Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2)

by Monica James

  Unthinking, I reach for the hem of my t-shirt and pull it over my head, snagging it on my tragus.

  “Ouch!” I mutter, but thankfully it slips free without ripping my ear off.

  “Red, what are you doing?” Quinn’s voice is muffled, as my head is still tangled under my shirt.

  “Getting undressed, Captain Obvious,” I reply, finally tearing the shirt off and discarding it onto the floor.

  As my eyes focus on his, I can clearly see his pupils are consumed in unadulterated lust as they slowly scan down my body, and as I watch him tug at his lip ring, I wonder what the hell is wrong with him. He’s seen me in my bra before, given this is a little more forward, as I’m usually slipping a t-shirt over my head and him catching me getting dressed, as opposed to being undressed.

  But he’s looking at me like he’s about to attack.

  I look down, wondering what the fuss is all about, and realize, I’m wearing the new bra I purchased a few days ago. My very transparent, lacy bra. And because it’s cold, my tight, pink nipples are poking out, pretty much on display, as the lacy material does nothing to cover them.

  I should be wrapping my arms around myself, shielding my nudity, but I don’t. I like the way Quinn’s chest is dipping on each deep inhalation, and expanding intensely with each exhalation. It shows me he’s as affected by me as I am by him.

  “Red,” he says, and the hitch in his voice has me taking a step toward him.

  I want so desperately for him to touch me, and if it’s the alcohol giving me courage with each step I take, I don’t care. All I know is that I want his hands on me, because when they are, I feel most alive.

  “Touch me,” I whisper within a few steps of him.

  Quinn clenches his fists and exhales through his nostrils, his breath coming out unevenly.

  “Red, please put your top back on,” he says, walking away from me.

  “No,” I reply defiantly. “Touch me. Please,” I repeat.

  Hesitantly reaching for his clenched fist, I slowly move it toward my chest, but he tears it away, turning his back on me. Staring at his body, I can see his shoulders are rising and falling quickly, his breaths leaving him in labored pants. Is he angry at me?

  “Quinn… I—”

  “Red, please,” he says, and does something I never expected him to do.

  He walks out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  What the fuck? A tsunami of emotion drowns me, and I feel vulnerable and exposed. So I reach down, slipping on my-t shirt with shaky hands.

  What just happened? I practically threw myself at Quinn and he shot me down. He knew how hard that was for me, and yet he still turned me down.

  Suddenly, a horrible thought hits me. Doesn’t he want me that way anymore? Doesn’t he want me? Has he finally realized how bad I am for him?

  How bad of a person I am.

  That thought has me running to the bathroom, heaving up the entire contents of my stomach until there is nothing left to give. It’s still not enough, and I shove two fingers down my throat, forcing the emptiness out.

  Sadly, I just feel the emptiness taking over, until there is nothing left but pain.

  Chapter 12

  Just a Girl

  I wake the next morning, hurting everywhere. My whole body aches—inside and out.

  After purging my entire guts out, the pain was still there, so I decided to try and sleep it off, but sleeping without Quinn’s warmth was near impossible. I must have slept some, as it’s now morning.

  It’s the day of Hank’s funeral.

  The slice of sunlight which pokes its happy head out through the blinds does nothing to transfer any warmth into my life.

  I feel dead.

  I know Quinn’s reason for coming here was to sidetrack me, an attempt to distract me from the reality that by the end of today, Hank will be dead and buried. And I have a sneaking suspicious that’s what Tabitha was grilling Quinn about on the phone.

  Everyone is worrying about me like usual—and all I have done is cause them nothing but pain.

  I feel my stomach roll with nausea and the burn is welcomed.

  I need to feel.

  I deserve it.

  I look to my left and wonder where Quinn is, as the bed beside me hasn’t been slept in, and I didn’t hear him come in after he left when I near molested him.

