Something Like Love

by Monica James

  Phil taps his chin with the barrel of the 9mm, looking to be deep in thought. If he doesn’t say yes, then I don’t know what I’ll do—because if he doesn’t say yes, then we all die.

  “Well?” I press, my heart kicking against my ribcage, threatening to break free of my chest.

  “You’ve got my word,” he finally replies with a victorious sneer. “Welcome back.”

  “NO!” Quinn roars, and I can hear his feet pounding on the gravel behind me as he desperately charges toward me.

  Spinning around, I turn around to face him and quickly shake my head, begging him to stop. But of course he doesn’t.

  “What are you doing?” he yells, latching onto my upper arms, shaking me with brute force.

  “I’m saving you,” I reply, allowing a tear to betray my pain. “I do this, and you’re all free. I was an idiot to think we could have it any other way. Please, forgive me.” I sniff, my heart breaking as I know this is torture for him.

  But what other choice do I have? If I don’t do this, then Phil kills us all. And I will not allow another death to be in vain.

  “You’re the one who said self-sacrifice is not honorable, but a coward’s way out. What you’re proposing, Red, it’s suicide,” Quinn says, his voice begging me to rethink my decision.

  But I don’t have time for second thoughts because this was always going to be my future.

  “You would do the same for me,” I whisper, and Quinn opens his mouth, but he knows I’m right. “You have,” I add, and he clenches his jaw as he knows this is a losing battle.

  “Take me instead,” Quinn quickly says, looking over my shoulder to Phil. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Quinn, no!” I yell, latching onto his arm as he takes a step toward Phil.

  But he shrugs me off, sadly whispering, “You go with him, I’m as good as dead. You’re my girl, Red, and I protect what’s mine.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I will my tears away, as I must be strong.

  “You have my attention,” Phil says, addressing Quinn with interest.

  I have to stop this, now, because there’s no way Quinn is doing this.

  “No,” I spit out, spinning around to face Phil. “We don’t have a deal if you take him instead of me,” I threaten, but Phil holds up his palm, indicating I’m to stop talking.

  Quinn advances confidently, and begins his bargaining with the devil. “Do you manufacture your own gear?” he asks Phil, who raises an eyebrow, as Quinn has tweaked his interest.

  Quinn can see it too, so he continues. “Well, I can do it for you. We cut out the middle man and manufacture most of the stuff ourselves. I cook it, I sell it, and you reap all the benefits. Where I stand, that’s a good fucking deal.”

  Shit. Quinn is reasoning with Phil’s gluttony, a sure bet that he’ll get what he wants.

  “No!” I yell, but shut my mouth immediately as Phil raises his gun and presses it to Abi’s temple.

  “One more word out of you, and I’ll shoot her where she stands,” he warns, and I know he’s not bluffing.

  Abi chokes on her silent tears, and I can’t help but join her, as this has just transpired into fifty shades of fucked up.

  “You know how to cook?” Phil asks, looking at Quinn with intrigue.

  Quinn responds with a dark chuckle. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  “Oh, that’s my boy, I’m sure of it. The rotting corpse of that traitor is proof of that.”

  I gasp, as I know Phil is referring to Justin.

  So, I was right. The wound Quinn inflicted on him was life threatening, resulting in Justin’s death. And although that bastard deserved it, Quinn has blood on his hands because of me.

  “I did what I had to. Given the choice again, I would do the same,” Quinn says with no emotion, and I know he means every word.

  The moment Phil’s thin, sly lips tip up into a sinister smile, I know Quinn has won him over. But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I subject Quinn to my future.

  Holding up my hand, I gesture that it’s now my turn to talk. Phil sighs, nodding as he lowers the gun from Abi’s temple.

  Taking a deep breath, I feel like I’m going to hurl with what I’m about to say. “I’ll be your…whore,” I spit out, feeling dirty and unclean that those words ever left my lips.

  But I have no other choice than to offer Phil a deal he can’t say no to, because this is what started my demise, and now it’s time to end it.

  As I watch Phil’s eyes darken in hunger, I know that I’ve won. And so does Quinn.

