which lies under my ear, drowning out the sound which chills my blood cold.
***
The next morning I wake, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my hands. I roll over and see Tristan sleeping soundly beside me. I can’t believe how two brothers can be so different. I could never imagine Tristan engaging in an act so aggressively like Quinn.
Nothing about Tristan is like Quinn, and I know he’s the right brother to obsess over, but he’s not. After last night, I need to stop this with Quinn. And this time, I mean it.
I have no doubt he left the door open, knowing I would hear him consorting with someone who encompasses all I despise in another human being.
Quinn doesn’t do anything without thought, and I’m sick of this rollercoaster ride with him. He’s made it loud and clear where his feelings for me lie.
I’m just a fool for thinking he was any different.
Chapter 24
Revolt!
The next few days I stay underground and lick my wounds clean. All I can think about is Quinn and Amber, and I try to decipher why he would sleep with someone he obviously dislikes, but I come up empty. I keep busy working at the motel and diner, ghosting around, and thankfully, I don’t see Quinn.
As the days pass, I convince myself I’m glad I saw what I did, because now I can get myself back on track and focus on what I originally came here for.
***
“Everything okay, child?” Grandpa asks while we’re sitting on the couch, watching Labyrinth.
We’ve just shared a bowl of spaghetti, as I’ve fallen into a routine of cooking for Hank and myself, which is great, as I’ve put on five much needed pounds.
“Yeah, why?” I ask, my eyes never leaving the sexy David Bowie as he prances around in tights.
“You’ve been awfully quiet these last few days,” he replies, sipping his tea.
“Have I?” I counter, well aware of the truth behind his words.
He only nods, but doesn’t push.
After a minute of silence I mumble, “Sorry, Hank.”
“Whatever for?” he questions, his brow crinkling.
“For being a social pariah,” I reply unhappily.
I wish I could open up and tell him everything. I wish I could tell just one person what I have to live with everyday, but I can’t. I would never burden him with my problems.
“Paige, we all have our secrets,” he replies seriously. “But I want you to know you can talk to me. Whatever it is, I promise I’m here.”
The sincerity in his eyes is clear as day, and I appreciate the sentiment. But I can’t risk him knowing the truth, because the less he knows, the better.
Last night I dreamed th
at Phil was chasing me, and when he caught me, it was bad—real bad.
I woke myself up, screaming hysterically, the feel of his sweaty palms on me, feeling all too real.
I never factored Phil into this equation, and I really hope the dream isn’t a premonition.
***
I love working at the diner, as it’s a great distraction from the real world. It’s always so busy, I never have time to think about anything other than what table twenty-two ordered, or which table ordered the gluten-free sandwich.
There’s no time for thoughts about my life, or where I am heading.
Backing out of the double doors while carrying my lunch tray, I nearly bump into Tabitha, who is off to the side, talking to Brad.
She looks extremely uncomfortable and trying to wedge past him, but he won’t budge.
“Everything okay, Abi?” I ask, standing near her, eyeballing Brad.
She sniffs and my back stiffens at her response.
I’m so sick of this jackass having this effect over her, and I’m ready to put this to bed once and for all.
“Abi, can you take this to table fifteen?” I ask, handing her my tray, my eyes never leaving Brad’s.
Tabitha nods and accepts it with a sigh, meeting my eyes with a thank you reflected in hers.
As she walks away, Brad tries to push past me, but I stand my ground.
“Brad, I’m giving you one warning, and consider yourself lucky you’re getting it. Stay away from Tabitha,” I snarl.
“Ooh, what you gonna do?” he says mockingly, while getting into my face.
“I will fuck you up,” I reply simply, meaning every word of it.
“Oh, I’m so scared,” he says in mock horror. “I think once I’m done playing with that little redhead, I’ll move onto you,” he sneers, licking his lips while eyeing me up and down.
I push my chest into his, and raise my face to meet his in challenge.
“Try it. I dare you,” I growl, raising an eyebrow defiantly.
My face contorts in pure rage, and obviously Brad can see the change, as he shrinks back, unsure of what to do.
“Whatever, freak,” he spits out. “You haven’t seen the last of me.” He walks off, eyeing me over his shoulder before he sits at a booth.
When the door dings, announcing we have a new customer, I see Malibu Stacey enter and frolic over to Brad, planting a disgusting, pornographic kiss on his lips. I shake my head, repulsed that Brad would hit Tabitha up when Stacey isn’t around. What a lying, cheating jackass!
Tabitha is over within a second. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry that I just left you. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I take a few calming breaths and realize my fists are clenched by my sides.
“It’s okay, Abi. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that guy. He’s poison,” I reply, still eyeing him and Stacey canoodling together.
“What did you say to him?” she asks, biting her lip, eyes wide.
“I told him to keep away from you. Otherwise, he has to deal with me,” I say with half a smile, downplaying what I actually said to him.
Tabitha’s lower lip begins to tremble and tears pool in her big, innocent eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “No one has ever stuck up for me before,” she confesses, a tear running down her rosy cheek.
“Well, that’s because they’re all idiots,” I reply, giving her a small smile.
Who would have thought I would defend someone’s honor so strongly that it leaves me shaking in rage.
Tabitha throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly.
“Thank you, Paige,” she sniffs. “You’re my best friend.”
