by Monica James
I listen to Grandpa’s message over and over, chewing the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying, because I don’t cry. I’ll never cry ever again.
But the hurt and sorrow in his voice kills me, and I just can’t leave… without saying goodbye. If I get caught doing it, then so be it, because I’m sick of running from a past that just won’t let go.
***
I arrive back at the motel after three, and I mold myself to the wall, shrouded in darkness by the rainclouds which are rolling in.
I want to grab my belongings, because as meager as they are, they’re mine and they remind me of the times when I could pretend my life wasn’t a fucked up mess.
Silently slipping the keys out of my pocket, I enter without a sound. Too afraid to turn the light on, I scamper around in the dark, using the moon as my only light.
I have nothing of interest to me in the bathroom, so I head straight to my closet to get what I need. But mid-travels, I yelp when the lamp on the bedside table switches on.
I turn defensively, my heart thumping out of my chest, my breath leaving me in loud gasps.
“What are you doing here?” I ask after finally finding my voice.
“Looking for you,” Quinn replies as he sits casually on my bed, leaning up against the headboard, ankles crossed.
“Why? To turn me in?” I ask, backing away from him.
I can’t translate what’s going on behind those green eyes of his, and I’m afraid to find out.
Quinn chuckles, but it is in no way a happy sound. “You think I’d do that to you?”
I shrug, inhaling and exhaling heavily. “I dunno, why wouldn’t you? I’m a fugitive.”
Quinn closes his eyes and braces both hands behind his neck, squeezing tightly. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I can hear him grinding down on his jaw.
“I don’t care what you are, Red. It makes no difference to me,” and he kicks his feet off the bed, rising to his full, dominating height.
“You should,” I reply breathlessly, walking backward as he slowly stalks toward me. “You know what I did, and yet you still don’t care?”
Quinn brushes his tousled hair out of his weary eyes.
“The only thing I care about is the fact that you ran. After everything, you think I would just turn away, and let you deal with this on your own?” he says angrily.
I shrug and bump into the wall, as I’m still retreating away from him.
“It’s a lot to deal with!” I cry. “This isn’t some minor issue I can just sweep under the rug. My actions will follow me; they will haunt me for the rest of my life. And I don’t expect you to stick around, because I would never expect that of you. I should have never let this happen. Now you’re all involved in my bullshit,” I confess sadly, looking up at him with wounded eyes. “I am so selfish to do this to Hank, to Tabitha, to Tristan… to you,” I whisper.
Quinn swoops forward so our faces are inches apart. “You don’t get to decide that! You are part of our lives. You are part of my life, and I’ll be damned if I let you run away from me again.”
I open my mouth to talk some sense into him, but he lunges forward and kisses me with such vigor, I almost forget to breathe. How can he want to kiss me? After everything he knows? How can he still want me?
He wraps both hands under my ass, lifting me onto his waist, his mouth never leaving mine. I comply and wrap my legs around his hips, holding on tight, never wanting to let go. My head bangs on the wall with the force of his mouth on mine, and I can taste blood, knowing his lip ring is cutting into my lip, but I don’t care. I suck it into my mouth, pulling with a delicious tug, because I want to devour him with my last breath.
We kiss until I can no longer breathe, and I pull away breathlessly, needing to steady myself, and also to figure out what the fuck I am going to do.
Quinn’s eyes are frenzied, and as he rests his forehead against mine, he whispers, “Promise me you won’t run, Red.”
I shake my head, placing my hand against his cheek. “I can’t promise you that, Quinn. I am wanted for murder, I can’t stay here.”
Quinn pulls back, a confused look on his face.
“Murder?” he questions.
“Yes,” I reply, matching his expression. “I killed my… dad,” I state, not understanding his puzzled expression.
“No, you didn’t,” he replies. “You shot your dad, but he didn’t die… he’s still alive.”
“What?” I whisper, sliding down his body, unable to hold myself up.
