by Monica James
Reality kicks back in and as I look back down at Cynthia, a small smile spreads on her trembling lips.
“You remember,” she says.
With trembling fingers she reaches for the locket around her neck, attempting to open it. But her bloodied fingers are too slippery, so I reach down and open it for her. The moment I see what’s inside, my heart is smashed to smithereens and my eyes fill with heavy, ugly tears.
It’s a picture of me when I was a baby, sitting in a nursery with walls painted a soft purple. A soft purple I have seen before, because I only saw it days ago.
“It now makes sense,” Polly sniffles, standing a few feet away. “She would always go into that room and cry. Sometimes I would hear her sing that song, but most times, she would just cry. I never knew what was inside, but now I know what it was. She replicated your nursery, because if she pretended you were still with her, she could pretend that she never left you behind,” Polly explains, confirming what I know to be true.
The locked room which I stumbled upon, the one with the purple door—that was my room. Cynthia never let me go.
“My middle name is Cara,” Polly says with a sob. “I never knew why, but now, now I know why.”
A bloodcurdling scream tears from my throat and if not for Quinn’s hand steadying me, I would have collapsed into a heartbroken heap.
She loved me. This entire time, she loved me. She wore my picture around her neck, and she devoted a room to me, never letting me go. Touching the comb in my hair, I realize the reason why it looked so familiar was because it was Cynthia’s. And eventually, it would have been mine.
Weakly reaching for the locket around her neck, Cynthia attempts to take it off, but she’s too frail to raise her arms. Polly however bends down beside her, and softly unclasps it from around her neck.
“Here, this belongs to you,” she cries, tears falling down her face.
I look down at Cynthia, and as she gives me a weak smile, I see her life expiring before me. We’re running out of time.
Accepting the locket, I slip it around my neck and bend forward, kissing Cynthia lightly on the forehead once again.
“You’re going to live, I promise you.”
As her eyes drift shut, and her breathing becomes shallow, I whisper with a sob, “I love you…Mom.”
A smile touches Cynthia’s lips and she looks peaceful, almost relieved, and I know if she were to die, she’d be happy. But that’s not fucking happening. Not on my watch.
Kissing her forehead one final time, I stand, more determined than ever to take back my life.
“Is that the number?” I ask Polly, nodding to the bloody piece of paper in her hand.
She nods and hands it to me. “Please save our mom.”
I throw my arms around her and hug her harder than I’ve ever hugged her before, because she isn’t the bratty little half-sister I once knew. No, she is my sister, through and through.
“I will,” I reply with complete determination, as I mean every word.
“Abi, I love you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you for giving me my normal,” and I wrap her into a tight embrace, holding on for as long as I can before we break apart, because it’s time.
“Let’s go,” I breathlessly demand, calling out to Phil who stands feet away, watching his sister die before his eyes.
My curt command snaps him back to reality, and he shakes his head, transporting him back to the here and now.
He nods because although he looks overcome that his sister has been shot, it’s still business as usual and our agreement still stands. I wasn’t expecting a happy ending because no matter what, Phil is, and will always be, number one. I still owe him money, and after this little ‘mishap,’ he needs to flee the crime scene more than ever before.
“We call an ambulance the minute we get a signal,” I order. “And we call her doctor friend as well. He can look after her until the ambulance arrives.”
Phil surprisingly nods, agreeing to my terms.
Turning around, I know there will never be an adequate amount of time to say goodbye to Quinn and Tristan. So I have to make do with the minimal minutes I have.
Throwing my arms around Tristan’s neck, I inhale his fragrance one final time. “I love you, Tristan,” I cry, holding back my tears.
It’s the only thing I can say that’ll express how much he means to me.
Pulling away, I lightly kiss his stunned lips and stroke his cheek with a smile. The kiss is chaste, and absolutely not sexual, and Tristan nods, understanding it’ll never be any different between us.
“I love you, too,” he whispers, tears stinging his eyes. “I’ll come find you, I promise,” he swears, but it’s all in vain.
Where I’m going—no one will ever find me.
But I nod, and then, then I look toward Quinn—my prince in blood splattered war paint.
“I wish it could have been different for us. But for what it’s worth, each moment spent with you, have been the best moments of my life.”
The sob I have been trying to hold back breaks free and a river of broken tears spill down my cheeks and I cry ugly, thunderous tears.
“Sshh, Red. I’ll never let you go,” Quinn promises, wrapping his arms around me and giving me his strength, before I evaporate into the blood soaked earth beneath me.
“Oh Mia, no need to get all sentimental,” Phil suddenly says, and his smug tone has my body shivering in fear.
“What?” I ask, turning around to face him, not caring that he can see my tears.
“Choose,” he simply says.
“Choose what?” I gulp, as I know what he’s proposing I do.
