Something Like Love

by Monica James

  I roll my eyes at his lame Exorcist reference, because I wasn’t that bad—was I?

  Thinking back to my tirade which commenced downstairs, and how I ended up here under the warm body of Quinn, I realize his analogy isn’t too far from the truth. But I’m done talking because every time I open my mouth, it always seems to end with a screaming match, and me, losing my cool.

  What’s happening to me?

  Closing my eyes, I hold back my tears. If I allow them to fall, they’ll never stop. I hate this toxic feeling inside of me. And as each day passes, it only seems to be getting worse. I’m lashing out more than ever, and I hate it. I hate this irrational, unstable brat I’ve become, but I don’t know how to stop. Years of mental and emotional abuse have come crashing down around me, and I have a feeling it’s not even skimming the surface of the shit that lies buried within.

  “Please let me go,” I whisper, my eyes still shut tight.

  Quinn must be able to sense my mood shift because he slowly releases my palms and slides off of me. However, I remain laying on my front with my head turned away from him, not able to meet his eyes.

  “What’s happening to me?” I softly ask. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. Maybe coming here was a mistake,” I confess, sniffing away my tears.

  “You’re you, Red,” Quinn replies gently.

  I can’t help but let out a sarcastic chuckle as I counter, “Yeah, well this person who lashes out at everybody is someone I don’t want to be. I don’t like who I’ve become. But I don’t know how to stop being so angry.”

  We remain quiet and I realize I owe Quinn yet another apology. “Sorry for before. I never meant all those things I said about Polly. I was just angry because I had my first D&M with Cynthia, which was just peachy,” I scoff, letting out a frustrated breath.

  “This is normal. I mean, you’ve got years of fucked up shit you need to get out. You deserve to have a temper tantrum. Or two,” he adds with a chuckle.

  Opening my eyes, I turn to face him. I frown when I see how beat he is. This whole saga, my saga, has aged us both, and I can’t help but think what happens when it’s finally over.

  I’m at a major crossroad in my life, and whichever path I decide to take, I hope Quinn will hold my hand and take it with me, because without him, all this seems worthless.

  “You okay?” he asks, brushing my hair off my face.

  “Ask me tomorrow,” I whisper, leaning into his touch. I hope that when tomorrow comes, my answer will be yes.

  Chapter 12

  Hooker Heels

  My heavy eyes flicker open, and for the first time in forever, I don’t feel tired. Looking over at the clock, I see the reason could be because of the marathon sleep I’ve just had.

  Over twelve hours ago, I fell asleep in Quinn’s arms, and I’ve woken up the same way. By his heavy breathing, I know Quinn is still asleep, and I realize this is the first slumber we’ve had in so very long where we’re not sleeping with one eye open, awaiting the police, or my father, to kick down our door.

  I guess this is one big pro of staying here, and I realize that I really should be a little more grateful. So I decide here and now, that my New Year’s resolution will be just that. I’ll try my absolute hardest to stop losing my shit, and to also be a little more patient with Cynthia and Polly.

  That thought has me wondering when New Year’s, or Christmas actually is, as all my days seem to blur into one lately.

  “Why are you up so early?” a croaky voice asks, disturbing my thoughts.

  My lips tip up into a small smile as I love the way his husky voice sounds first thing in the morning.

  “It’s not early; it’s 9:30. We’ve slept for like, fourteen hours,” I joke, pulling away from his chest so I can see his early morning beauty.

  When I see him, I barely suppress my sigh as he looks epic. His tousled bed hair falls over his brow, partially veiling his bright emerald eyes, which are vividly clear when he first arises. This man doesn’t look like he’s just woken up after a lengthy slumber. I however, probably look as if a family of ravens have taken up permanent residency in my hair.

  “What did you want to do today?” he asks, and I suddenly appreciate the fact we don’t have to pack up and go, leaving behind yet another town that provided us sanctuary for the night.

  We don’t have to keep driving until Quinn is falling asleep at the wheel, forcing us to check into some shithole motel, only to wake up and repeat the same thing the next day-and then the next day after that.

