Something Like Love

by Monica James

  I can’t help myself as I turn my lip up at her in disgust.

  “It was one time, Mia,” she says, seeing my disappointment. “But I paid the ultimate price for my infidelity, as I got pregnant with Polly. I had known Chandler for only a month, and I was pregnant with his child. I was so ashamed, and I also knew your father would know the child wasn’t his because we were no longer intimate.”

  I instinctively rub my chest, as this story is causing my heart to hurt.

  “Chandler was returning to Canada, and he asked me to come with him as he wanted to keep the baby. He said he loved me and wanted to marry me. But—”

  “But what?” I ask, as I know this is where my history is about to turn cruel.

  “He didn’t know about you,” she whispers, ashamed.

  Suddenly, the wheels in my head begin turning, and Cynthia can see my piecing it all together.

  “I was weak, Mia. I know it’s no excuse, but I was broken and beaten. Your father had broken me.”

  “No, it’s not an excuse,” I spit out.

  “I know, and I’ll forever regret my decision. Your father overheard me talking to my mother and put two and two together. He confronted me and I told him everything. I didn’t know how he would respond, but what he said next was the last thing I ever thought he’d say. He told me he would give me a divorce and wouldn’t cause me any problems. He would let me go and pretend like he never existed.”

  “But…” I prompt, because this all sounds too good to be true.

  “But I was to leave you with him. I said no, absolutely not, but he said if I wanted a chance at a normal life, then I was to forget you and he ever existed, and if I didn’t...” She pauses.

  “What?” I sneer.

  “He would find us, and make us all pay. Me, you and Polly.”

  “What?” I gasp, because there’s no way I heard her correctly.

  There is no way she left me there with a deranged lunatic, knowing full well that he was willing to hurt his three year old daughter to spite her.

  “How could you leave me?” I demand. “With an obvious psychopath!”

  “I know, Mia,” she sobs. “I made a mistake.”

  “Mistake? Running a red light is a mistake. Mixing your colors with whites is a mistake. Leaving your daughter with her maniacal father is not a mistake—it’s a fucking tragedy!” I snarl.

  “I know, I know.” She sniffs, losing her composure as she covers her face.

  “Why did he want me?” I ask, straightening my spine, as I will not collapse, not yet. I need to know how this story ends.

  “To hurt me,” she replies, wiping away her tears. “He wouldn’t allow me complete happiness. By holding onto you, he made sure I would never forget him. I would always have a piece of me missing, and he would always have the upper hand.”

  “I wasn’t a damn bargaining chip!” I yell.

  “I know,” she confesses, nodding, her eyes searching mine, hoping I will absolve her of her sins. “Please forgive me.”

  “He made you choose, and you chose another life. A life that was simpler without me in it. How can I forgive you?” I ask, my voice quivering in rage, but also, in utter defeat.

  Cynthia only silently cries as she lowers her head, her shoulders trembling with every tear she sheds.

  “So what happened?” I ask, needing to hear the god awful truth before I pass out.

  “I left you because of Phillip. He loved you, Mia.”

  I’m barely able to contain my disbelief.

  “He may have been a shitty brother, but he loved you,” Cynthia affirms, believing her bullshit lies.

  “Loved me? He turned me into a drug dealer!” I shout, because surely she’s gone insane.

  But she only nods, begging me to believe her. “Don’t you remember? He used to play catch with you.”

  “He never played catch with me,” I spit out, but then memories I’ve tried so hard to repress come charging forward, and I blanch.

  Suddenly, vivid memories of Phil, not my father, playing catch on the front lawn assaults my senses, and I hold onto the table for support.

  “No, it can’t be him,” I deny, but I know what she says is true, as faint flashbacks of Phil being kind to me come rising to the surface.

  “That’s the only reason why I left you. Phillip promised me he would look after you, and I knew your father loved you in his own way.”

  “Loved me? Do you realize how crazy you sound? He used me to get back at you! And then Phillip made me his drug mule!”