My shaky legs crumble beneath me, and I sag to the floor as my world shatters before me.
Quinn drops to his knees, searching my face. “This is good news, right?”
But I shake my head, unable to vocalize how far from the truth that is.
If my father isn’t dead, then that means… I am.
I have no doubt that now I’m not only running from the police, I’m also running from my father.
And Big Phil.
“Talk to me, Red!” Quinn pleads, as I feel myself going into shock.
There is no way he can be alive, I saw him… but I saw him what? I didn’t actually see him expire before me, so that means Phil saved him, as he was minutes away from arriving when I took off.
Everything just got a whole lot worse. And I need to run.
I mentally slap myself and focus on what’s important—I need to get out of here.
Standing quickly and wavering on my feet, I grab my backpack and toss it over my shoulder, running for the door. But Quinn grabs my arm, spinning me around violently.
“Stop! Tell me what’s going on!” he yells, and I’ve never seen him so incensed.
“I can’t!” I scream, trying to pull out of his grip, but he won’t let me go. “Let me go, Quinn! I have to go!”
“Why? Talk to me! What did he do to you?” Quinn screams, shaking me evenly. “Tell me!”
My heart is beating ferociously, and I’m afraid it’s about to burst free from my ribcage and plummet onto the ground before me. As I look into his hard set eyes, I know he won’t let me go until I tell him the truth. I’m running out of time, so I do the only thing I can, I tell him who the real Mia Lee is.
“Quinn… I shot my father because he wanted me to do something no father should ask of his daughter. He’s a drug addict, and since the age of eight… I’ve been a… drug dealer, pusher, whatever you want to call it; it all leads to the same thing. I have destroyed countless lives because I was too chicken shit to stand up to my dad and tell him no.”
Quinn’s grip loosens on me, and his eyes widen, horrified by my confession. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.
“Big Phil, he was my dad’s drug dealer, and he made a deal with my dad. I was to be his little drug bitch, delivering drugs to all the lowlifes of L.A., and my dad could have all the drugs he wanted. No one questions an eight-year-old who looks to be on her way to school, it was the perfect ruse. I was eight fucking years old!” I scream. “I didn’t know what they wanted me to do. I just thought I was doing something for my dad to make him better, make him the father I remembered before my mother left me, left me alone with that monster.”
Quinn is silent, hanging onto every word, but never judging.
“But the older I got, I knew what I was doing, and that it was wrong. But when it came to my father, I was still that innocent, scared little eight-year-old, yearning for her dad’s approval. The things I have seen, the things I have done,” I whisper, meeting his eyes, “I hate myself for.”
“You were just a kid,” Quinn says, trying to shield me away from the horrible reality that is my life.
“That’s no excuse, Quinn. I knew what I was doing when I was an adult. I knew I was destroying lives, but I just didn’t care. I was selfish because I wanted my dad back, he was all I had, and I thought by doing this for him, one day he’d stop. But he didn’t. He just got worse,” I acknowledge, my body beginning to tremble with the memories I’ve tried so hard to repress.
&n
bsp; “What happened? Why did you… shoot him?” Quinn asks, rubbing my cheek softly with his thumb, encouraging me to continue.
“Because he… the day I shot him… he pulled a gun on me, and told me I was to pay for his drug debt in another way. And that was something I could never do,” I whisper, a tear sliding down my cheek.
This is the first time I’ve allowed myself to cry, the first time I’ve allowed myself to feel.
Quinn gasps, understanding what ‘another way’ entails, and he takes a visible breath.
“It was either you or him. And you chose yourself. Don’t you see, you had no other choice,” he says passionately, brushing away my tears.
“We all have choices, Quinn, and I made the wrong one. I should have stopped it before it got out of hand. I deserve whatever I get,” I whisper. “I may not have killed my father, but I had a hand in killing every person I dealt to. Hit by hit… I was killing them, and I didn’t stop. If that doesn’t make me a bad person, then what does it make me?” I shout, pushing him away, needing to lash out at someone, anyone.
