Something Like Love

by Monica James

  We make a quick beeline for the entrance and thankfully remain unmolested as we reach the front door. The venue is a rundown warehouse in an industrial, seedy part of town, and I have no doubt they chose this particular location so they don’t run the risk of any noise complaints.

  As we wait in line to enter, I look over at Quinn, and he returns my stare with a small smile. He gives me a reassuring nod, but it’s all for my benefit, as he no doubt understands how quickly this can turn to shit. After everything we’ve gone through, everything we’ve fought for—after tonight, it just may all go up in flames.

  Shaking those thoughts aside, we pay the cover charge and enter. The minute we’re inside, I only just refrain from covering my ears, as the techno music is assaulting my eardrums and vibrating in the pit of my stomach. But this is only just the beginning of what’s to come, as the further in we venture, the louder and more populated it becomes.

  The vast mass of tangled bodies on the dance floor exceeds over three thousand people, and that’s not including the people above us, who are milling on the second level.

  “Shit,” I curse, as there is no way we’re going to find Polly without splitting up.

  Quinn looks down at me, and shakes his head, reading my thoughts. I look at Tristan, who bites his lip, as he too realizes that this is going to be a lot harder than we originally thought.

  The strobe lights and flashing glow sticks combined with the thumping bass make it virtually impossible to see or hear a thing, so we’re left with no other option—it’s going to be every man for himself.

  “I’ll go upstairs!” I say, cupping my hand over my mouth as I scream into Quinn’s ear.

  He of course shakes his head, grabbing my arm to stop my retreat. I yank out of his grip, as I don’t like this anymore than he does, but what choice do we have? Tristan intervenes and points to the upstairs balcony, gesturing with his head that he and I go up there together. Quinn clenches his jaw, but he finally nods, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  “You watch her,” I hear him warn Tristan, who nods as he grabs my upper arm.

  It pisses me off that they think I need a babysitter, but I let it slide as we’re wasting time arguing. Turning to leave, Quinn quickly latches onto my bicep and spins me around, before smashing his lips on mine. I’m taken off guard and am unable to return his affection as this kiss isn’t tender, it’s dominant, and it’s a warning.

  “You stay close to Tristan, Red,” he cautions, his eyes burning into mine. “We meet back here in twenty minutes, okay?” He looks at Tristan, who has turned his head, no doubt disgusted by our exchange.

  Tristan however, nods, and reaches for my hand as he leads me through the hordes of people. I turn over my shoulder to look at Quinn, and the pained expression on his face reveals just how unhappy he is that we’re in this situation, as I know he fears for my safety. I give him a strained smile, but he doesn’t return it and I sadly watch as he turns to push through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, ready to start his search.

  Focusing on our mission at hand, my eyes try and adjust to the intermittent lighting as I can barely see a few feet in front of me. Tristan’s hand tightens in mine when I get wedged between a gyrating couple who are wanting me to be a part of their dancing duo. I keep my head bowed, not wanting to make eye contact, and I slide out from between their sweaty bodies as Tristan gives me a gentle tug. Giving him a small smile, we fight our way through the dense crowd until we finally reach the staircase.

  Tristan leads, but my hand sits securely in his the entire time, as I know he’s taken Quinn’s words to heart. As we reach the top step, Tristan thankfully lets go of my hand as it’s slightly less crowded up here, but I still stay close as we begin our search. There is a fluorescent lit bar to our left, a few lounges and tables and stools, and I know this is where people come to make out, or to score drugs.

  My eyes follow the movements of a young wannabe gangster with baggy pants, a white wife beater, and a blue bandana as he works the room, seeking out his prey. My stomach rolls, and I feel sick that I know his kind so damn well because I am his kind—a fact I wish I could change.

  Tristan follows my line of vision and quickly places his hand on my cheek, turning me to face him. His gentle eyes soften as he wordlessly tells me that I’m nothing like him, but I am. But I don’t have time for this nostalgic crap, and I shrug him away as I feel unwanted tears well in my eyes.