I still, slightly shocked by her admission, but I return her hug, her candy scent engulfing me.
I’ve never been anyone’s friend, let alone anyone’s best friend. When the time comes for me to leave, I’m going to really miss being Tabitha’s best friend.
“What’s with all the tears?” Tristan asks, ducking his head out from behind the double doors.
Tabitha quickly wipes away any evidence of her tears, and tries to smile, but Tristan isn’t buying it.
“We’re going out tonight. Just us three,” he says, looking down at me. “And besides, I owe you for the other night.”
I know he’s referring to his birthday, but I shake my head, my hair slipping out of my messy bun.
“You don’t owe me anything, but you know what, fuck it—let’s go out.”
Both Tristan and Tabitha’s eyes light up and Tabitha claps excitedly.
After the past few days, scrap that, after the past few years, I need to go out, get drunk and forget who I am.
***
Tabitha is getting dressed, while I’m in the bathroom looking at my reflection. For tonight, I don’t want to look like me. I hold up my long hair into a high ponytail and huff, dropping it disapprovingly. My face looks no different and I want it to. I can change my name and try to forget about my past, but my face will always remain the same.
“Tabitha!” I call out, my hands braced on the sink’s edge.” Can you come in here?”
Within a heartbeat, Tabitha is through the door, a worried look painting her features.
“What’s wrong, Paige? Are you okay?” she asks, rushing over to my side.
I give her a small smile, moved by her concern.
“Nothing, Abi. I just… can you make me look different?”
Tabitha cocks her head to the side, confused.
“Can you make me look like… a little less me?” I clarify, talking to her reflection.
Tabitha nods. “Sure. But why? You’re perfect the way you are.”
I’m touched by her comment, but feel far from perfect.
Tabitha sees my apprehension and smiles. “For tonight though, you can be someone else,” she says to my reflection, which is staring at her, grateful she understands.
***
“Wow,” I gasp for the umpteenth time, looking at myself in Tabitha’s visor.
Tabitha wasn’t lying when she said she could make me look like a different person.
I don’t recognize myself under the dark eye makeup, thick foundation, and bright red lipstick. My hair sits curled around my face, and is very feminine as it brushes against my bronzed cheek bones.
“You look killer, Paige,” Tabitha says and I try not to choke when she says the word, ‘killer.’
If only she knew what I really was, she would think twice before using that phrase.
We pull up at Tristan’s place and Tabitha beeps twice. I eye the driveway, noticing that Quinn’s truck isn’t there. I don’t know where he is, and quite frankly, I don’t want to know. The scenarios I have placed him in over the past few days all involve him naked and sweaty, and ploughing into whatever bimbo he can find.
Tabitha notices my reaction, and it scares me she can read me so well after knowing me for such a short amount of time.
“Still haven’t heard from Quinn since you saw a little too much of him?” she says in disgust, as I’ve told her I saw him and Amber together.
I shake my head. “Nope. And it’s for the best.”
Great, now I sound just like him.
Tristan bounces down the front stairs and both Tabitha and I swoon.
“He’s so hot,” she purrs, mentally undressing him.
I nod because he is, but looking at him reminds me of Quinn. And then I begin thinking about Quinn pounding into Amber, and then, well, then I start to feel nauseous.
“Ladies,” Tristan says, opening the back door and slipping into Tabitha’s BMW gracefully.
Tabitha turns to look at Tristan and no doubt, ogle his crotch.
“Hi, Tristan,” she says, gushing.
I almost laugh at her reaction, but don’t, as mine isn’t any better when I see Quinn.
“Hey,” I say, turning over my shoulder to say hello.
His mouth parts slightly and his eyes widen.
“Wow, you look amazing,” he s
ays in awe.
“Um, thanks. I have Abi to thank,” I reply, turning away embarrassed as I gaze out my window at the night lights.
“Well, you both look amazing,” he adds when he picks up on my discomfort.
Tabitha beams, while I look out into the star filled night, my thoughts drowning me whole.
***
The line to Revolt! extends all around the block, but Tabitha has connections. Well, her mom does, anyway. I feel like a total mooch cutting in line, but it’s going to take forever if we don’t. I give a few apologetic nods to disgruntled patrons as we are escorted by a big, beefy security guard by the name of Surly to the front of the line.
We don’t get carded, and again I think the connections factor comes in handy.
We pay the cover charge and enter the glass doors, and as I look around the bar, my mouth is agape at the sight before me.
Revolt! is a chic bar, filled with an assorted mix of people who I never thought would congregate together in the one place. A mix of preppy jocks to old school rockers, everyone seems to be having a blast, bopping to some happy tune playing over the speakers.
The bar is highlighted by a huge chandelier, which sits low, illuminating the endless bottles of booze sitting in a circular table in the middle of the bar. Five bartenders are attending to customers, and the feel about the place is quite relaxed and laidback.
Our feet automatically take us in the direction of the bar, and I slip past a couple making out against the brick wall.
“So, who wants a drink? My treat,” Tristan says, looking between Tabitha and me.
“I’ll have a Salty Chihuahua and a shot of tequila,” I say with a smile, as the name always cracks me up.
Tristan raises his eyebrows at me. “Watch out! Someone is out to get drunk,” he jokes, waiting patiently to be served.
Tabitha offered to drive tonight as she not so subtly said I must drown my sorrows in tequila.