by Monica James
Speaking of which, Lucky has his own room, equipped with a heated doggy bed. Can you believe it? I wouldn’t believe a hotel such as this would allow pets, but lucky for us, they do. They even have an all day doggy day care, which I intend to make use of. I bet Lucky will love hanging out with his fellow canines.
What I also can’t believe is the extravagant size of the bed.
I am nervously eyeing it while leaning on the kitchen’s marbled counter, sipping a beer. Draped in gold and maroon linen, and a million and one throw cushions, this bed was made for rolling around on without fear of falling off.
The conversation in the elevator has been playing on repeat in my mind. What would Quinn have said if I admitted I see him as being mine? Would we be making use of that inviting bed right now? God, that thought scares me. And it’s not because I don’t want to. Quite the contrary actually, and that’s what scares me. I lose all control when Quinn is involved, and it’s a feeling I’m not used to. After relying on no one other than myself for such a long time, letting someone in like Quinn changes everything. But am I ready for that change? I have a feeling once I embrace it there will be no turning back.
“Getting into the booze early?” Quinn says from behind me, startling me.
As I turn, I see him running his hands through his damp hair, which doesn’t help the perverted images that are plaguing my brain involving that huge bed.
His white t-shirt hugs every hardened inch of his chiseled torso, and I try to close my gaping mouth, but it’s a struggle when I see the top button of his blue jeans is undone.
“I’m going downstairs,” I blurt out while pushing off the counter, as I’m in desperate need of some fresh air.
“Give me a sec and I’ll come down with you,” he says, looking for his shoes.
“No, it's okay,” I reply, slipping on my sweater. “I wouldn’t mind checking the place out,” I say quickly.
Quinn understands I mean alone.
“Red, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he says, toying with his piercing.
But I really need to get away from him to clear my head. “I won’t be long,” I say over my shoulder, and am out the door before he can follow, or argue with me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, happy to be away from Quinn and his tempting smell. This is ludicrous. How can I be affected by someone so deeply it hurts to breathe?
My boots thump against the carpeted floor as I walk down the hallway and into the elevator, deep in thought.
I’ve never been in lust, or love before.
Before meeting my friends back in South Boston, I didn’t even know what love felt like. But this, with Quinn, is this something like love? This all-consuming, overpowering urge to be near someone. Is that what love is? Because when it comes to Quinn, I am borderlining on becoming infatuated with him.
I need a drink. Thankfully, I don’t have to look too far.
As the elevator doors slide open, I see that the hotel bar is up ahead, and I make a mad dash toward it. Not watching where I’m going, I bump into a little old man in grey suspenders and trousers. My heart freezes when I see the silver-rimmed glasses perched on his narrow nose.
“Are you okay, child?” he asks, his wrinkled, kind hands bracing my upper arms to support me from tumbling into a heap.
My eyes descend on his hands, mesmerized by each wrinkle, each crease representing a chapter in his life. And the feeling of guilt that I’ve managed to push down into the pit of my stomach comes gurgling up, threatening to spill free from my body in a wave of terror. Remorse, shame, anger, but most of all utter guilt overwhelms me when I realize that Hank’s wrinkled hands will no longer add another crease, add another chapter to his life, because he’s dead.
“Child?” he asks again when I remain catatonic.
Child…
Oh my God.
Tears burn behind my lids, and vomit is slowly rising up my throat, but I mentally slap myself and force my mouth to speak and will my feet to move.
“I’m fine. S-sorry.” I run out the front door before my brain can catch up to where I am going.
But I have no idea where I’m headed, because I’m so lost in every way possible.
Chapter 11
Ghosts
Many hours and many shots later, I’m in some bar wearing colorful beads and feathers in my hair.
I don’t know where I am or how I got here. What I do know is that I’ve buried the pain by drowning my guilt in every spirit known to mankind.
Lucky for me, New Orleans doesn’t have strict policies on checking I.D.