  “I’ll check the girl’s bathroom,” I yell into his ear as I stand on tippy toes to reach his tall frame.

  He nods and I’m glad he doesn’t insist that he’ll wait outside, as I need some time alone. Being in this environment brings back too many unwelcome memories, ones I wish I could permanently erase from my mind.

  Pushing my way through groups of people, I finally make it to the bathroom and escape inside, grateful to be alone. It smells like vomit and piss, but I take a minute to center myself and focus on what’s important so we can get the hell out of here.

  After checking every stall and coming up empty, I brace my hands over a basin and bend low, taking a deep, calming breath, which makes me feel slightly better. Turning on the faucets, I splash some water onto my heated cheeks and look at my forlorn face in the mirror. I look tired and drained, but I tell myself to man up and get back out there.

  A slutty tramp in a one piece tube dress comes stumbling out of a cubicle, wiping her white powdered nose with the back of her hand. My blood instantly boils and I tell myself to get out before I smash her stupid face through the mirror.

  Kicking open the door, I find Tristan leaning up against the wall waiting for me. I don’t make a fuss and tell him to quit it with the babysitting duties, as I know he means well. “Anything?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he says with a firm shake of his head.

  Shit.

  “You?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” I sigh. “Let’s go find Quinn.” We make our way back downstairs.

  If possible, the crowd has doubled, and I cringe, as finding Quinn is going to be a nightmare. Tristan senses my dilemma and reaches for my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  Regardless of how he feels toward me at the moment, during times of crises, he can’t help but come to my rescue. He will forever be my knight in shining armor, and I know I don’t deserve it, but having him on my side makes me stronger, and makes everything seem like it’ll be okay.

  “There he is,” Tristan yells, gesturing with his head to our far right.

  Standing on tippy toes, I see my prince scanning the crowd looking for us, and no doubt Polly, as his search looks to have been unsuccessful also.

  Tristan suddenly places me in front of him, so I’m wrapped in the safety of his huge body. He then proceeds to push his way through the swarms of people, using both hands to clear a path in front of us. This method proves to be successful as people move, and I stay enclosed in his warmth, feeling safer than ever before.

  When we finally reach Quinn, he eyes our connection with distaste, but he doesn’t say a word and only looks at Tristan.

  “Find her?”

  Tristan’s chest rumbles against my back with his reply, which I can’t hear over the loud music. They continue talking while my eyes scan our surroundings, desperate to find Polly. Suddenly realizing I’m still engulfed in Tristan’s arms, I take a small sidestep and almost fall over my feet when I do.

  Over Quinn’s shoulder, I just make out the side profile of Polly as she secretly talks to the scumbag dealer I saw upstairs. My anger is suddenly amplified, and if I’ve ever been this mad, then I don’t remember when, because right about now I’m on the cusp of murdering her.

  Shoving past a stunned Quinn, I practically run to where she stands, shouldering anyone who stands in my way because I’m focused on my mission, and that mission is to kill my sister. I’m about two feet away when my fists begin to twitch, and I frenziedly give into my urge as I slam my fist into the dealer’s face.

  He staggers back, stunn
ed, as it was a blind attack, and although I’m not proud of my actions, boy, did it feel good. His hand flies to his jaw, and I take great satisfaction in seeing his lip bleed, but it’s not enough and I launch forward, taking another swing.

  However, he reads my attack and dodges my punch, but this petty thug is about to get served. I raise my leg and slam my bony kneecap into his groin, and watch him drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Just as I drop down to one knee, my fist raised and ready to strike, a pair of hands wrap around my middle and lift me off the ground, stopping my attack. I kick my legs, bucking wildly as anger clouds my vision and I won’t stop until the writhing, moaning sack of shit at my feet is dead.

  “Red, stop!” Quinn snarls into my ear, but this time around, his voice of reason fuels my fury and I attempt to head butt him, but I only make contact with heated air.