  Here, we can be normal. Well, something like normal.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply with a yawn. “What day is it?” I ask, scrunching up my brow.

  Quinn smirks, and the sight has my heart doing a tiny somersault. “It’s Thursday, the 23rd December,” he replies.

  I widen my eyes at his reply, because there is no way that’s right. “Holy shit! It’s Christmas Eve, tomorrow?” I ask, just in case I misheard him.

  Quinn nods with a smirk.

  “Damn, how did that go by so quickly?” I mumble aloud, and Quinn sighs.

  “The fact we’ve been running since Thanksgiving might have something to do with that.”

  Shit, he’s right. We have been on the run for roughly four weeks. Four weeks is a long freakin’ time. It’s exactly twenty-eight days. It’s six hundred and seventy-two hours. It’s forty thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes. And it’s also way too many seconds to count.

  I can’t believe how different things are. How my life has changed from the moment I decided to start anew. Each day is definitely a challenge, and although I’ve come close, I haven’t broken down—yet. And I know the reason for that is staring straight at me with those damn inquisitive eyes. But he doesn’t push, he only leans forward and kisses me lightly on the forehead.

  “Want to get something to eat?” he asks, and I smile as in typical Quinn fashion, he is in search of food.

  We both jump out of bed, and I exhale noisily when I realize I’ll have to face the music with Cynthia and Polly sooner or later. I really wish it was later, as my behavior yesterday was deplorable, and I really could do with a cup of coffee before facing them both.

  Slipping on Quinn’s sweater, I take a deep breath and pass by Quinn, standing at the door with a small smile.

  “You’ll be okay,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “If not, you can just plead insanity.”

  I roll my eyes, but he’s actually got a point. Surely I’m allowed to go a little crazy, considering my circumstances.

  “I just want today to be uneventful and boring,” I say, drawing out the G when we reach the staircase.

  As we both peer over the railing, my wishes of an uninteresting and ordinary day get shot down in flames of glittery greens, glitzy golds and radiating reds.

  “Um, what the hell?” I mumble under my breath, as I take in the scene of pure Christmas bedlam below.

  Quinn remains quiet, no doubt his eyes glued to the sight of about fifty workmen, decking out downstairs with every imaginable Christmas ornament known to mankind. And in the center of all that crazy is Pollyanna, clutching a bright pink clipboard to her chest while giving orders to a poor minion on where to hang the mistletoe.

  “Good morning, you two,” my mother says from behind us, startling me to death.

  “Hi,” I reply, slowly turning to face her, and I’m thankful she looks better than when I saw her last.

  Feelings of guilt overwhelm me, and I avert my eyes back to downstairs, ashamed that I left her the way that I did.

  “What’s going on down there?” I ask, looking at the transformed Christmas wonderland, hoping to make small talk that doesn’t involve profanity.

  “We throw a Christmas Eve party every year. It’s been a tradition for as long as…” she leaves the sentence unfinished, no doubt not wanting to tell me all about the lavish Christmas parties she’s thrown while I’ve been slumming it on the streets.

  I tell myself to breathe and not lash
out. I promised myself today is a brand new day, and I am grateful for that.

  “Oh cool,” I reply, hoping I can fake sincerity without coming off as a phony.

  Cynthia lets out a breath.

  “Honestly, Edward, are you deaf? I’ve told you twice. The ice sculpture goes in the front room. I’ll just do it myself,” Polly says, snatching the cart away from a poor humiliated Edward.

  “We were going to cancel this year, because of current circumstances,” Cynthia says with a hitch in her voice, “But as you can see, this is Pollyanna’s thing. This is also Chandler’s first Christmas away, so I didn’t want to take it away from her,” Cynthia concludes with regret.

  The mere mention of Chandler’s name has my semi-calm composure slipping. Cynthia must be able to read my discomfort because she quickly backtracks.