I’m sitting in a corner on my own, watching humans interact with one another like it doesn’t hurt to exist. I wish I knew how to do that, because at the moment, it hurts to breathe. The run-in with the Hank look-a-like has sent me into a funk, and I actually don’t think I’ll be able to pull myself out anytime soon. The only way to deal with this is to get drunk. Really, really drunk—which goes against everything I believe in. But I can’t face my life right now.
There are two girls seated at a table off to my right who are happily laughing and whispering their deepest, darkest secrets—I envy them. I envy them because I want to be them. I was them. For a moment in my life, I was normal.
But now. Now I’m reminded that I am anything but normal.
I never will be.
“Hey, why so blue? Let me buy you a drink,” says a voice.
As I look up and meet the eyes of a stranger, who looks insipidly normal, I suddenly crave that normalcy. I need it to get through today.
“Sure,” I reply, meeting his big, blue eyes. “Why not?”
He takes a seat, eyeing my arrangement of empty glasses in front of me with a smile.
“I’d ask what you’re drinking, but it looks like you’re not fussy,” he teases. He raises his hand, and a waitress in a tight white shirt and black jeans saunters over, holding a tray. “Is a rum and coke okay?” he asks, looking at me politely.
“Sure.” I nod, giving him my best attempt of a smile.
The waitress bounces off, and the Ian Somerhalder look-a-like turns to me, cocking his groomed, dark eyebrow.
“So, rough day?” he asks with a smirk, reaching for a handful of complimentary peanuts.
I laugh, and then cringe, because it sounds homicidal.
“You don’t wanna know,” I reply, sipping the rest of my beer.
He nods, respecting my reply. “What’s your name?”
It’s out before I can stop myself.
“Paige.”
He can never know the real me, because the real me is someone no one wants to know.
“Well, Paige, I’m Sean. Nice to meet you.” He extends his hand over my mound of glasses.
As my hand slips into his, there are no fireworks, no static—just nothing, unlike Quinn, who can set me alight with a look alone.
“Likewise,” I reply. “So, what brings you to—” I look around, trying to work out where we are. “Wherever the hell we are.”
Sean laughs. The laugh does nothing to my insides, and my thoughts drift to Quinn—again.
***
Sean has proven to be quite the distraction, which is surprising, as we’ve been sitting and drinking for a while, and I haven’t wanted to bail, or claw my eyeballs out in boredom.
“What time is it?” I ask, knocking back a shot and making a pained face when the booze hits my empty stomach.
Sean holds up his watch and closes an eye to focus. “A little after midnight,” he replies.
“What!” I shriek, grabbing his arm so I can look at his watch myself, because he’s surely mistaken.
But he’s not.
I’ve been drinking with Sean for… I am not sure how many hours, but it’s been a long, long time.
“You got someplace to be?” Sean asks with a smile, twirling his shot glass.
A niggling voice is screaming at me to say thank you and goodnight to Sean, but that would mean I would have to deal with the wr
ath that is Quinn.
“Nope.” I shake my head, my hair slipping free from my bun. “The next round is on me.”
***
Okay, so the next ten rounds are on me, and I know I’m going to regret this in the morning.
But I’ll deal with it then, because right now, I can’t even remember my name, let alone the bullshit mess I’m in. I know that has nothing to do with the booze, and everything to do with my brain needing a night off from over thinking.
“Where you staying, babydoll?” Sean asks as we get kicked out of the bar at closing time.
“Hmm, Chateau Rousse,” I reply, tripping over a step as I hit the sidewalk.
Sean whistles as I straighten up. “That’s a long way away.”
“It is?” I ask, blowing my hair out of my face as the wind has picked up.
“Yeah, like maybe an hour away,” he replies, snuggling into his leather jacket.
“What?” I ask, nearly falling over my feet as we begin walking down the street.
That’s impossible. How did I get here then? My alcohol-soaked brain begins churning through the events that led to the now, and I groan. I remember sprinting out of the hotel, haunted by the face of the kind, old man who reminded me way too much of Hank. And then I remember the desperate need to run. To keep running until my lungs protested with every step that I took.
