by Monica James
We roll into town and Pippa finds a parking lot. She spins around to face us and I flinch when I see how shiny her lips are. Wow, she must have puckered up just for Theo.
“So, did you wanna tag along? Come see the band with us?” she asks, looking at Quinn, not really caring if I go or not.
“Sure thang,” I reply before Quinn can decline.
He twists around to face me, tilting his head to the side, giving me big eyes, which just highlight the hotness of his hypnotic, emerald eyes.
“Mabel, we got that thing, remember?” he says, nodding, so I’ll agree with him.
But I shake my head, scrunching up my face. “No, we don’t. And besides Theo, I’m sure the girls are just dying to have you all to themselves without your little sister tagging along.”
My whole speech is tongue in cheek, dripping with sarcasm, but the trio believe it, clapping their hands excitedly at the prospect of spending some one on one time with Theo.
***
The worst part about hitching a ride with fellow travelers is you’re both looking for a place to crash. I bet Quinn doesn’t think his little country twang was such a good idea, now that he’s being grilled by three very pushy, annoying girls.
It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye. In Quinn’s case, I bet he wished he could lose both eyes so he doesn’t have to witness Tonya show him one more time why she was head cheerleader.
We’re sitting in a small bar, across the road from where we are ALL crashing for the night. Yup, the girls decided it would be fun to spend even more time with Theo by staying at the same motel. Looks like my plan of getting Quinn laid is going to be easier than I anticipated.
The bar is small and cozy, and I begin to feel my eyes droop shut as the second beer I just downed is going straight to my head.
“I’m gonna go crash,” I announce, standing up, tossing a few notes onto the table to pay for my beer.
Quinn also stands, but Bridgette pulls on his arm. He loses his balance, plonking back down.
“You’re not going anywhere, are you, Theo?” Pippa pouts, licking her lips, which still resemble a disco ball.
“No, Theo’s staying here,” I reply, looking at Quinn smugly, who is baffled by what the hell’s going on.
The girls squeal, assaulting Quinn with superficial gibberish as I turn my back and exit, looking forward to some peace and quiet. In my travels, I see an army surplus store and decide a new flick knife is in order, and maybe some new combat boots, as my soles are near worn down.
I enter the shop and get some sexist looks from a few rednecks checking out the camping gear. I ignore them, as I want to be in and out. That’s my motto from now on, as I’m sure by now my face is floating around on wanted posters from here to New York.
The glass cabinet is filled with some sexy looking weaponry, but I want something small and concealable. My eyes skim over a blade with a deep mahogany handle—it’s small and sleek, and I want it.
My face is practically squished up against the glass cabinet as I eye the knife hungrily, and I have no doubt there are love hearts pulsating in my eyes right now. However, I nearly head butt the display case when I hear my name being called out loudly. Who would know me in South Carolina?
“Mia? Mia Lee?”
Turning my head cautiously, I’m afraid to see who’s standing near me. But the person staring back at me is someone I never thought I’d ever see again.
“Justin? Justin Miller?” I ask, releasing the deep breath I was holding, standing to full height.
“It is you!” Justin says, giving me a big hug, while I stand awkwardly, taken aback by the PDA.
Justin Miller was the only guy in high school who was ridiculed as much as I, and that’s because he was a fellow freak, just like me. He’s also the only guy I have ever kissed more than once. However, both times were not earth shattering or mind blowing, like it is with Quinn.
I can’t believe Justin Miller is here in South Carolina. Seriously, what are the odds?
“What are you doing here?” we both question each other at the same time, and he laughs, thankfully letting me go.
The store clerk is looking between us, unenthused by our reunion as we are blocking the counter. Stepping aside, Justin looks at me, waiting for me to explain, but all I can do is stare at him, because I feel like I’ve just taken a trip down memory lane.
