by Monica James
Polly’s jaw drops and Quinn sighs, obviously unimpressed by my bad manners.
“Pollyanna, hi, I’m Quinn,” he says, walking toward her, extending his hand when I make no attempt to move.
She shuffles to the edge of the chair, graciously accepting his hand while batting her fake eyelashes. “Hi handsome,” she purrs, leaning forward, revealing an eyeful of boob in her low cut top. “And it’s Polly.”
I clear my throat when she makes it more than obvious she’s checking out my very naked man.
“Okay, enough with the introductions. What the hell do you want, Polly?” I ask, reaching for Quinn’s discarded shirt and throwing it at him.
I have never been so thankful to see Quinn dress, as the thought of this little tart looking at him with that blatant look of desire in her eyes has me itching to reach for the gun I stowed away in the waistband of my jeans.
“It’s Pollyanna,” she scowls, standing up. “Only my friends get to call me Polly,” she adds, waving at Quinn. “Hi friend.”
I take a menacing step toward her, about ready to break her nose job, but Quinn wraps an arm around my waist, holding me back.
“Polly, is there a reason why you’re here?” he asks, and I suppress the urge to stomp on his foot.
Why is he being so nice to her? Was he not present when she was a right royal cow to me? His kindness toward The Antichrist angers me, and I attempt to push away from him, but his hand sits securely around my waist, and I give up trying to break free.
“I’m only here because my mom is a mess,” she replies, her bracelets jingling when she brushes a stray piece of straightened hair off her brow.
My ears prick up, and I narrow my already narrowed eyes at her.
“Why is that our problem?” I snarl, finally escaping Quinn’s hold as I storm towards her.
“Because, you rude cow,” she spits, not retreating from my warpath, but advancing forward. “You’re the reason why she’s a zombie! Since you left she won’t eat or speak, she’s like the living dead!” she yells, inches from my face.
Being this close to her, there is no doubt she’s my sister, as the look of rage contorting her features is one I live with every day.
“Not my problem,” I say casually, shaking my head.
“Are you serious?” she wails. “You’re the one who just turned up our doorstep, a fugitive, ruining our lives!”
“Excuse me?” I gasp, incredulous of her accusations. “You need to leave. Now,” I snarl, taking a step away from her before I smack her smug face.
Ruining their lives? She has no idea what a ruined life feels like. She has no fucking idea.
“I will not leave until you explain to me how in god’s name you are my sister. Daddy is on some business trip in Europe, and I can’t reach him. Mom is a fucking nutcase, so I can’t get a straight answer from her. So as you can see, you’re the only person who can explain to me what the hell is going on!” Polly screams, but I barely hear a word she says, as the only word I can hear on repeat is…daddy.
Who the fuck is her daddy? Because I know for a fact Thomas Lee is not traveling the streets of Europe on some business trip.
My brain can scarcely catch up, but when it does, I cover my mouth as nausea begins creeping up my throat.
“Polly, will you give us a minute?” Quinn asks, gently reaching for my arm.
I shrug out of his hold, because as the events of the past few minutes become crystal clear, I know I’m going to be sick. I run into the bathroom, barely making it in time as I lift up the lid, throwing up the entire contents of my stomach. But it’s still not enough, and I force my body to expel anything that might be left.
“This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening,” I mumble, thumping my fist onto the tiled wall.
“Red,” Quinn whispers from the doorway. “Are you all right?”
I try not to scoff at his question because I doubt I’ll ever be all right ever again.
Slamming the lid shut as I flush the toilet, I stand and a surge of anger overwhelms me because Polly isn’t the only one needing answers. Shoving past Quinn, I storm over to Polly, who is standing by the door, adjusting the brown strap of her leather handbag.
“Who is your father?” I demand, running a hand through my disheveled hair.
“What?” she asks, and I don’t fail to notice her voice quivering when she can clearly see how pissed off I am.
But I don’t care, and just continue on with my rampage.