After that, I don’t remember much else.
This stands against everything I believe in. I see alcohol as a weak excuse to escape reality, just like drugs. And I’m in a strange city, miles away from my knife, and miles away from Quinn.
Quinn… shit.
He’s going to kill me. But I still wish he was here, because I miss him.
Looks like my plans of going out to clear my head of all Quinn thoughts have fallen flat on their ass. But who was I kidding? He’s imbedded into my entire being, and the sooner I accept it, the sooner I can stop behaving like a crazy person.
I clumsily stumble over a lone beer bottle and smash into Sean, headbutting him. “Shit! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I cry, rubbing my forehead.
Sean chuckles, taking a step back. “Holy shit! You’ve got a hard head.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the half of it,” says an irritated voice from behind me.
I shiver, and it’s not because it’s beginning to rain. No, I shiver in desire for the man behind me. No matter how drunk I am, or how lost I am, I will always recognize his voice.
When I turn around, I can feel rays of anger radiating off Quinn’s rigid body. Hands clenched by his sides, hair in disarray, eyes pure black—all point to the fact that Quinn is pissed. Like super pissed.
But it’s his mouth that gives away just how mad he is. The way he’s turning his lip ring between his teeth looks to be painful, but I am transfixed by it. And I want it in my mouth.
Now.
“Who is this guy?” Sean slurs, grabbing my hand and tugging me lightly toward him.
I remain fixed on the cement, unable to move as I mentally undress Quinn.
Quinn waits to hear my reply, narrowing his dark eyes at me, and I say what I should have said to the Titty Triplets.
“He’s mine.”
Sean begins to protest, but I totally ignore him and throw myself into Quinn’s arms, smashing my cold lips to his. He isn’t expecting my actions, as they are sudden and out of the blue, but as soon as I nudge my tongue into his mouth, he opens up and devours me whole.
I whimper as he angrily bites my lip, but he sucks away the pain quickly, and I lose track of space, time, everything—nothing else matters other than this moment of being devoured by the man I will want with my last breath.
He grabs the back of my nape, angling my head at a slant, which leaves me vulnerable to the driving force of his unyielding tongue, and I love it. I love the feel of his tongue ring, which strokes me brutally, and I love the way my knees weaken whenever I kiss him.
However, as my knees nearly buckle, I realize it’s not only the head rush of Quinn’s kisses that have me wobbly kneed, it’s all the booze catching up with me.
I pull away breathlessly, my body feeling heated all over, and my eyes droop to half mast. Admiring Quinn’s burly, strong frame, which radiates pure masculinity, I can’t stop my mouth from going on a tangent.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I say with a hiccup, as I wrap my hands around his neck for support.
Quinn’s mouth twitches, and he reaches behind him, squeezing my fingers softly.
“You’re obviously drunk,” he says, his mouth sloping into a swoon-worthy smile. “And I’m going to remind you all about it tomorrow when I wake you up nice and early.”
“I may be drunk, but you’re still fucking hot,” I say, unwrapping my hands from around his neck and pointing my finger at him. Suddenly I realize there are two of him.
Quinn rolls his eyes and laughs. “Okay, let’s get you inside because we’re about to have a killer storm.”
“You just wanna see me naked,” I say in a singsong voice, and almost fall flat on my ass.
Quinn smirks while shaking his head, but as the rain begins to get heavier, he grabs onto my arm, and drags me across the street.
“Hey, where are we going?” I slur as the world is suddenly tilting on its axis. “Bye, Sean,” I call out, but he’s already gone.
“Quinn, where are we going?” I ask again as he continues dragging me down the street.
“Inside,” he replies, pulling me into a brightly lit fluorescent foyer which burns my retinas.
Covering my eyes with my forearm, I groan. I guess those last ten or twenty shots were a bad, bad idea.
“Can I please book a room?” Quinn says. I hear his chain jingle as he opens up his wallet. I can’t really focus on anything.