I need to get away from him, because now that he knows my ugly truth, he’s going to look at me like the lowlife, pathetic loser that I am. I reach for the door handle, but Quinn steps out in front of me and attempts to restrain me, so… I slap him. I can’t stop myself as I need to hurt something, anything, and he’s just in the way from me achieving that.
He doesn’t falter, however. He simply stands his ground, clenching his jaw, his eyes narrowing at me, daring me to get past him. I push at him with all my might, but he crosses his arms over his chest, not moving an inch. His actions enrage me, and the years of abuse at the hands of my father come lashing out of me like a volcano of emotions.
I slap, punch, bite, kick, pull, scream, curse at Quinn, until my body is shaking in exhaustion and my voice is hoarse. I am blinded by my rage, and I am also blinded by the uncontrollable tears that are pouring from my eyes, and I fear they may never stop.
It isn’t until I have slumped against Quinn’s chest do I realize what I have done. I have hurt the one person who has every right to walk away and leave me to deal with my mess on my own, but he hasn’t. He’s still here, cradling me into his arms, telling me that everything will be all right.
I sob so hard my chest heaves with an excruciating pain, and I collapse onto the floor, my legs too weak to hold me up. Quinn catches me, and we fall to the floor together, him rocking me, holding me like he’ll never let go.
I pull away, my tears and nose running freely, and I know I look a mess, but I can’t stop.
“Why? Why are you still here? I don’t understand… how can you not hate me?” I sob, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
When he replies, I see the damage I have inflicted on his face by my punishing fists, and I gasp. What have I done?
“Quinn, I’m so s—”
But he silences my apologies as he grips my cheeks roughly in his palms.
“Don’t you see, you’ve had the balls to do something I’ve only dreamed about. You took control of your life, Red, and you didn’t allow your father to belittle you a moment longer. How can I hate you, when I admire you for doing what you did?”
I sniff, my sobs wracking my body when I hear his confession. I know he’s talking about his father, and I guess he was right… we are cut from the same cloth.
I shakily pass my finger over the blood pouring from a wound on his lip, the wound I inflicted on him.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I lied to you, I’m sorry…” I cry, “for everything.”
Quinn hushes me gently. “Sshh, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
“I don’t know where to go?” I confess, wiping away my tears. “And I’m scared. I’m so scared.”
Quinn wipes away my tears, his eyes leveling on mine. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I promise you, you’ll never be alone.”
I nod, touched by his words, and finally calm down enough to think relatively straight.
“I can’t stay here, I’ve got to go. My dad and Phil, they’ll be looking for me. And I can’t put you all in danger.”
“I’m coming with you,” Quinn says sternly.
“No!” I shout. “I’ll come back for you, I promise.”
Quinn stands up, flinching a little, and I know his ribs are sore because of the beat down I just gave him.
“You’re insane if you think I’m just gonna let you split on your own,” he says, extending his hand down to me.
I accept, and don’t feel as shaky on my feet after my purge.
“Give me your things. You go say goodbye to Hank, and I’ll wait for you in the truck,” Quinn commands.
Without arguing, I hand him my backpack and grab my Colt out of the bedside table. Reaching behind me, I slip it into the waistband of my jeans—old habits die hard.
Nodding, I take a final look at my surroundings, of the place I called home.
We both exit the room silently, and as I head into the direction of the office, Quinn makes a grab for my hand.
“Promise me you’ll meet me at the truck,” he says, his eyes searching my face desperately.
I nod, “I promise,” and I mean it.
With one final look he turns, and leaves me to do something that’s going to be one of the hardest things I have ever done.
My feet crunch over the gravel, and as I look around at the familiar landscape, I realize how much I don’t want to leave, but I have to. I make my way to the office, and find it unusual that Hank has the TV turned up so loud, it’s blaring outside.