  “I never thought he’d hurt you,” Cynthia says, her desperate eyes beseeching me to believe her.

  “Well, he did,” I reply, my anger about ready to explode.

  “I didn’t know. Phillip promised me,” she says, and it’s her final plea.

  “Yeah, well, Phil is a fucking liar!” I yell, kicking back my chair.

  “Mia, please, let me explain, there’s more,” she says, standing and attempting to latch onto my arm to stop my retreat.

  But I pull out of her grasp before I detonate and take her down with me. “I’ve heard enough.”

  “I know you’re angry at me…”

  “Angry?” I sarcastically chuckle. “I’m a little more than just angry. I know I asked for the truth, but I just need time. And space,” I add as she once again tries to reach for me. “I need to get my head around this and not see you as being the bad guy, because right now, from where I stand, you’re worse than them. Your selfishness, and your cowardliness, is the reason why I’m so fucked up. It’s the reason why I wanted to kill myself every day of my damn life!”

  My harsh words slap her across the cheek and she recoils, the hurt evident on her face. “I’m so sorry, Mia,” she whispers, tears running down her cheeks.

  “Yeah, so am I.” I shoulder past her, shoving open the backdoor before I suffocate.

  Chapter 21

  Threesome

  I take off into a quick sprint, desperately needing to get away from the truth I so longed for. But I now realize I preferred the illusion of my past, because hearing the truth has not set me free. It has only made me angrier and all the more hostile towards someone I was starting to open up to.

  “Idiot,” I mumble to myself as I slow down to a walk after charging off into the dense woods like a raving lunatic.

  My heavy breathing is the only thing I can hear, and it’s refreshing to know I’m out here on my own, as I need time to digest Cynthia’s confession. I did ask for the truth, but I was so not ready for her to divulge the sins of her past and for them to be so earth shattering. I know there’s more to the story, but for today, I’ve heard enough. This will put my curiosity to rest for now, and it’ll also have me thinking twice before I ask for the truth again. Not once did I fathom my past could be so messed up. But the more I learn, the less I want to know.

  Turning around before I get lost, I slowly make my way through the woods. Just as I’m about to push through the clearing, I see Polly sitting on the top step of the deck, puffing on a cigarette. Next to her sits Quinn, and for some reason, I mask my steps and creep toward them, hoping to remain unseen. I can’t hear them, but I can sure see them. I clearly see Polly lean into Quinn, and he lightly pulls her into his side for a loose hug.

  However, I surprise myself as my jealousy doesn’t have me charging towards them in a fit of rage, as I can see their embrace is purely platonic. No doubt the whole house heard my and Cynthia’s exchange downstairs, as I wasn’t exactly quiet. But Polly has a right to know as this involves her, too. It involves us all.

  Hearing a branch snap behind me, I quickly spin around with my heart in my throat. I let out a relieved breath when I see Tristan and Lucky a few feet away.

  “Hey,” he says, his cheeks pink from the cool breeze.

  “Hey yourself,” I reply with a small smile as I crouch down to pat Lucky between the ears.

  “Was just taking this little guy out to do his business,” Tristan explains, but I can tell by the
strain around his eyes he heard my exchange.

  “So you heard?” I ask, not even bothering to clarify what I mean.

  “Yeah.” He guiltily nods. “Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

  “It’s fine. I’m sure everyone in Antarctica probably heard,” I solemnly reply, scratching Lucky under the chin.

  “You okay?” Tristan asks, the concern clear in his voice.

  With one last pat, I rise to full height, meeting Tristan’s troubled eyes. The morning lights draw out the warmness in them and I can’t help but admire their beauty. However, his beaten face drowns out the color, and my anger escalates.

  “I will be,” I confess, taking a step toward him as I examine his bruised face more closely. “I’m so sorry for what happened back—”

  “Sshh,” he says with a small shake of his head. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is,” I reply, looking at his battered face. “You got hurt once again because of me. I just can’t seem to stop hurting you, can I?” I say, lowering my eyes, feeling like utter shit.

