by Monica James
Quinn doesn’t make a move to console me, he just stands and listens, and now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. And this is why I never wanted it to start.
“I hate this feeling in here!” I shout, grabbing at my sweater and pulling at my chest. “I don’t want to feel anything for her, but I do, and I’m so fucking stupid to feel something for someone who feels nothing for me. I want acceptance from someone who abandoned me when I needed her the most!” I laugh, but it’s a crazy, maniacal sound. “You know what that makes me?”
Quinn shakes his head, his messy hair veiling his eyes.
“That makes me a victim!” I scream, throwing my arms out wide. “A pathetic victim, searching for anyone’s love or approval. How fucking sad is that?” I take a deep breath because there it is—the ugly truth.
Birds have taken flight from their perches as my rant has scared away any living thing in a hundred mile radius. Well, almost every living thing.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Quinn says, stepping toward me. “You know what that makes you?” He takes yet another step forward. “It makes you strong. It makes you a survivor.”
“A survivor?” I ask, shaking my head. “I highly doubt that.”
Rubbing a hand over my face, my beaten body just wants to collapse in a heap and not arise for a week. But my purge has made me feel slightly better, and I shamefully meet Quinn’s gaze.
“I’m sorry for being such a nutcase,” I confess, pulling on my lip. “Forgive me?”
Quinn takes a step closer so we’re standing toe to toe. “You’re forgiven.”
I lower my eyes, ashamed for my outburst, as he was in no way deserving of my anger, nor my threats of violence.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers, resting his thumb under my chin and coaxing me to meet his eyes.
My purge, as awful as it was, has made me feel remotely saner. But I know the main reason that I’m not homicidal right now is standing before me.
“Okay.” I sigh, feeling utterly exhausted.
Quinn’s devilish lips tip up into a lopsided smile. “So you’re not going to hit me?” he playfully inquires. I can’t stop my mouth twitching, threatening to break out into a smile.
“Not today,” I reply, shamefully stepping into his welcomed arms.
“Good,” he says, his lips resting atop my head. “Don’t ever ask me to hurt you ever again, Red. I would rather kill myself before I laid a finger on you.”
I nod, knowing he means every word, and I’m more than ashamed of my hysterical actions.
“Sorry,” I mutter against his warm chest, inhaling his unique fragrance. “You smell amazing.” He smells like home.
Quinn’s chest jerks with his laughter as he replies, “Well, you don’t. You stink,” he teases, but I feel self-conscious ’cause I probably do.
I attempt to pull away, but his arms are like shackles, gripping me tight, and he only lets me go when I begin to feel human again.
***
The bright department store lights hurt my irises, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make as my cart is full of items I so desperately need.
Knowing we can stay in Canada without the police on our tails is a relief: it’s just my dad and Phil we still have to be on the lookout for. But I doubt they would be stupid enough to attack us in such a bright and public environment.
So, I’m thoroughly enjoying piling more items into my overflowing cart.
“You’ve already got conditioner.” Quinn mock sighs, looking down at the leave-in treatment.
“Really? We’re having this conversation again?” I smile as I reach for a minty mouthwash and toss it onto the pile of essentials.
Since my breakdown, I’ve tried to keep our conversation light, as Quinn doesn’t need me to lose it again. But I honestly don’t even know where to go from here. I mean, I’m not naïve, and I wasn’t expecting a happy reunion with no issues. But I was expecting some kind of explanation as to why she left me. I guess the truth was staring me in the face this entire time. And no matter how ugly, it’s best I just accept the fact that my mother is a cold-hearted bitch.
The fact I have a sibling is something I can’t even begin to digest. I never craved a sister growing up, as I never wished another living soul to go through what I did. But after seeing Polly, in a sick, twisted kind of way, a part of me wishes I had her life. I wish I was the one living in a mansion with a mother who actually gave a rat’s ass about me. Instead, I feel like the problem child who was left to rot.