  “Oh, Chandler is Polly’s…” but once again she leaves the sentence incomplete, and I’m thankful, as I don’t want to start another fight with her.

  “I know who Chandler is,” I say, turning to meet her uncomfortable gaze.

  “You do?” she asks, her hand fluttering over her chest.

  “Yes,” is all I reply, and I leave it at that. “Looks like Polly is in her element, bossing everyone around. I’m glad you’ve decided to go ahead and have the party,” I add, needing to change the subject.

  Cynthia smiles and looks relieved I’ve made a joke. “Yeah, she sure is. She loves this time of year. She loves these social gatherings, and all the glitz and glamor that go with it.”

  I nod but can’t help but think how different we really are. I would much rather hide in a dark room, watching a horror movie, than liaise with strangers who are only there for the free food. The thought of a dark room reminds me of the idea I had for Quinn’s Christmas gift. I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to follow through, but I’ll try my best.

  “You’re both invited to join us.” Cynthia smiles, snapping me out of my thoughts. “If you wanted to attend, that is. Of course there’s no pressure,” she adds when I scrunch up my face, thinking I would much rather hibernate upstairs than socialize with guests.

  But that stupid promise I made to myself has me opening my mouth before my brain can protest. “Sure. Thanks. We would love to come.”

  Quinn places a hand around my waist and gives it a gentle squeeze. I’m actually proud of myself…that wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.

  “So is there a theme?” I ask, looking at the ostrich feather centerpieces, diamante jeweled fans and elegant laced candles, which definitely look out of place alongside Santa.

  “Oh, it’s a masquerade ball. The theme is black and white,” Cynthia replies, looking over the railing at the mayhem below.

  “Oh,” I reply, thinking a ball usually equates to elegant dresses, something which I do not own.

  “Edward! Seriously, are you deaf and blind?” Polly says, taking hold of a fondue fountain and slamming it onto the mahogany table.

  Looking down at little Miss Bossy Boots, I’m struck with an idea which is probably one of the worst I’ve had in a very long time.

  ***

  “This is the worst idea ever!” Polly groans from the backbeat seat of Cynthia’s red Mercedes.

  My ingenious plan was to attempt to bond with Polly, and I figured what better way to do that than over shopping.

  Obviously, I thought wrong.

  “I have a million and one things to do today, but thanks to my mother’s bright ideas, I’m stuck babysitting you.” Polly huffs, slamming back into the leather interior.

  After twenty minutes of circling the local mall, we finally find a parking spot and Quinn zips into the space like a pro.

  “Ooh, there’s something so hot about a man who can handle a high powered vehicle,” Polly purrs, running her fingertips through Quinn’s hair as she leans over from the backseat.

  Before I have time to break her fingers, she quickly exits the car, slamming the door shut behind her.

  Quinn places a hand over mine, stilling my fingers from clawing at the upholstery. “She’s doing it to piss you off,” he says with a chuckle as he turns off the car.

  “Yeah, well, it’s working,” I scowl, hating I get so jealous when Quinn is involved.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” he reaffirms, rubbing a thumb over my wrist.

  But that’s a little hard when I watch Polly through the driver’s window, intentionally leaning over to tie her laces up with her butt pointed directly at Quinn’s face.

  “Do not look out that window,” I bark, grinding down on my jawbone as she turns over her shoulder and winks.

  “That shade of green suits you,” Quinn laughs, chewing on his lip ring.

  “I’m not jealous,” I pathetically scoff, as I am so jealous.

  “Oh, okay then,” he says, slowly turning toward the widow to look at a flashing Polly.

  “Don’t you dare,” I say, snagging his jaw and turning his face my way. “You’re a jerk,” I smirk when I see his smug, knowing smile.

  “You know what would really piss her off?” He grins, inching closer to my lips.

  “What?” I gasp as his signature fragrance assaults my senses.

  “This.” He closes the distance between us, painstakingly slow, before finally placing his warm lips to mine.