“Who the fuck is your father?” I repeat, shoving into her chest. The action causes her to bump into the wall.
“Hey! Don’t push me!” she shrieks, pushing off the wall and getting into my face, ready to slap me.
But it’ll be a cold day in hell when I allow this brat to lay a finger on me. So I do something, which in hindsight, is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.
Reaching for my gun, I pull it out and aim it at her face. As soon as she sees my piece, she gasps and quickly raises her hands in the air, freezing on the spot. Tears instantly spring to her eyes, but I don’t care because I want answers.
“Red!” Quinn yells from behind me, his voice rising in distress when he sees what I have done.
I ignore him, as there is no way I’m dropping this gun until she starts talking.
“Answer the question!” I yell, waving the pistol when she remains mute, her eyes transfixed on the gun.
This only has her breaking out into a loud sob, her chest heaving with each intake of winded breath. I feel a pinch of guilt for pulling a gun on her when she begins howling and squeezes her eyes shut, afraid to look at me. But if she answered the damn question, then I wouldn’t have pulled the gun.
“Red, you’re scaring her,” Quinn says softly, but he wisely stays put, leaving me to make a decision on what to do next.
Closing my eyes, I realize that what I’m doing is wrong, because no matter how mad I am, I’m no better than Phil for pulling a gun on an innocent person. I have no right to scare her, and I instantly feel sick for losing my temper in the worse possible way.
Quinn’s calmness has the desired effect, and I slowly lower my arm, placing the gun onto the table. With my hands raised in surrender, I take a step towards a terrified Polly.
“Polly, I’m unarmed,” I say, hoping my voice conveys some composure.
Her sniffles are loud and amplified, but I continue to press, softer this time. And without a gun pointed at her. “Who is your father?” I whisper, watching her shake like a leaf when she opens her red rimmed eyes.
“Chandler Ashfield,” she finally replies, shakily wiping away her fallen tears.
I take a step back at her confession, bumping into the sofa. Who the fuck is Chandler Ashfield? I shake my head, unable to process this information right now because it makes no sense. None of this makes any sense.
“Polly, I think it’s best you leave,” Quinn says, walking towards her as I stand catatonic. “Do you need money for a cab?” he asks, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.
Polly shakes her head, her long black hair sticking to her tears. “I…I…d-drove,” she stutters, her eyes still glued on me.
“Will you be okay to drive home?” he asks, just as softly as before.
She nods as her lower lip quivers, and another stowaway tear slips down her cheek. If I was capable of speech right now, I would have apologized to her for my unpardonable behavior. But when she takes a step toward me, my intended apology gets kicked in the teeth.
“I wish I never had met you!” she cries. “Stay away from me and my family. Mom deserted you for a reason, and although I don’t know why, I’m so glad she did. You’re obviously a huge, disgusting mistake. Neither she nor I want you here, so stay away!” And she turns on her Prada heels, slamming the door shut behind her.
Chapter 5
Wash My Sins Away
This is surely a dream.
There is no way that what happened, just happened. There is no fucking way th
at my mother had an affair, and had another child with someone named Chandler Ashfield.
But the guttural pain I feel in my chest tells me that it’s very, very true.
My mother got pregnant, and then, she left. She chose her other family, leaving me behind like yesterday’s trash. How could she do that to me? I was three. I was three fucking years old! But she didn’t care. She doesn’t care. Maybe Polly was right. Maybe I am a huge mistake, one she wishes she never made.
I’m going to be sick-again.
Running to the toilet, I flip the lid, but no matter how hard I try, nothing comes out. I’m dry heaving, but my body has nothing left to give. It won’t allow me to purge my memories, the one thing I so desperately want to push out of my body forever.
How can this be happening? I thought coming here would answer all the questions of my past. But it has done the opposite. I am now plagued with so many questions, ones I’m afraid may never be answered.