Lost in my head, I fail to notice something sticky sliding down my cheek until it hits the floor with a loud splat. My eyes focus on the blob of pink goo to my right, and I quickly raise my fingers to my gluey face.
When my fingers pull away with the same pink matter that is coagulating on the floor, I say, “What the hell?”
On closer inspection, I can see the unidentifiable gunk is actually some kind of cream. Cream that Quinn is currently holding.
“What was that for?” I ask, wiping my cheek with the back of sleeve.
Quinn shrugs while looking at the jar with close scrutiny. “To see if this cream can actually rejuvenate the skin in under a minute. I have my doubts,” he adds, examining my face with a smirk.
And that’s it. He offers no other explanation. But he doesn’t need to explain his actions, because I can read him without words. And obviously, he can read me just as well.
I’m the luckiest girl alive to have Quinn’s affections. After my deplorable performance earlier, I wouldn’t blame him if he hitchhiked his way back to the USA. The fact that he’s a fugitive, however, may have something to do with that—another reason why he should just dump my ass and go back to his normal life. But the past few weeks have showed me that Quinn is going nowhere, and that’s what makes me the luckiest girl alive. I’ve tried in vain to push him away, but it’s like moving a stubborn, infuriating brick wall.
I know Quinn has secrets, just like me, but before we met, he wasn’t a fugitive and wanted for a murder he didn’t commit. Nor was he wanted for aggravated assault and kidnapping, which is what he most likely will be facing, if caught, thanks to the stunt he pulled in the department store.
“We’re in so much trouble.” I sigh, sidestepping the blob of cream and walking down the aisle.
“How’s that any different than our situation a week ago?” Quinn asks, tossing a pack of razors into the cart.
“Well, a week ago,” I say, lowering my voice when a shopper squeezes past us, “you weren’t wanted for kidnapping, and you hadn’t threatened to blow an innocent shopper’s head off,” I reply, rubbing my brow.
Quinn only shrugs, causally brushing off my claims. “Well, a week ago, we weren’t a hair’s breadth away from being caught. I did what I had to, and when the time comes, I’ll deal.”
I latch onto his arm to stop his retreat, as his laid-back attitude concerns me.
“We will deal,” I correct, raising my eyebrow, ensuring he understands that I meant every word I said in that alleyway.
I won’t allow him to take the blame for this whole mess, because whatever happens, we stick together.
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, Quinn,” I implore him.
“Define stupid,” he says with a smirk, which is quickly wiped clean when my face falls in panic.
“I’m kidding. I promise,” he confirms, raising his pointer finger to his chest. “Cross my heart, hope to…” but he thankfully stops, because what he’s about to say is making me sick.
His eyes soften as he strokes a knuckle along my cheek. “Hope to live. I hope to live, Red. With you. After this is over, I hope to live a boring life…with you.”
His heartfelt confession is music to my ears, and a small smile tugs at my lips as I place both palms against his warm chest.
“A life with you could never be boring, Quinn Berkeley,” I whisper, slowly lifting my eyes to meet his, and I mean every word.
This is the first time we
have openly discussed life together after this crazy rollercoaster ride ends. And I hope it’s not the last. The thought of my future with Quinn firmly rooted in it is a future I can’t wait to experience.
With that future fantasy imbedded in my mind, I wrap my hand around Quinn’s nape and say, “Well, tomorrow, let’s take our first step toward that new life.”
Quinn arches a brow, and I clarify, “Tomorrow, we call Abi.”
Chapter 3
The Love I Feel
I’ve had the most restless sleep, and after finally getting five minutes of shuteye, I am rudely awakened by a banging. I try to focus on my breathing, hoping it’ll lull me back to sleep, but sadly, as the banging now incorporates some moaning, I know I have no hope of dozing off.
Throwing my arm over my eyes, I groan, “What time is it?”
Quinn barely sleeps, and I know now is no exception, as no one could sleep through the ruckus next door.