  “Hey, stop that,” he says, and he slowly lifts my chin with two fingers to meet his gaze. “This isn’t your fault, Mia.”

  But it so is and I lower my eyes once again, feeling ashamed.

  “Were you really going to sacrifice yourself for me? Would you have gone with those assholes to save me?” Tristan asks.

  “Of course I would,” I reply without thought. “There is no way I would allow them to hurt you.”

  Tristan’s eyes soften. “So you see, this isn’t your fault. You always put everyone first. Stop blaming yourself.”

  Tristan’s kindness is touching, but talks of sacrificing remind me of the bargain he was so willing to make. “You can’t ever sacrifice yourself for me ever again,” I press. “People like Thomas and Phil, they don’t believe in nobility, and they would have killed you without a second thought.”

  “I don’t care,” he stubbornly retorts, shaking his head.

  “Well, I do,” I cry, latching onto his arm. “I refuse to allow another person I love to get hurt.”

  The small space between us becomes incredibly tiny when my brain registers what my mouth just said. And it’s only now do I realize that Tristan is still holding my chin, not allowing me to move as he takes a small step toward me.

  “Well, neither will I,” he whispers, his eyes focusing on mine, and I can see he means every word.

  I should be pulling away, but I don’t. I stand motionless and allow him to hesitantly brush away a strand of stray hair from my face. His eyes slowly descend to my mouth, and as he sucks on his hoop, an action which reminds me so much of Quinn, I quickly take a step back, breaking our moment. I don’t fail to see the flicker of disappointment behind his eyes.

  “Please don’t tell Quinn about what Phil and Thomas asked me to do,” I say after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

  “Why?” Tristan asks, and I’m thankful the awkwardness disappears.

  “Just ’cause he’ll flip. He’s got enough to worry about. I don’t want to add to the shit pile.”

  Tristan nods, but doesn’t look too happy. “He’s smart, Mia. He’ll figure it out.”

  I sigh because he’s right. But if I can stop Quinn from worrying about this one thing, then I’ll do whatever it takes.

  “But you’ve got my word,” he says. “I won’t tell him.” He sighs, knowing this a bad idea.

  “Thank you, Tristan.”

  “Anything for you, Mia,” he whispers, surprising me with his statement.

  Suddenly feeling heated under his intense gaze, I nervously brush a piece of hair behind my ear. Why am I so edgy around him? This is just Tristan. Tristan, who is my friend and Quinn’s brother. Unexpectedly, my heart begins to race as my friend hesitantly draws his hand toward my face, and lightly rests it on my cheek. I don’t know what to do, because it doesn’t feel wrong, or weird, it feels…normal.

  “Mia…” Tristan sighs, and as faint as it is, I feel him trace a line over my cheekbone with a shaky finger, which has my skin breaking out into goose bumps.

  “Mia, I—” he presses, gazing at my mouth, and a small moan escapes him as I nervously lick my bottom lip.

  I need to pull away because some part of me knows that we’ve crossed some invisible line, but I can’t. I don’t know why. However, the voice of reason suddenly sounds, and I yelp at the intrusion.

  “Everything okay?” the stern voice asks, and I quickly pull out of Tristan’s embrace, gingerly meeting Quinn’s demanding gaze.

  I’m suddenly hit with a serious case of the guilts, even though I have done nothing wrong. But deep down, I know that’s not entirely true, because something weird is happening between Tristan and me. I just don’t know what.

  “Fine, Bro,” Tristan quickly says, trying to fill the uncomfortable void.

  Quinn’s eyes never leave mine, and I guiltily avert my gaze, which makes this scenario look all the more suspicious. But Quinn knows, and Tristan’s comment suddenly takes on a whole different meaning.

  “He’s smart, Mia. He’ll figure it out.” Sadly, I think he already has.

  “Well, I’m starved,” Tristan says. “I’m, um, going get some breakfast.”

  When neither Quinn nor I move, Tristan clears his throat. “Okay, well, I’ll catch ya later,” and he’s gone, leaving me alone with Quinn.