  My problem with being drunk is that I remember almost everything. No luxury of blackouts, or memory loss. I remember every damn, embarrassing moment, wishing I didn’t. I am beyond mortified I threw myself at him, calling him mine, when he clearly isn’t interested in me. If I was him, I would be running the hell away from me, too.

  Groaning and throwing my arm over my eyes, I wish I could singe the repulsed look in Quinn’s eyes from my mind. But sadly, I can’t. He’s probably hiding from me and my wandering hands, wishing he never met me.

  Kicking off the covers, I decide it’s time for me to return to the land of the living, I need a hot shower. After standing under the hot water until I’m shriveled into a prune, I get out, brush my wet hair, and make use of the complementary toiletries.

  Twenty minutes later, I look human. Well, half human. The other half is a robot, functioning on auto pilot.

  Quinn is still nowhere in sight and I have to face facts, he may never come back. He may be on his way back to South Boston right now, about to turn me in. I know he would never do that, although, I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

  I slip on my boots, grab my sweater, which smells of Quinn, and softly shut the door behind me.

  Sean said I was about an hour from my hotel. Well, that gives me a lot of time to plan what the fuck to do now.

  ***

  I slip the cabbie an extra twenty. He remained quiet the whole cab ride back to The French Quarter, obviously picking up on my need for silence. I just don’t have the energy for idle chitchat—it even hurts to say thank you.

  I walk the streets of New Orleans with no real direction in mind. I just walk and walk, unable to stay in one spot for too long as my thoughts catch up to me. I can’t deal with them. I spend hours wandering the French Quarter, going into shops I’ve never seen before, and probably will never come across ever again.

  As I pass a strip of cafes, the food smells scrumptious, so I decide to grab a spicy Cajun dish, which is simply delicious. After two bites, however, I have to throw most of it out, as my throat feels as if I gargled with acid instead of mouthwash this morning.

  It’s dark and cold and I’m shivering, but I just keep walking because I know when I stop, I will have to face what I’ve been trying to avoid all day.

  Hank is gone.

  He’s really gone.

  He’s buried in a lot someplace, with a little plaque, the only article telling the world who he was. What he was. And that plaque, I know, cannot contain all the words to do Hank justice, because there aren’t any words.

  He was simply wordless.

  My eyes take in the bright lights around me, and the amazing smells appeal to my growling stomach, but there is only one thing that I’m drawn to. Something I’ve never been drawn to ever before. Something, until I met Hank, I never gave much thought to.

  I ascend the bluestone steps, gazing up at a place which has never appealed to me in the past, but now, it’s screaming out my name, drawing me in. Pushing open the heavy doors that creak in protest, I try to muffle the sounds of my boots on the polished wooden floors.

  Taking a seat in the back and looking from side to side, I really don’t know what to do next. There’s a middle-aged woman sitting two rows across from me, so I watch her. I watch her lips move silently, and as she closes her eyes, a look of serenity and peace colors her cheeks.

  Is that what’s meant to happen? At the end of it all, are we all meant to experience peace?

  Taking a deep breath, I slowly drop to my knees and interlace my hands… and I pray.

  “Hi, God. It’s Mia. Long time no speak. I’ll keep it short as I know I don’t des
erve more than a minute of your time. I accept my life for what it is, but I can’t accept the fact that Hank is dead. I don’t understand, and I’m trying real hard to. But I’m angry, and I’m pissed off—why wasn’t it me? Why did you take him instead of me?” I pause, my lip trembling. “It was his funeral today. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

  Tears fall from my weary eyes, but I silently continue.

  “Hank believed in you, but I didn’t. I still don’t. But then I question myself, you must exist to have created someone as beautiful and as kind as Hank. So, I’d like to think that wherever he is, he’s happy and with Betty.”

  My tears run into my lips and down my chin, but I don’t wipe them away. “If heaven really does exist, then I know he would be there. So please tell him I miss him, and that I… love him. He’ll be in my heart, always.”