  “I’ll be your drug bitch, and I’ll be your whore. You own me, Phil. You’ve won,” I growl. “I won’t try to run, or fight you. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’m yours.”

  Quinn’s pained gasp has the final piece of my broken heart collapsing within me, as I once promised him the same thing not too long ago. But no matter what I do, who I screw over, and who I fuck, my heart will always belong to him.

  “Deal,” Phil quickly says, his smile disgustingly big.

  “And I have your word that Quinn will be free? I’m sure you know how to make the charges against him go away,” I say, ensuring this sacrifice will exempt my family from further pain.

  “You have my word,” Phil nods, and I know it may seem stupid to believe a liar and a cheat like Phil, but he has more to lose by going back on his word than sticking to it.

  “Fine, let’s do this,” I say, taking a numb step towards him as I look at Abi. “Let her go.”

  Phil steeples his fingers in front of his lips, looking to be in deep concentration. “I still don’t trust she’ll tell her father,” he says, flicking her braid with the muzzle of his gun.

  “She will, won’t you, Abi?” I say, nodding at her, encouraging her to say yes as I walk towards her. “Because if she doesn’t, we’re all dead.”

  Abi snivels and I hate that I’ve put her into this awful position, but what other choice do I have?

  “It’ll be okay, Abi,” I whisper, placing my hands on her tear-stained cheeks.

  I barely contain the sob caught in my throat as it’s been so long since I’ve been this close to her. But I suck it up, and smile.

  “Thank you for everything, Abi. I’ll never forget you.” I lean forward, giving her a tight hug.

  She weeps into my shoulder, and this time around, I allow a tear to fall because it’ll be the last I ever shed.

  Reluctantly, I let her go, and turn my eyes to Quinn. I will not cry because I can’t show him how weak and scared I feel. I want our last memory together to consist of love and adoration, not fear and pain.

  “I love you,” I whisper, my eyes greedily memorizing him into my happy place—a place I plan to visit often.

  “This isn’t goodbye,” he stubbornly says as he turns over his shoulder, looking directly at the front window to where Tristan stands.

  Just as I’m about to call out to him to stop, the front door opens and out comes Cynthia, hands raised in surrender. Closely behind follows Polly and Tristan, mimicking her stance.

  “They’ve got nothing to do with this!” I cry, turning to Phil as I see him leering at them, pleased he has more people to control.

  “Oh, I beg to differ.” He steps forward, opening his arms to Cynthia. “Sister, it’s so good to see you.” When she hesitates, he demands, “Come down here and give your brother a hug. Now.”

  I flinch at the hardness behind his request, as this is not an act of love—it’s an act of power. And Cynthia knows it, too.

  She slowly descends the stairs, taking measured steps as she walks toward the man she once called brother. It takes all my willpower not to reach out and stop her from making this mistake, because once she’s in his clutches, he’ll never let her go.

  Quinn places his hand on my forearm, holding me back, and I bite back my sob, as seeing Cynthia in the hands of this monster burns my throat raw.

  “Phillip,” she says, addressing him curtly as she steps into his embrace.


  “I’ve missed you, little sister,” he replies while inhaling her fragrance, lost in the past.

  “Let Mia go,” she pleads against his shoulder. “I beg of you, Phillip, let her go.”

  The moment she pleads to his humanity, Phil snarls, pushing her away. “I haven’t seen you for so long, and you want to ruin it by begging for her life. You haven’t changed,” he spits, looking at her with disgust.

  “She’s my daughter!” she cries. “And she’s your niece. You promised me you would look after her, Phillip!”

  I stand spellbound by the scene before me, as I know the last piece of the puzzle is about to be revealed.

  “You are pathetic, sister. And you’re still so fucking weak. No one forced you to leave; you made that choice all on your own.”

  “I was going to come back!” she shouts, wiping away her tears.

  “What?” I gasp, my hand covering my mouth.

  She was going to come back? She never told me this. But I guess I never gave her the chance.