“A little after six.”
“AM?” I bark in shock, and he laughs in response.
“Jesus Christ! People are trying to sleep!” I yell as I reach over my head and thump on the wall.
This of course goes unnoticed by the amorous couple, who are saying some choice words I hope to never hear ever again.
So far, I hate Canada. It’s cold, they talk funny, and oh, my family lives here. But I have to suck it up and deal, as it’s my sanctuary.
“Ah c’mon, it could be worse,” Quinn says, obviously reading my thoughts.
“How?” I ask as I turn to face him and sigh when I see his sleep ruffled hair flick into his emerald eyes.
“Well, we could be dead for one,” he explains while I groan.
“Is this little speech meant to make me feel any better?”
He laughs, his tongue ring catching the early morning light. “Yesterday it sucked, I get it,” he says, passing the conversation baton over to me.
But I only sigh, rubbing my brow, as yesterday’s debacle still gives me a headache, and I really don’t want to talk, or think about it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Quinn asks as he watches me closely.
Sometimes, I really wish he couldn’t read me so well.
“No. I do not,” I curtly reply.
When he remains quiet, I guess I should at least explain a portion of how I’m feeling, as I have no intention of discussing my so called “family” ever again.
“Quinn, they’re both dead to me,” I state with finality, and am proud that my voice didn’t betray my pain.
“But you have a sister,” he gently says, as if that’s meant to sway my decision.
The fact that I have a sister is what makes my choice so much easier. Cynthia left me with my father for reasons unknown, but now I know part of that reason is because of the girl who is nothing but a stranger to me.
“I don’t have a sister. I have someone who shares the same bloodline as me. She, in no way, will ever be my sister. If I wanted a bitch in my life, I’d get Lucky a girlfriend,” I spit, and Lucky whines at the end of our bed.
“Don’t worry, boy, it’s not gonna happen.” I pat him lightly with my foot.
Quinn smiles, and I’m thankful when he lets it go.
“What you did—it took a lot of courage. And if you never want to see them again, well at least you can say you tried.”
He’s right as usual, and I yank on the collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “Aren’t you sick of always being right?” I ask, inches from his lips.
“Ah well, it does get old,” he says with a mock sigh.
Regardless of how shitty my day is, knowing that I have Quinn by my side, makes this all a little more bearable.
“Hank would have been proud, too,” he whispers, brushing a stray strand of hair off my brow.
It’s the first mention of Hank, and although it still and will always hurt to know that I’m responsible for his untimely death, I don’t feel like I’m about to breakdown with no hope of ever resurfacing without tears.
I guess this is what acceptance feels like, because I certainly know what denial, revenge and regret tastes like. They were the emotions which animated me through my quest for retribution on my father and Phil. But now, all I want to do is remember the good times with him, and not associate those two assholes with Hank. I want his memory not to be that of his death, but of his wonderful life. And everything he did for me.
“That’s my girl,” Quinn says.
I cock my eyebrow at him and he shrugs with a smirk. “You’re the one who said I’m always right.”
Shit. I knew that comment was going to bite me in the ass.
***
Alberta is huge, but I still can’t help looking over my shoulder, always on the lookout for my dad.
I feel human after my long shower, and now my rumbling stomach is alerting me to the fact I’m famished. We decide to eat at a diner off the main strip because even though we’re not being hunted by the local police, I still don’t want to be flaunting our presence just yet.
As I’m deciding what to order, I hear “Jingle Bells” for the tenth time today, humming over the speakers.
“What’s up with the Christmas carols being played so early this year?” I ask, placing my menu onto the tabletop and pointing to the speakers in the ceiling.
Quinn smirks before taking a small sip of his steaming coffee. “Christmas is next week, Red.”
It is?
Holy shit, being on the run has jumbled my days, weeks, and months, and I can’t stop my frown because Christmas is the time to celebrate with your loved ones, and sadly, my loved ones would rather I didn’t exist. Well, that is, except for Quinn.