I hear muffled voices, but they all sound like gibberish, and all I really want to do is sleep. My eyes begin to drift shut, and I’m pretty certain I have fallen asleep standing up. But as my arm is jerked on and my feet begin moving, my eyes snap open and my dreams of sleeping are shattered.
“Quinn, slow down,” I say groggily. I try to slow him down by dragging my feet, but he doesn’t listen. “You’re a big, bossy meanie.” I pout as I follow him, making sure to stomp in protest. I stomp a little too animatedly and fall, crashing into his solid back. “Oops, sorry.” I giggle, trying to steady myself.
I can see from one eye, which is the only eye that’s open, that Quinn is shaking his head at me, but thankfully, he’s smiling. Before I know what’s going on, I’m being lifted off the ground and into the arms of my superman.
My weary arms wrap around his neck inadvertently, and I cradle myself into his warm chest. As I bury my nose into his damp t-shirt, I can’t stop myself as I sniff him and groan—loudly.
“Oh fuck me, even your smell is sexy.”
I feel Quinn’s chest vibrate, and I know he’s laughing at my embarrassing confessions. I need to shut up, but my mouth has a mind of its own.
“You’re so warm,” I say with a yawn, snuggling into his body and closing my eyes. “I’m just gonna nap. Wake me when we get there.”
I have no idea where ‘there’ is, but I trust Quinn with my life.
“I’m just going to reach into my pocket for the keys,” Quinn explains as he dips me low, and I feel him shuffling around in his pants.
I hear the keys jingle, and then the no mistaking click of a key turning into a lock.
“Red, I’m going to put you down, okay?” Quinn says after a few seconds of him shuffling through a room.
I nod against his chest, my eyes still shut, my breathing even.
The soft mattress dips when Quinn places me onto the bed, but the contents of my stomach threaten to spill forth if I don’t sit up. My eyes snap open as I bolt upright and kick off the bed, wobbling about in a strange room.
“Where are we?” I ask, trying to focus on the small, but pleasant room.
“I have no idea. I’ve lost all sense of direction thanks to the
wild goose chase you’ve sent me on,” he replies with a hint of exasperation in his voice. “This was the first place I saw that wouldn’t cost a small fortune to stay in,” he explains, running a hand down his face.
I feel horrible. He’s been looking for me this entire time. Why didn’t I just wait for him, instead of freaking out and running?
I seem to be doing that a lot lately.
Not to mention, we just paid a grand for a room we’re not even going to be staying in. Just the thought of the room reminds me of Janet, the overly helpful clerk who made it crystal clear she was available 24/7, just for Quinn.
She was one of the reasons why I bolted. Not because of her per se, but because my feelings for Quinn keep getting stronger and stronger, and I don’t know how to deal with them.
So again, I ran.
But the biggest reason was, of course, Hank.
The pain I feel cannot be summarized into words, and that’s because there are simply no words to describe how I feel. When I picture the light leaving his warm, tender eyes, the feelings from that night come crashing over me, and each time, it’s getting harder to swim to the surface.
I’m a damn mess, and I am seriously questioning my mental stability as each day passes.
I am also angry. And I’m sick of it. But I don’t know who I am angrier at.
Janet. Quinn. My dad. Phil. The police.
Myself.
Suddenly, that anger bubbles to the surface, and I half-jokingly ask, “What about the fancy hotel? I’m sure your girlfriend will miss you.”
My drunken mouth, obviously not knowing when to quit, has Quinn looking at me, puzzled.
“Girlfriend?”
“Yes, you know, Janet. Who like all your other admirers, would happily drop her panties for you. But let me warn you,” I say, making a grossed out face. “They would be some big ass granny panties.”
Suddenly, the thought of Janet and her panties dropping for Quinn infuriates me and I feel hot, as these clothes are swiftly suffocating me. I rip off my sweater, nearly falling on my ass while trying to get my arms out, but I manage to do so staying upright.