Justin’s head is still shaved, and a faint sprinkle of light brown hair is peeking through his creamy skin. Huge brown eyes, which rival that of a puppy dog, are gawking at me with a disbelieving look, and his guarded, dimpled smile, which hasn’t changed since I saw it last, is beaming down at me as he takes in my appearance.
His sculptured right eyebrow now sports a barbell piercing, but that’s the only thing that’s changed. My gaze quickly drops to his lips as I recall kissing him behind the gymnasium before fifth period when I was fifteen, and once again, two years later, when I was delivering dope to a party. Both times were big mistakes. And both times I felt vulnerable and sad, and Justin was just… there.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” he gasps, making it more than obvious he’s checking me out.
“I know, right? Small world,” I reply, shuffling uncomfortably, as seeing him again is bringing back memories I wish I could forget.
“So… tell me, what brings you here?” he asks, crossing his arms over his lean chest.
I can’t help but compare his stature to Quinn’s. He certainly isn’t as tall or muscled as Quinn, but he certainly knows how to carry himself with an air of confidence.
“Just here with a friend,” I reply lamely, reaching for a combat boot which catches my eye. “You?” I ask, seeing as he’s just staring at me, making me feel a little uncomfortable.
“Oh,” he says, shaking his head, focusing. “Just here on business.”
I give him a tight smile and nod. “What do you do?” I ask, taking a seat on the small bench seat, slipping off my boot when he makes it clear he’s not leaving.
He sits near me, a move I wasn’t expecting, and turns to look at me as he replies, “Just tying up some loose ends.”
I nod, but have no idea what that means as I try on the boots, bending forward to lace them up.
Justin laughs, his deep, throaty cackle making me feel like I’m fifteen again. “I’m still as vague as ever,” he teases when I cock my eyebrow at his unusual response.
I smile at his response, as he is just as vague as he was in high school. But that was something I liked about him. He wasn’t your typical, teenage boy, he was different. Like me.
“Do you live here?” I ask, feeling obliged to make small talk, as he’s still looking at me creepily.
“God no,” he whispers. “A pretty boy like me wouldn’t survive a minute out here in this country air.”
Turning to look at him, I laugh, as his comment reminds me of my conversation with Quinn earlier today. It’s funny, all I can think of is Quinn, and how I wish it was him I was talking to.
“Red?”
My eyes snap up as I’m still hunched forward, and I see Quinn’s eyes dip down, eying my low cut top, before darting back up to meet my eyes irritably. I quickly sit up, not realizing I was probably flashing everyone in the store, including Justin.
“Who’s this?” Quinn asks, in front of me in a heartbeat.
My palms begin to sweat, and I feel my mouth begin to dry up when I see Quinn, openly eye balling Justin.
“This is Justin,” I reply in a small voice. “We went to high school together.”
Quinn crosses his arms over his chest, and suddenly, the room becomes very, very small, as Justin and Quinn glare at each other.
Leaning back uncomfortably, I quickly slip my boots back on and stand by Quinn. “You ready to go?” I ask, his eyes still assessing Justin distastefully, and I see a little tick contracting under his left eye.
Quinn nods, but his body does anything but move. I slip my fingers through his, squeezing lightly, attemptin
g to get his attention. Thankfully, it does.
“Yeah, sure, let’s split.”
Attempting to remove my hand from Quinn’s to say goodbye to Justin proves futile, as Quinn holds my hand in a death grip.
“See you, Justin,” I say with a small smile. “It was nice seeing you again.”
Quinn’s hand twitches in mine, and I quickly yank him toward the counter before he puts his twitchy hands on Justin.
“See ya round, Mia,” Justin replies, but I only nod nervously, hoping he goes away.
When the bell chimes above the door, announcing his departure, I let out a deep breath, thankful that didn’t end in bloodshed. My hand is still enclosed in Quinn’s, so I shake it out of his grip so I can pay for my goods.
Asking the store clerk for the flick knife I was eyeing earlier, I quickly hand over a wad of cash, telling him to keep the change, as I want to get out of here without Quinn exploding. As soon as I push open the door and step out onto the sidewalk, Quinn follows in hot pursuit, quickly grabbing my elbow and spinning me around to face him.