  “Yes, your runaway mother was going to come back after she decided to grow a conscience,” Phil snaps, curling his lip in disgust as he looks at a sniveling Cynthia.

  “But she didn’t?” I say, phrasing it as a question, as I don’t remember her ever coming back.

  “Of course she didn’t,” Phil replies with a wave of his hand. “She was too busy being a whore!”

  Cynthia flinches, but stands her ground. “You told me that she was happy, and that she didn’t remember me! You told me I would ruin her if I came back into her life, taking her away from the only family she ever knew. You lied to me, Phillip!”

  “I never prohibited you from seeing her. It was your choice to leave her in the first place,” Phil shrugs, refusing to take the blame.

  “I know,” Cynthia sobs. “And it’s a decision I will have to live with for the rest of my life. But I thought she was happy. You told me you loved her, and that you were looking after her. I trusted you!”

  “You believed what you wanted to believe, because facing the truth was too hard,” Phil spits. “You left her because you are a coward, and you’re weak. I did her a favor by raising her, because if she stayed in your care, she would have grown into a weak, sappy victim, just like you. I’m ashamed to call you family,” he concludes, looking at her like she’s a piece of shit under his shoe.

  “That’s not true,” Cynthia says, shaking her head. “You ruined her life!”

  “She’s strong because of me!” he yells, jabbing his finger into his chest. “You would have only turned her into a sentimental fool, and I needed a winner. Someone who could help build my empire, and she did.”

  “You’re sick,” I whisper, my hands shaking in rage. “You manipulated me, just like you did my mother.”

  Cynthia gasps, as this is the first time I have referred to her in such a way.

  “I did what I had to,” he simply replies with a nonchalant shrug. “You are a somebody, Mia, not a nobody. You’re special. I could see it the minute you were born.”

  “You used me!” I scream, storming over to him, not caring if he shoots me down. “I was just a child!”

  “I looked after you,” he replies with a scowl.

  Scoffing, I can’t stop the sarcastic laugh which bubbles from my throat. “Looked after me? You turned me into an abnormal freak. And I did it because of him,” I snarl, pointing toward the van.

  There is one thing however, I can’t figure out. If Phil was around, why don’t I have clearer memories of him? Surely, I would unquestionably remember calling him uncle? Wouldn’t I? Then I realize, my self-preservation undoubtedly kicked in, blocking out the horrendous memories of my childhood. This explains the blackout period of my infancy because my mind was obviously learning to protect me from an ugly reality.

  There are some deep, suppressed memories rattling around in my mind, and when they’re finally unleashed, I know I’ll never be the same.

  “I turned you into a champion, into an unstoppable force, and this is how you repay me?” Phil says with loathing.

  “I never asked you to. I just wanted to be normal,” I sadly reply, shaking my head. “But normal is something I will never be thanks to you.”

  I see a flicker of…something, flash behind Phil’s eyes, but it’s gone before I can question it, and his detached mask slips back into place.

  “Call it what you will, but I never abandoned you. Unlike her,” Phil says, pointing his long finger toward Cynthia, who hangs her head in shame.

  “I did it because I was young and stupid,” she replies, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I loved Chandler, and being with him made me happy.”

  “You were married,” Phil says, reminding her of her sins.

  “I know,” she replies with regret. “But Thomas, he changed. He turned into you,” she hatefully spits, and suddenly, everything slows down to single moments in time.

  I watch in horror as the van’s side door slides open and Thomas emerges with a rifle in hand. He aims and shoots, and the noise is so loud, I cover my ears. But as my rattled brain processes what just happened, I frantically turn and drop to my knees in disbelief.

  Cynthia lies in a bloody pool, feet away from where she once stood, as the force of the high powered rifle literally knocked the shoes she wore right off her feet. Her blood is gushing from an abdomen wound, and the lush grass, which was once green, is now stained a bright, hot red.

  Polly’s scream echoes in my ringing ears when she runs down the stairs, charging over to her mother’s side as she lies dying, gagging on her putrid blood. I will my body to move, but I can’t, all I can do is watch.