  “Let me go!” I yell, kicking out and scratching at his hands, hoping he lets go. But he doesn’t, and his grip around me only intensifies, foiling my plans of finishing what I started.

  My eyes narrow on the slumped figure in front of me, and as I watch him cup his tender privates, crying out in pain, the seriousness of what I have just done hits home. Everything slows and suddenly, I’m transported back to a time when I was him. I’m the one dealing to naïve kids who want nothing but a good time. I’m the one dealing to children, accepting their dirty money, when I knew what they had to do to get it.

  Little did they know, every hit was slowly edging them towards the point of no return. And I was the one who was responsible for their fall. I’m responsible for it all.

  I’m going to be sick.

  Quinn must feel my stomach roll as his grip suddenly loosens and he lowers me to the ground. The moment my feet touch the floor, I pound on the cement and dry heave in the corner of the room. Nothing comes up as I haven’t eaten all day, but I force myself until I am gagging and retching, wanting to make the pain go away.

  This whole situation has me thinking about what Phil proposed me to do. But tonight proves that there’s no way I can go back to that life without it doing severe damage to my already fragile mind. I’m as good as dead if I’m caught by them, because Phil knows being kept alive and going back to a life I’m trying so hard to forget is far worse than being dead.

  That thought is the mental slap I need, as I know we need to get the fuck out of here because of the scene I’ve just caused. No doubt the police are on their way, and if Phil and Thomas are here, I have just waved a big red flag.

  Taking a deep breath, I straighten up and turn to meet Quinn’s gentle eyes. I focus solely on them, because if I see the chaos I’ve caused, I don’t think I’ll make it out of here in one piece.

  “We gotta move,” he says, his eyes pained when he sees my tears.

  Nodding quickly, I reach for his hand and we push through the circle of nosy bystanders, who watch our escape with wide eyes. No one stops us, and even if they did, I know Quinn would kill anyone who stood in our way.

  It takes us minutes to get outside, and as we both hear the sirens echoing in the distance, we quicken our pace, fleeing the crime scene as quickly as we can. The moment I burst through the exit, the cool breeze slaps some sense into my foggy brain, and I realize we have to go back in for Tristan.

  “Tristan!” I yelp, violently tugging my hand from Quinn’s and turning to go back inside.

  But his voice stops me, and I’ve never been so glad to hear him address me. “Mia, I’m here,” he says, and throws his arms around me, suffocating me into his embrace.

  I hold on tight, burying my nose into his shoulder, and as I feel his frantic heartbeat beating against mine, I realize he must have fled and grabbed Polly when I was having my meltdown. Pulling out of his embrace when I’ve calmed down somewhat, my eyes seek out the person who has created this clusterfuck of events.

  The moment she sees me hunting her down, she has the audacity to laugh. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she looks fucking high.

  “Red,” Quinn implores, latching onto my arm to stop me from delivering my reckoning.

  But I shrug him off and storm over to her, ready to rip out her hair.

  “Are you fucking high?” I roar, clutching her biceps and shaking her wildly.

  She only laughs in my face, and her untroubled attitude enrages me to breaking point.

  “You selfish little bitch!” I scream, my fingernails digging into her skin. “What is the matter with you? Do you know what you’ve done? Do you even care?”

  I vaguely hear Quinn telling me to let her go, but I can’t, because I’m not in control of my actions right now. All the pain, rage, frustration, anger, hurt, everything comes bubbling to the surface, and there’s no way I’m going to let her go. She needs to understand that every action has a repercussion, and her self-centered actions have cost us all.

  “You think this is funny?” I spit, infuriated when she just continues cackling, thinking this is all some big joke.

  I know that’s probably the E she took, but I’m about to smack the ecstasy right out of her.

  “You make me sick,” I snarl, letting her go as I shove her backward. “You think this is all a game? This is our lives you’re fucking with! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just leave you here and let you fend for yourself when the wolves come.”