I would be completely content, waking up on Christmas morning with him sitting under my tree. But I realize how selfish that is, because unlike me, Quinn actually has a sibling who likes him.
“Sorry you can’t spend the holidays with Tristan,” I say, fiddling with my napkin.
“It’s okay,” Quinn replies, reaching forward and clasping his fingers through mine. “I’ve got you instead.”
As I try not to melt at his adorable confession, I ask, “What did you want to do for Christmas?”
Quinn shrugs, running his fingers over my knuckles. “Nothing. And besides, every day is Christmas with you.” I playfully roll my eyes at his tongue in cheek response.
“I’m serious,” I say after he’s done chuckling. “I know I’m not a very good substitute for Tristan, but I can try.”
Quinn smirks, and his dimple is something that will forever make me swoon. “Are you serious? You’re even better. At least I can kiss you under the mistletoe.” He dodges my flying straw wrapper.
I know he’s trying to make light of our fucked up situation, but I don’t want him to have to sacrifice a Christmas because of me. Suddenly, I’m struck with a brilliant idea and Quinn arches an eyebrow, obviously cluing onto my plan.
“We could have our own Christmas,” I shyly suggest, tracing spirals on the table. “I mean, it wouldn’t be much, seeing as we’re stuck in a fleabag motel, but we could make it ours.”
I suddenly go quiet because as much as I hate to admit it, I really want this because this is the first Christmas I’ve ever wanted to celebrate. Usually, Christmas was the busiest time for me as I was run off my feet, delivering gear to festive junkies who wanted to spend their bonuses on Phil’s merchandise. They say Christmas is the time for giving. Well, I sure as hell was giving to the point of falling into an exhausted heap on Christmas day. And it all started again, a few days later, as people were getting ready to bring in the New Year with a bang and a bag of blow.
“Let’s do it,” Quinn says, interrupting my fucked up trip down memory lane.
“Yeah?” I hopefully ask, meeting his warm eyes.
“Fuck yeah,” he replies, giving me a small nod. “I couldn’t think of a better person to spend Christmas with.”
My breath gets caught in my throat as I whisper, “Ditto.”
***<
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Feeding quarter after quarter into the phone we found off some deserted strip has my guts turning in dread. I haven’t spoken to Tabitha for days, and although I know Quinn has filled her in on the events when I was unconscious, I’m frightened she’ll be no closer to finding a way out for us.
“Hello, Bobby Joe’s. This is Tabitha. How may I help you?” says the bubbly voice of my best friend.
A longing hits me so hard, and it takes a minute to find my voice.
“Hello?” Tabitha asks while I remain mute.
“Hi Abi,” I finally manage to choke out.
A stunned gasp greets me, and then I hear muffled noises as if she’s walking, and I know she’s going somewhere private.
After a minute, she says, “Oh, Mia, I miss you. I’m so sorry. Quinn told me what happened.”
I cut her off, not wanting any sympathy. “I miss you, too. How are you?” I ask, hoping she reads my need to change the topic.
Thankfully, she does. “I’m okay. I’m just worried about you. And Quinn,” she says. “He’s in a lot of trouble for what he did,” she adds, the concern clear in her voice.
“I know.” I sigh, looking at him. “How bad is it?” I ask.
“Well, the fact he pulled a gun on you and took you hostage has shifted things a bit.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, watching Quinn roll a rock under his boot, totally undisturbed by our conversation.
“Don’t be mad,” Tabitha says, and I instantly freeze.
“What are you talking about, Abi? Why would I be mad?”
She sighs. “Well, with the stunt he pulled, and being on the run while wanted for murder, my dad has pulled some strings, and well, he has pushed that you both get the death penalty if found guilty.”
I pull the receiver away from my ear because surely, I haven’t heard her correctly. Quinn is beside me in an instant, his eyebrows raised in question. But I don’t have the answers until I find out what the hell is going in.