I feel dirty and unclean. I feel used and lied to. I just wish I didn’t feel, because the pain is choking me alive.
A pair of hands wraps around my middle, pulling my back to his warm front, and I sag in exhaustion.
“How can this be happening?” I whisper to Quinn, closing my eyes in defeat.
“I wish I had the answers, Red,” he replies, resting his chin on my shoulder and kissing my cheek.
I know who does, and as much as it kills me, I have to find out why. I won’t be able to move on until I face my past, head on.
“How do you feel?” Quinn asks, softly into my ear.
“Dirty,” I reply honestly. “I fucking pulled a gun on an innocent girl. What the hell is wrong with me?” I scowl, squeezing my eyes shut, as I won’t allow myself to cry.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” is all Quinn says, and his kindness has a single tear rolling down my cheek.
“I want a shower.” I sniff, opening my eyes and wishing it wasn’t so damn bright in here.
Quinn slowly arises and walks over to the shower before turning it on. As the steam from the hot water fills the room, my aching body gathers what little strength I have left to stand and I reach for the hem of my t-shirt.
Without a second thought, I pull it over my head, tossing it into the corner of the room. As I work on unzipping my jeans, I realize Quinn is still in the room. But biting my lip, I continue to shimmy them down my legs, until I’m standing in nothing but my black bra and underwear. Unsure if this will freak him out, I reach around and unhook my bra, holding onto the front when it snaps free.
Quinn turns to look at me, and as he takes in my near naked appearance, he gives me a small smile.
Standing bare in front of a boy a year ago would have scared the shit out of me, but now, it really doesn’t. I have grown and overcome the fear of making a connection with a stranger. And I know I have to do the same with my mother. I don’t expect miracles, but I have to at least try. Even if I was a mistake, I need to know why. No matter how hard it’ll be, I’m no quitter. I’ve come this far, and I refuse to give in.
Quinn reaches forward, and when his fingertips lightly brush over my fallen bra straps, goose bumps breakout over my entire body. His gentle touch gives me the strength to slowly peel my hands away from my chest, letting my bra drop to the ground.
I raise my eyes to meet his, and he’s the perfect gentleman as his gaze never wavers from my face. Taking a small step forward with his eyes still focused on mine, he gently reaches for my waist and draws me toward him, his fingers flexing on my skin. He then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my lace underwear and slowly drags them down my legs. Once they fall and pool around my feet, I step out of them, standing completely nude.
I shiver, but I’m not cold. I shiver in yearning, as I have never felt as desirable as I do right now. Quinn’s hands glide up my flesh, and then down my arm as he interlaces our fingers, leading me to the shower.
I step into the bathtub, and as soon as the warm spray hits my skin, I let out a small moan of pleasure. It feels better than I could have ever imagined, and I close my eyes, stepping further under the mist of water.
As my body instantly warms to the scalding temperature, I sag in relief, and the heat does wonders for kneading out the knots in my back. Reaching blindly for the shower gel, I suddenly feel it being placed into my outstretched palm. I give Quinn a small smile as I open my eyes, not able to really see him too well through the dense mist, but I see enough.
Unlike him, I am not chivalrous, and I can’t stop myself as my eyes drop to the huge arousal in his pants. The sight has my mouth running dry, and I reach for the faucet to decrease the temperature before I combust.
Quinn smirks when he sees my actions, and says with a faux sigh, “My eyes are up here.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth, as this conversation is one we had all those months ago. However, now I’m the one who’s been caught out staring.
I decide to reply with the same response as he gave me. “I know where your eyes are,” I whisper, and Quinn shakes his head with a dimpled grin.
We remain silent, no doubt lost in the past, and recollecting how far we’ve come since our first encounter.
Only when Quinn removes the shower gel from my hand and lathers it up into his palm does reality kick in. I gasp when he reaches forward with strong fingers and begins rubbing the vanilla scented body wash all over me.