  Polly’s eyes widen, and she quickly shuts her mouth when reality kicks in.

  “Ah, she finally gets it.” I snicker as she takes a step back.

  “I didn’t think.” She hiccups, her high slowing fading.

  “That’s your damn problem, you never do! You think Phil and Thomas will go easy on you because you’re under age? You think Phil cares that you’re his niece? He will have absolutely no qualms exploiting you and raping your soul until you beg for a reprieve. And by reprieve, I mean be his fucking slave! He doesn’t care, Polly—trust me, I know,” I spit, getting into her face as I watch her lower lip tremble. “He didn’t care that I was virgin when he organized a john to take away my innocence,” I painfully reveal, and Polly gasps, a wavering hand covering her mouth.

  “I didn’t know,” she whispers, tears stinging her eyes.

  “Of course you didn’t! You’ve got your head so far up your ass, reality has been replaced by your self-absorbed, narcissistic fantasy world, where you think the universe revolves around you. Well, news flash, sister: you need a reality check because shit is about to get real! You think it’s fun to get high?” I snarl, gripping her cheeks in my fingers and pursing her lips like a goldfish.

  She struggles to pull out of my hold, but I only squeeze tighter until she whimpers under the pressure. “You want me to show you what happens when you get high?” I threaten, letting her go.

  She quickly shakes her head, but it’s too late.

  Taking a step backward, I jam my finger into my chest. “You’ll turn into me! I watched my father shoot up, snort, fucking ingest drug after drug, and although I never once touched the shit, my entire life, I felt like I was high, because surely, this messed up reality, this reality which was mine, had to be some drug induced coma. But it wasn’t, it was my reality. Don’t let it be yours,” I say, and sadness overtakes my rage.

  “You’re sixteen; you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Stop wasting it, and just be a kid and…live. Be happy. Do what I couldn’t do, Polly—live. Live for me and be free,” I cry, tears sliding down my cheeks.

  A howl rips from her chest and she breaks down as she slumps onto the cold floor, sobbing into her hands. Whether she’s coming down, or whether my pep talk knocked some sense into her, I’ll never know. But whatever the cause, I can only hope that she’ll never get high again.

  Chapter 28

  Two Wrongs Make a Right

  I fall asleep with my head in Quinn’s lap, emotionally drained after airing my dirty laundry. The events of tonight have proven to me the one thing I always knew. I can never go back to my old life.

  This revelation only reiterates wha
t I have to do—Phil and Thomas must die.

  With that thought in mind, I drown into a welcomed slumber, not wanting to face my future just yet.

  ***

  I wake incredibly hot, but I’m too tired to move. I don’t know what time it is, or where we are, but I know the warm body lying beside me belongs to Quinn.

  No doubt my Prince put me to bed after I passed out, as I’ve been out for the count ever since my breakdown. I know tonight has changed things, and although Polly is mostly to blame, so am I. My brawl brought us nothing but unwanted attention, and if Phil and Thomas where in attendance, then they’ve probably seen us. I don’t know if we’ve been followed, but either way, I know what needs to be done.

  My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness, and I wish I could stay this way forever, but it’s time to face the harsh light of day.

  “Are you awake?” I whisper, not wanting to disturb him if he is indeed sleeping.

  But he isn’t, as his mind is probably unable to switch off. “Yeah, Red, I’m awake,” he sighs, exhaustion weighing heavily in his tone.

  “I’m sorry about tonight, Quinn. I shouldn’t have lost my cool. I’m such an idiot,” I groan, rubbing a hand down my weary face.

  “Hey, stop that,” he says as the room is suddenly lit up by the bedside lamp.

  My eyes take a moment to adjust, and as I look at the man I love with my entire being, my heart breaks. He looks utterly exhausted and drained. His emerald jewels have lost their customary spark, and his mouth dips into a dismayed frown.

  I just wish this would end.

  “So, you think they saw us?” I ask, not stipulating who ‘they’ are.