“What do you need a knife for?” he demands, his jaw working overtime.
“For protection,” I retort, yanking my arm out of his grasp.
“That’s what I’m for,” he snarls, following me down the street as I turn my back on him, walking away.
“You can’t be with me all the time,” I reply over my shoulder.
“Like hell I can’t,” he snaps childishly.
What the hell is wrong with him?
I cross the road, jogging over to our motel which is a tiny, inconspicuous place, tucked away in an alley. Trudging up the stairs, Quinn follows loudly behind me as I pull the key out of my back pocket, unlocking the yellow door and shoving it open angrily.
Quinn slams it behind him and I turn around to face him. “What is your problem?” I ask him, confused by his rage.
“My problem is you!” he replies, pacing the room.
“Yeah, I can see that. Would you like to tell me why?” I question, watching him pace like a caged tiger.
Quinn takes a deep breath, his broad chest rising irately. “What are you playing at, trying to play matchmaker with those girls? And to make matters worse, I find you chatting up some jockstrap the minute my back is turned! What’s the story between you two? Have you kissed him?” he shouts. Thankfully he stops with the pacing and stands in front of me, waiting for an explanation.
“Firstly,” I bite back, poking my finger into his firm chest, “I was not chatting Justin up. I was simply talking to someone I knew. And our “story,” is none of your business, seeing as your “story,” could go on for a trilogy with all the harlots you’ve been with.”
Quinn’s nostrils flare, and I dare him to continue, as I sure as hell won’t shy away from bringing up Amber-the whore.
However, now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. “And secondly, you weren’t complaining when Bridgette was all but feeling you up!”
Quinn’s mouth parts, surprised by my admission. And so am I. Wasn’t that what I wanted? Isn’t that why I called Quinn my brother? So those bimbos would make their best play for him, and Quinn would fall for it.
I should have known better.
“You think I liked being around those girls? How could you think I was interested in any of them?” he asks, taken aback.
I shrug, biting my nails nervously.
“Red?” Quinn questions.
“Because you didn’t seem to shy away from their advances,” I reply.
Quinn’s eyes narrow, clearly frustrated that I would think he wanted to be a part of their seduction. “I’m doing all of this for you.” He pauses, his eyes softening. “I don’t want anyone but you,” he finishes, begging me to believe him.
And I do.
I suddenly feel the tears approaching, touched by his admission because he wants me, he really wants me. But I don’t reply, because if I do, I know I’ll break down, forgetting the reason why I’m being so horrible to him in the first place.
“Just in case you’ve forgotten,” Quinn says when I stand quiet, sounding hurt that I haven’t replied. “We’re on the run. I’m just trying not to stand out like dog’s balls and blend in and not cause a scene.”
What I’m about to do next will haunt me for the rest of my life. My heart breaks as I’m about to shoot him down after he confessed he wanted no one other than me.
But I have to.
“Oh, so using a lame ass accent is a way not to stand out?” I question sarcastically, my heart shattering as the venom spills from me. “Sorry, my bad!”
Quinn sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “Okay, the accent was a dumb idea. I was just trying… to make you smile, after everything that’s happened…”
I snap my eyes to his, feeling like someone other than me.
“I don’t need you to make me smile or protect me, Quinn. I’ve survived a long time on my own, and I can take care of myself!”
Quinn steps back. He looks as if I’ve slapped him. “You’re so fucking stubborn. I thought we were past this bullshit!” he says, just holding onto his temper.
I hate myself. I hate myself for what I’m about to say.
“Why? Because you got me off? You thought I would just surrender myself to you and let you boss me around? News flash, it doesn’t make a difference!”
Wow, why did I just say that? Plan B, I remind myself.
Quinn chuckles, but it’s not a pleasant sound. “Well, it made a difference to me!” he says before storming out the door, rattling it off its rusty hinges.