  We remain motionless and mute, the strong breeze howling around us. I know I should say something, but what? As much as I hate to admit it, Tristan being here has changed the dynamics between Quinn and me. And I’m afraid to find out why.

  Chapter 22

  Merry Fucking Christmas

  Polly has insisted we continue on with the charade of this Christmas dinner, and as I slip on my tartan sweater, I have an ill-fated feeling about tonight’s proceedings. Quinn has been missing for most of the day, and I’ve let him be because if he wanted to be found, he would have made himself known.

  This morning has been playing on my mind, and as hard as I try to deny the shift between Tristan and me, it’s there. It’s not romantic, it’s just…different. Something has changed, and I just can’t figure out what.

  Sighing, I sit on the edge of the bed to tie up my laces, but peer up when the bedroom door bangs opens. Quinn sways in, notebook under arm, and by his clumsy entrance, I dare say he’s drunk. As he loudly closes the door behind him, I stand looking at him, waiting for him to explain where he’s been. However, he brushes past me and silently digs through his backpack, ignoring me.

  “Where have you been?” I ask, trying not to sound mad.

  He doesn’t turn around as he replies, “Out.”

  His clipped response surprises me, and I try to keep the hurt from my voice. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Quinn rips the t-shirt off his head and turns to face me, chest bare. “Nope. Everything is fine. Perfect,” he replies, his fingers clenching the shirt in his hand.

  “Quinn.” I sigh, but he shakes his head, his messy hair spilling over his brow.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s all fucking fine,” he heatedly replies, quickly putting on his new shirt.

  Before I have a chance to respond, Quinn charges out the room, making sure to slam the door shut behind him.

  What was that?

  Groaning, I fall onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, dreading this dinner even more now. The phone chiming in Quinn’s backpack has my already jumpy body jarring in shock, and I quickly dive off the bed, searching for it.

  “Hello?” I breathlessly say when I find it, but am greeted with static. “Hello?” I ask once again.

  “Mi…a,” the broken voice says.

  “Abi?” I question, as her voice is all jumbled, as if we have a bad connection. “Abi, is that you?”

  “Mia…can you…hear me?” she asks through a cloud of static, but I can hear that it’s her.

  “Abi, we must have a bad connection,” I explain, but am greeted with silence. “Hello? Hello? Shit
,” I curse, pulling the phone away from my ear and looking at the screen.

  The screen reveals I’m no longer talking to anyone, and I desperately try redialing Abi’s number, but all I hear is a beeping, which informs me I have no cell service.

  “Dammit!” I curse again, running around the room, hoping to find a signal as I raise the phone in the air, but I have no luck.

  I yank open the window and extend my arm out and up, hoping to get something, but still nothing. What good is an untraceable phone if it doesn’t have a signal?

  I fruitlessly move the cell from side to side for a few minutes, and just as I’m about to give up, the phone beeps, indicating I have a text message. Slowly lowering it down, I step up onto tippy toes so I can read it, and see that it’s from Abi.

  U must have no service where u are, but good news. We’re almost there. Dad said we’re DAYS away from this being over. You’ll be home before you know it, and everything will go back to normal. Can u believe that?! I can’t wait to see u again. I really miss u. I’ll text when I have news. Miss U!! Ps. Sorry about Tristan :( He just left without telling me! Pps. How’s Quinn ;) Ppps. Merry XMAS! Love U xox

  As I read her message over and over, I find myself needing to bask in the news that this may finally be over. My freedom, our freedom is within reach, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to celebrate prematurely and jinx our almost redemption, but I can’t stop the small smile which spreads from cheek to cheek as this is the best news we’ve had in a while. However, as I read over her message one last time, I can’t help but think that when we all return home, things will never go back to ‘normal.’

  Tossing those thoughts aside, I tell myself to man up and go downstairs because this news will surely get Quinn out of his bad mood. Well, one can only hope. However, the moment I descend down the stairs and into the living/dining room, I pause by the doorway, knowing where this is headed, and that’s disaster.