  A sob escapes me and I whisper, “Goodbye, Grandpa.”

  I don’t know how long I sit staring at the stained glass window in front of me, but it must be a while as my knees are all wobbly when I try and stand.

  Leaving the church, I feel I have made some kind of peace with… something. But it’s still not enough. Only when I’m standing over my father and Phil’s dead bodies will it ever be enough.

  The cold air hits me as soon as I step outside, and I shiver, as my sweater is not warm enough to keep the chill out of my heart. I keep walking, my feet protesting with each step I take, but I keep going.

  Another few hours of mindless walking keeps me from breaking down, and I stumble across my hotel, purely by chance.

  The doorman looks at me with warm eyes as he opens the front door, but I can’t even give him a smile in return. I am literally on autopilot as I enter the elevator, pushing the button to my floor. The sappy love song playing softly over the speakers hurts my brain, and once the elevator arrives at my floor, I get out, walking like a robot to my room.

  As I unlock the door and open it softly, the room’s absurd extravagance seems so superficial, knowing where Hank will be eternally sleeping.

  I rub my tired eyes, wanting nothing more than a shower and to crawl under the blankets, where I can sleep for a week.

  “There you are!”

  Yelping, as I was expecting to be alone, I quickly turn and come face to face with a worried looking Quinn. His hair is fisted into a mohawk, as no doubt he’s been running his hands through it, wondering where I’ve been for the past kajillion hours.

  “Red, where have you been? I have been looking everywhere for you!” he says, charging over to me, wrapping me in a near suffocating embrace.

  “I went for a walk,” I mutter against his shoulder.

  “Where did you walk to? Australia? You’ve been gone for over twelve hours!”

  “I have?” I ask in a daze, pulling out of his arms.

  “Yeah. Are you okay?” Quinn questions, as I stare vacantly at him.

  I shake my head, but “Yes,” slips past my lips.

  I’m so not okay, but I don’t want to talk about it, especially after he bailed on me last night.

  Hang on a second…

  “How do you know how long I’ve been gone for?” I reply, confused. “You were gone when I left. I just assumed you—”

  “I, what? Split?” he asks.

  I nod, lowering my eyes. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he says.

  I do not want to be having this conversation, so I walk backward, hoping to hide in the bathroom. But Quinn stops me, latching onto my wrist.

  “Answer me.”

  So, he wants to talk to me now, after he all but ran out on me last night, making me feel like an utter fool for baring myself to him. Suddenly, I’ve had enough. I’m about to crack. It’s not going to be pretty.

  I lift my eyes, meeting his emerald orbs, which are filled with concern and confusion, waiting for an explanation.

  “Because you all but ran screaming for the hills last night when I tried to touch you. You just walked out on me when I was—” I falter, but continue. “I don’t know how to be sexy, or flirty like other girls, but I was honest, something I’ve never been with anyone, not even myself. And to have you throw that back in my face… fucking hurts.”

  “Red—”

  I cut him off. “I bared myself to you, and you just shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal, and I know for you it probably wasn’t. But for me, it was. I’ve never done that with anyone before. I’ve never been vulnerable with another person. And to have you reject me that way, to not want me, and be repulsed by my nakedness, hurts. I may not be your typical girl, but under all this baggage and bad attitude, I’m still just a girl!” I take a breath.

  I bite down on my lip to stop anymore outbursts, as Quinn looks like he’s about ready to explode.

  “Is that what you think? That I don’t want you? That I’m repulsed by your nakedness?” he asks. I don’t miss the anger in his tone.

  I shrug. “Well, isn’t it?”

  Nothing makes sense. Not that it ever did. But now, everything is a big fucking mess.

  Quinn closes his eyes, and I know once he opens them, he’s about to reveal a big secret that’ll change everything.