However, as I get closer, I realize it’s not the TV I can hear.
The voice is one I recognize instantly.
It belongs to my father.
My blood chills to an arctic temperature, and a million and one thoughts are clogging my brain. But there’s only one that is crystal clear—I need to help Hank.
I silently tip-toe to the office, my back pressed to the wall, hoping to be cloaked by the darkness. I peek my head through the window, ensuring I remain unseen, as I watch my nightmare become a reality.
“Just tell me where she is, old man!” my father shouts, waving a gun in Hank’s face.
My father looks like death, and you’d think after all this time of not seeing him, I would feel… something for him, but I don’t. The only thing I feel is remorse for not shooting straight.
But my heart yearns for the man who has been more of a parental figure than my own biological father. The man who is currently staring death in the face, and not cowering in fear, or ratting me out.
Hank is sitting behind the counter casually, seemingly undisturbed to have a pistol waving violently around in his face.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he says calmly, lying through his teeth.
“Don’t lie to me!” my father yells, pointing the gun at Hank’s chest. “I will shoot you,” he threatens.
Hank shrugs, popping a peanut into his mouth, his shaky fingers the only sign that he’s afraid.
“You’re going to shoot a defenseless old man?” he asks, shaking his head shamefully. “I don’t know no Mia Lee, nor have I ever seen her. Now, if you’d be so kind to step off my property before I call the police,” Hank says coolly.
“You’re lying!”
Watching this terrifying scene play out in front of me has my heart kicking against my chest, pounding in sheer terror. But my whole existence is put on hold when I hear the voice of a man who still, till this day, scares the living shit outta me.
“Of course he’s lying,” says the voice from behind Hank.
Phil.
Phil looks just as I remember, and the reaction he elicits in me is the same—I want him dead.
Everything in this moment is heightened, and my flight or fight instinct takes over. I have to fight.
I creep closer to the door, reaching for the gun at the small of my back, and pull it out silently. I watch and wait to catch them off guard, because one wrong move and
Hank is dead.
“Do you know that she’s a cold hearted criminal? This girl that you’re protecting—” he waves his gun in my dad’s direction “—she shot her father and left him for dead.” Phil takes a menacing step toward Grandpa, his bald head gleaming under the lights.
Hank only shrugs, his brave eyes never wavering from Phil’s predatory stare.
“And you’d still protect her? A complete stranger? You would risk your worthless old life for someone you hardly know?” Phil asks, perplexed, scratching his temple with the barrel of his gun.
I bite my lip, ashamed, as there is some truth in what Phil has just said. I am a complete stranger to Hank. But as I look at him, at his familiar, weathered face, and wrinkled, kind hands, I see not a stranger, but family. But regardless, I have risked Hank’s life by coming here, and my selfish needs of wanting to be normal have put him in danger.
I have to make this right, and I will.
Hank only cackles, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest, which infuriates Phil.
“This is your last chance,” Phil snarls, one hand filled with a paper bag, the other holding a Beretta.
The two men who ruined my life are standing before me, and the rage I feel for them cannot be put into words. It’s now or never, so I creep closer, my finger poised on the trigger, ready to aim and shoot, and this time, I won’t miss.
Hank steadily stands his ground, and shakes his head.
“Get off my property, you lowlife scumbags!” he shouts, standing up and walking toward Phil.
My breath gets caught in my throat as Phil cocks his gun, raising it to Hank’s temple, hoping to intimidate him. But Hank just turns his weary face to meet Phil’s confidently.
“She ain’t no stranger, she’s family. And I would be proud to call her my daughter,” Hank spits, and I gasp as he’s about to get himself killed. “That child brought nothing but warmth into my life, and because of that… I will never tell you where she is,” he scowls, and in this moment my heart stops beating, because Hank has just sacrificed himself for me.
I have no doubt Hank knows that I’m watching him, urging me to run. But I don’t because surely Phil wouldn’t… but he does.