He starts at my neck and slowly works his way down, not missing a single inch of skin. As he rubs over my breasts, my nipples immediately pebble with his touch, and I whimper. But he continues being the perfect gentleman, ensuring his task at hand is not deterred by my needy body.
However, when he arrives at the junction between my thighs, we both softly groan at the sensation. As his deft fingers stroke over my core, I bite my lip to stop myself from screaming out in pleasure as I know this isn’t sexual, this is him showing me how much he cares.
Once my front is cleaned, Quinn turns my back so I am facing the white shower wall, and he begins the same treatment as he did on my front. His skillful fingers lull me into a sleepy bubble, and I lightly shudder when he massages over the globes of my ass. But again, he’s only there to clean me, nothing more.
By the time he’s done washing my hair, I’m about to fall asleep standing up. I’m pretty sure I’m half way there, because I don’t remember getting out of the shower, drying off, or climbing into bed.
It’s only when I feel Quinn’s naked flesh press up against mine that I barely register where I am.
“Sleep, Red. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he says. I do as he says, because sleeping beside the man I love sounds like a perfect thing to do.
Chapter 6
Second Chances
The next morning I awake before Quinn, which is unusual. So I steal this moment to examine the man beside me.
Quinn’s epic looks are beyond being simply amazing—they are fucking amazing. His hair has grown so much longer since we first met, and I reach forward, brushing his long chocolate bangs off his brow. My finger traces his thick, but well groomed eyebrow, and continues on to glide down the slope of his nose. When I reach the seam of his top lip, my heartbeat begins kicking against my ribcage because my finger is about to touch his wicked mouth. A mouth which has kissed me in ways I never thought possible. I lightly rub over the silver hoop which hugs his plump lower lip, and as a tiny moan escapes him, I catch a glimpse of his tongue ring.
But even if Quinn were a toad (which, by no means, he is), I know I would still feel the same about him. Quinn Berkeley is beautiful, inside and out. He’s shown me how to live, and through his strength, I have never felt so alive.
As he shifts, the sheet slinks lower, exposing his entire chest for my viewing pleasure. But there is one thing I am eagerly interested in—his tattoo.
Believe it or not, I actually have never been close enough to read the intricate script writing, which is buried in swirls of red and orange. But now that the opportunity has arisen, I ca
n’t stop myself as I slowly glide the sheet a little lower so I can read it in its entirety.
I turn my head to the side, as his tattoo commences just under his armpit, and flows down across his ribs, leading into the waistband of his black boxer briefs. It’s a beautiful side piece, and as I look closer, I can see that the bursts of red and orange are actually flames. These flames however, are drawn with such fieriness, I’m almost afraid to reach out and touch them just in case I get burned. These flames, I imagine, are what the flames of hell would look like.
I lean closer and lower his briefs to read it all, as the last word is inked down his hip. I gasp when I softly read aloud what the tattoo says.
Love cannot save you from your own fate.
I don’t know what to do, as I suddenly feel like I’m intruding in on a private moment. I know that’s ridiculous, seeing as it’s tattooed on his body forever. But like my moon ink, I never got it to show others. I got it for me. It was a reminder of who I am, and what I did up until that point in my life to forever mark my body.
And I have a feeling Quinn did exactly the same.
It really is a beautiful tattoo, but I slowly pull up his briefs and glide the sheet back over his body, not wanting him to know I have seen it.
Although he doesn’t hide it, I still feel like this is a private memory he’ll share with me when he’s ready.
With that thought plaguing my already inundated mind, I rest my head against the pillow, and slip into a welcomed slumber.
***
As I’m sitting at our tiny table reading the paper, I think about my decision. Even though every bone in my body is telling me not to go, I’ve decided to go see my mother. As selfish as this makes me though, it has nothing to do with the fact that she is a ‘zombie,’ as Polly phrased it. It’s all got to do with me. I’ve done my part and warned her about my father, and the danger she may be in. So now it’s her turn to start talking.