  “No, Red, it’s not,” he says, opening his eyes. “It’s so far from the truth it’s not even funny,” he admits, meeting my eyes. “I want you,” and he says ‘want,’ as if the word itself has just burned him. “I want you with every fiber of my body, and I have never wanted anything, anyone, as much as I do you.”

  “Then why did you leave last night? I needed you. As pathetic as that makes me, I needed you to make me forget,” and he doesn’t need me to clarify what I needed forgetting. “Why do you always stop me when I try and touch you? You won’t let me in and let me know you, which is unfair, because you know everything there is to know about me,” I reply sadly.

  “Because,” he says, storming toward me, wrapping his big hands around my trembling arms. “Because, Red… I don’t want you to stop looking at me the way that you do,” he confesses, his lips falling into a frown.

  This conversation is a familiar one, as it’s one we had not so long ago when the tables were turned.

  “How do I look at you?” I ask softly, repeating the words spoken to me.

  “Like I’m worth looking at. Like I’m worth something,” he replies, repeating my response to him.

  “You don’t realize how much you’re worth,” I whisper, parroting his exact words.

  “Red, I’m not a good person,” he says, again using my words, and I suddenly realize how Quinn has lived my past in his own way.

  He has a soul crushing secret, consuming him just like I did. But I have to make it better for him, just how he did for me.

  “Yes, you are. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have left your home for me. And you wouldn’t put yourself in danger for me, time and time again,” I beseech, needing him to believe me.

  He takes a deep breath, his beautiful features contorting with his confession. “Last night when you said I was yours, you don’t understand how badly I wanted that to be true.”

  I gasp at his confession, but he continues. “Then to see you open up to me, asking me to touch you, God damn, I’m an asshole, because that’s all I wanted to do. That’s all I ever want to do. I have to stop myself from touching you every God damn second of the fucking day!” he shouts passionately.

  “Why?” I ask, confused, stunned by his admission.

  “Because I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve to be happy, and with you, Red, that’s what I am, happy. And the guilt I feel, knowing that, it eats away at me. I don’t deserve any happiness because of—”

  But he doesn’t continue, he just lowers his eyes and closes them tightly.

  “Why don’t you deserve to be happy?” I ask when he doesn’t speak.

  As he meets my eyes, I can see the pain behind his, and I know that whatever Quinn did, he lives with it every second of his life.

 
“Because, Red, you’re not the only one who has a past. But like I told you, you didn’t have a choice… but I did.”

  “What did you do?” I ask firmly, putting it out there. It doesn’t matter what he did, because it would never change how I feel about him.

  He only shakes his head, his hair shadowing his torn eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

  I huff in annoyance and break out of his grip. “You’re fucking kidding me. After everything, you still won’t tell me? After everything we’ve been through?”

  He firmly shakes his head once again, chewing on his lip ring. “No.”

  His curt reply hurts, and I feel like I’ve been slapped with his distrust. “Well, fine!” I yell, my feet leading me toward the door as I need to get away from him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, watching my movements.

  “I’m not sure, but anywhere is better than here,” I reply angrily.

  I’m trying to be understanding because I have firsthand experience with how Quinn feels. I’ve lived it. But back then, I didn’t know him. I didn’t know I could trust him with my secret like he knows he can with me. Or does he? Maybe I’m living in a fantasy world, and need to snap the fuck back into reality.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he snarls, quickly stepping in front of the door, arms crossed.

  “Oh please, what are you going to do? Gag me? Tie me to the bed? Throw me over your shoulder? You’re all talk, Quinn Berkeley. Now move,” I demand, my voice never wavering as I stand my ground.

  The air is sizzling with an unseen static, and as we stare at one another, our chests rising and falling steadily, I know something big is about to happen.

  I just didn’t anticipate what.

  Quinn is on me before I have time to back away, but who am I kidding? I lunge for him the same moment he lunges for me, and as he pushes me up against the wall, he envelops my body with his.

  Our mouths collide and it feels like an atomic bomb has just exploded within, causing a ripple effect throughout my entire body.