  The kiss is meant to be innocent, but my hungry mouth has other ideas as I part my lips and seek entrance into his mouth with my ravenous tongue. The moment flesh meets flesh, we both moan at the contact and Quinn takes control, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck and drawing me impossibly close to his devilish mouth.

  As his barbell seeks out every corner of my mouth, a loud knocking on the window breaks us apart, as it seems we have both forgotten we’re out in public. Looking over Quinn’s shoulder, I see an unimpressed Polly glaring at me.

  “I hate to interrupt,” she spits. “But can your gross make out session wait until after shopping? I have better things to do than watching you dry hump one another.” She turns on her heel, her long ponytail thrashing like a whip as she storms off.

  I bite my lip, feeling a tad guilty, because as usual, I lost all sense of space and time when kissing Quinn.

  “Oops,” I smirk, so not sorry for my very PDA.

  Quinn grins, giving me a light peck on the lips before he sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  ***

  After much debate, Quinn left me alone with the Spawn of Satan, as he too needs an outfit for this masquerade ball.

  The fact my wingman is a deserter is the reason why I’m currently hiding in this luxurious changing room, totally avoiding going outside and confronting a scowling Polly, who has hated every outfit I’ve tried on.

  This barely there garment, which scarcely passes for a dress, is Polly’s pick, and I have a feeling she chose this with the intent to make me squirm. The only thing I like about it is that it’s black. Other than that, the indecent plunging neckline and short hemline has me afraid to move the wrong way, because I’m quite certain if I sneezed, this thing would turn into a scarf.

  The shoes are also ridiculous, and I feel like an utter fraud pretending I feel comfortable walking in glittery stripper heels. But I’m here to try and bond with Polly. So I suck it up and slowly open the changing room door.

  Polly is outside sitting on a round plush sofa, checking her phone, totally uninterested in my emergence. As I clear my throat, she raises her head and stares at me for a moment before saying, “Wow, who would have thought you could actually kinda look like a girl.”

  I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not, but it didn’t involve profanity, so I’ll take it as a positive.

  “It’s really, um…short,” I say, tugging at the creeping hemline.

  Polly snaps her phone cover shut and stands in her red heeled boots, tapping her chin. It’s moments like these where we’re not yelling at each other, that I can actually see the similarities between us. We both sta
nd at 5’5” and have similar facial expressions when we’re unhappy or pissed off. Her hair is longer than mine, and although mine is constantly wavy, I can see Polly has a natural kink in hers too, but she straightens it daily so the stubborn curls stay away. Her body is curvier, but we both have an athletic build.

  We do also have many differences; our varied dress sense is obviously one of them. But our smart mouths are definitely something we share.

  “Just make sure you don’t eat, or breathe, and you’ll be fine.” She laughs, pointing to the midsection of my sucked-in torso.

  I sarcastically laugh, holding my sides in fake amusement, and in the process, trip over my skyscraper heels. Polly rolls her eyes while I clutch onto a mannequin for support.

  “You’re really not good at this whole, ‘being a girl thing,’ are you?” she says.

  With my patience wearing thin, I flick my long hair off my brow as I bark back, “Well, the fact I spent my entire teenage years as a drug dealer might have something to do with that.”

  Polly’s eyes widen, and I’m taken aback when I see a flicker of pain cross her features, but it’s gone before I can question it.

  “I guess you would look ridiculous dealing in those shoes,” she says after a pregnant pause, pointing to my feet.

  I’m speechless, because she surely didn’t just make a joke, did she?

  We stand staring at one another, and I can’t believe how this person can be my kin. I can’t help but wonder if things were different and Cynthia never left, would we have been friends? Would I be standing here, feeling comfortable with this lifestyle?

  I guess that’s something I’ll never know because we can’t go back, but we can move forward, and that’s what I’ll try to do.

  “Okay, I’ll buy it if you think it looks okay,” I confirm, cringing when I look down at the glittery disco ball I’m currently wearing.

  Polly must be able to read my apprehension as she sighs. “Wait here.” She quickly walks away before I have a chance to question where she’s going.