I rub my forehead, a headache pounding at my temples, but I deserve it. I hurt Quinn, and although it was sort of intentional, it still sucks.
Plonking down onto the soft, squishy mattress, I raise my eyes to the water stained ceiling, questioning if Plan B was such a good idea.
Quinn made me promise to never run from him again, and I intend to stick to my word.
I promised not to run from him, but I can’t promise he won’t run from me.
Chapter 6
Real
So, Plan B blows ass.
Making Quinn hate me is one of the toughest things I have ever had to do, but what other choice do I have?
He won’t let me go to the police, and my dad is no doubt still looking for me, forcing us to run, and therefore putting Quinn’s life in danger. I know he has some fucked up notion that he has to protect me, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it feels nice to have someone watch my back. But how can I live with myself, knowing yet another innocent man has given up his life… his freedom, to protect me? I can’t.
So, Plan B, no matter how hard it may be, no matter how much it breaks my heart to hurt him, it’s for him in the end. I’m hoping he will get sick of me and leave. Turn his back on me and go back home. And when he does, then I will go to the police.
I know what Tabitha said, but I have no doubt she’s putting herself in danger. I can’t do that to her, either.
I know my altercation with Brad is the reason why I’m in this mess. Picking a fight with the sheriff’s son in hindsight was probably not the smartest thing to do, but at the time, I wasn’t thinking clearly. That fucker drugged my best friend, most likely intending to do unspeakable things to her. So I don’t regret my decision. I’m just sorry Quinn got caught up in all my baggage.
In a way, I wish I’d never met Quinn, Tabitha, Tristan or Hank, and that’s not because I regret a second spent with them. No. The only thing I regret is lugging my shit onto their doorsteps.
If I was a believer in fate, then I may be fooled into believing that destiny sent me to South Boston. But how can I believe that when Hank is dead? That’s why I’m a realist. I know fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it, had no hand to play in my life. Only I did.
The cuckoo clock lets me know its 9 p.m., and Quinn has been gone since he stormed out of here over three hours ago.
I wonder where he is.
Is he off banging some
random bimbo? I know three who would be more than willing to provide the release he needs, and I dare say... at the same time.
But that’s what I wanted, right? At the moment, that’s the last thing I want.
Kicking off the bed, I decide to stop tormenting myself and go find him. Lucky follows me into the bathroom, sitting by the door, watching me as I attempt to make myself look human.
I strip out of my clothes, step over the lip of the bath and into the shower, I sigh. “We might be here for a while, buddy.”
What is it about a shower that always makes me feel better? It could be the fact I usually shower under a spray of boiling water, with little or no cold water, burning my skin, making me feel human again. Only when the water runs cold, do I step out.
I dry off with the little yellow towel, it barely covering my bits and pieces, and wipe down the bathroom mirror to look at me, post shower.
I still look and feel like shit.
Cringing as I pull back my long, thick hair, I hate that my red streaks are fading. But I have other important stuff to worry about other than my hair color at the moment. I’m thankful Tabitha showed me how to pin my tresses off my face, so I look almost ‘girly,’ because I like the way my piercing blue eyes stand out so vividly.
Deciding I need some heavy makeup to help cover up my killer bags, I slap on some black eye shadow, but not too much—again thanks to Tabitha. Before her makeup tips, I was a little heavy handed with the black. Now my eye shadow appears smoky and smudged. My full lips usually have a sheen coating of lip balm on them, but tonight I apply a nude color lip-gloss, giving them a pinkish tinge.
I slip in my small diamond nose stud and pull back from the mirror, thinking I don’t look half bad.
It’s so lame I’m even thinking about shit like this, as I’m not your normal nineteen-year-old. I’m not sitting around on a Saturday night, talking to my girlfriends about who my latest crush is, or which pair of shoes I should wear when we hit the latest club. No, I’m sitting around on a Saturday night, wondering if my dad and the police are plotting my demise.