  Abi’s high pitched screams pierce my sore eardrums, and I resist the urge to cover them because I can vaguely hear a soft voice, coaxing me back to reality. That voice is my only tether to this universe, because I feel like I’m slowly dying inside. Each breath I take, I swear it’ll be my last, because I feel my organs shutting down, unable to accept what I’m currently witnessing.

  I don’t know how, but I clearly see Phil charge over to Thomas, seizing the rifle from his hands and slapping him across the face. Thomas covers his mouth, looking at the bedlam his jealousy has just caused.

  “Red…oh, fuck. Mia…breathe!” That warm voice resonates once again, begging for my awareness.

  My sluggish mind recognizes that voice as my lifeline, and I hold on tight, as I need it to pull me out before I’m lost for good. Taking a deep, ragged breath, my starved lungs sing in relief as I allow my depleted organs to fill up with air.

  “Oh, thank God,” Quinn cries, his hands on my cheeks as he kisses my face over and over.

  Everything is still so fuzzy—I realize that my body went into shock. But now that I’m semi-alert, my reality comes crashing down with a loud bang.

  “Cynthia!” I yell, scrambling toward her bleeding form on my knees.

  The minute I reach her, my body threatens to give out once again, but Polly’s pleas for help give me the strength I need.

  Ripping off my sweater, I place the material on her gaping wound, trying to apply as much pressure as I can without hurting her. The fact she isn’t dead is a fucking miracle, but I know she doesn’t have long.

  “She needs to go to a hospital!” I scream over my shoulder, my eyes landing on Phil.

  Tristan, Abi, Quinn and Polly surround me, watching and waiting for my command. But I don’t have the answers, and I didn’t have them for Hank, either. But unlike Hank, I won’t allow her to die. I’ll do whatever I have to, to save her life.

  “Tristan, hold this to her wound, not too tight, okay?” I say, giving him a firm nod, encouraging him that he can do this.

  “Polly, go inside and get me Cynthia’s doctor friend’s number.”

  When she hesitates, not wanting to leave her mother, I coo, “Go…her life depends on it.”

  Polly wipes away her tears, leaving behind a streak of her mother’s blood on her pale, terrified face, but she
does as I ask, and bolts inside.

  “Cynthia, can you hear me?” I breathlessly ask, hoping to keep the terror from my tone.

  After a long moment, her eyes flicker open as she attempts to focus on my voice. “Mia?” she wheezes, her lungs protesting with every breath she takes.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I reply, clutching her deathly cold hand in mine. “You got shot,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. “But you’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you to a hospital, I promise.”

  “I’m…dying,” she gasps, bloodied spittle covering her chin.

  “No, no you’re not,” I affirm. “You’re going to be fine.”

  I can feel Quinn stiffen near me, not as certain as I am of Cynthia’s outcome. But I need her to stay positive, because she will survive. She has to.

  “I’ve gotta go now, okay? But I’ll be back real soon,” I say, nodding.

  “Where…are you going?” she breathlessly asks, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

  “I’m going to make you better.” I lean forward, pressing a kiss to her clammy forehead.

  Her limp hand rises to caress my head, and in the process, her fingers pass over the comb in my hair. She floppily fingers the jewels, a small smile touching her lips.

  “Cara Mia, mine. I’ll be your love till the end of time,” she sings softly, her voice breaking with exhaustion.

  “What?” I gasp, pulling out of her grip.

  But she doesn’t need to answer because memories so sharp ricochet in my mind, and I almost fall backward with the clarity of them. The universe spirals into a whirlwind of color, and I am no longer in Canada. Nor am I nineteen years old.

  I am being cradled against the breast of a woman who smells of wildflowers and peppermint. Her voice is like an angel’s as she softly sings to me, over and over, “Cara Mia, mine.”

  My childlike eyes gaze at the pink unicorns, glowing in the dark on the ceiling, as my mother sings to me. My eyes then focus on a comb which is sitting snugly in her hair. The beautiful black stone glitters in the light, and I reach out with chubby fingers, wanting to touch it.

  “One day it’ll be yours, my darling. I love you, Mia,” and she continues humming to the song on the radio.