“Choose brother 1. Or choose brother 2,” he arrogantly replies, pointing his gun toward Quinn, and then toward Tristan.
“No! That was never part of the deal!” I cry, shaking my head in fury.
“Well, things have changed. Now that your mother’s life hangs in the balance, I need to know that you won’t rebel if she…doesn’t make it,” he concludes, his eyes glancing at her quickly.
“No!” I snarl, my fists bunching by my sides, as I would never jeopardize either of their lives this way.
“If you don’t choose one, then I shoot them both!” he screams, spittle covering his chin, and I know he’s sick of this game.
“Why?” I scream back, as I need to know what he’s got planned.
“I use one for collateral, of course. You don’t do as I say, I shoot him. You go to the police, I shoot him. You try and run, I shoot him. You—”
“Okay, enough! I get it,” I yell, running a hand through my hair.
But how can I choose? I can’t. How can I condemn one when I want to save them both?
“Red, I’m coming with you,” Quinn angrily states, no doubt hurt as he sees me mulling over my decision.
“No!” I shout, turning around to face him.
He takes a step backward, his mouth parted in shock, clearly hurt that he isn’t my first pick. But as I hear Polly howling in the distance, I know who I have to choose.
“Tristan, I choose Tristan!” I roar, my eyes never leaving Quinn’s as he shakes his head, his pained eyes begging me to take him instead.
“Forgive me,” I sob, but the hurt on Quinn’s face will forever scar my very existence for as long as I live.
“Happy, you sadistic asshole?” I scream at Phil.
“Very,” he replies, and takes a step toward the van with a smile.
Tristan is wordlessly at my side in an instant, and I can’t face him because I am so ashamed of myself. But this decision was made with our survival in mind, and I just hope Quinn will one day understand that.
As Tristan and I take our first step toward imprisonment, Phil suddenly spins around, his eyes twinkling in pleasure.
“Why did you choose him?” he questions, looking at Tristan.
No, I internally gasp, because I know what he wants me to say.
Shaking my head, I implore, “I did what y
ou wanted! Let’s just leave.”
But Phil shakes his head, pulling the gun from the small of his back, pressing the muzzle to Tristan’s cheek. Quinn rushes to our side, but Thomas appears from the van, pointing the gun directly at my head.
“Tell me, Mia. Tell me why you chose him, and this will all be over with. Just tell me,” he chides, and as Polly’s screams echoes in my ears, I know what I have to do.
“I chose him because he’s weak!”
Both Quinn and Tristan gasp, and my entire body shuts down around me, and I don’t think I’ll ever pull away from this alive.
“There’s the girl I raised,” Phil snickers. “No matter what you say, Mia, we’re more alike than you think we are.”
“I’m nothing like you,” I growl, barely containing my nausea.
“We’ll see,” he chuckles, removing the gun from Tristan’s face.
“Weak?” Tristan gasps, his mouth agape as he slowly turns toward me. “You think I’m weak?”
“No,” I cry, shaking my head, my body vibrating in pain. “I need Quinn to protect Polly, Abi and Cynthia,” I lamely explain, my voice rising in panic.
“And what? You don’t think I can do that?” he barks, my words almost a slap to his already bruised ego.
“No,” I honestly reply, as we don’t have the time to be discussing this now.
As the final piece of the puzzle falls into place, he scoffs. “So you chose me because you think I need your protection?” he presses, and Quinn quickly reaches for him.
“Fuck off, man!” Tristan yells, pulling from his grasp.
Quinn raises his hands in surrender, and I hate that we’ve come to this.
“I’ll explain everything later,” I plead. “We gotta go. Cynthia’s life depends on it.”
Tristan reluctantly nods, and I turn to look at Quinn, begging him to forgive me. But he only shakes his head, the wound still too raw.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” I cry, but he clenches his jaw, not meeting my eyes.
His cold dismissal hurts, but we need to move.
“I love you,” I say, wiping away my tears. “I always will,” and I turn my back on him, walking toward a smirking Phil.
I can hear Tristan drag his feet behind me, and I close my eyes as this reality cannot be mine. But it’s no one’s other than mine, and now Tristan’s, thanks to my selfish choice.
As we both reach the door, Phil suddenly steps in front of Tristan, and his Cheshire grin has warning bells sounding loudly in my head.
“How does it feel to be second best?” Phil chuckles and Tristan growls, his fists clenching by his side.
“But I guess you’re accustomed to being second best,” he continues.
Tristan cocks an eyebrow, while I feel like I’ve just swallowed a vile of acid.
“What are you talking about?” Tristan snarls, but I know. I know that somehow, Phil knows. And so does Quinn.
“Tristan, don’t listen to him!” I implore, standing between him and Phil as Quinn storms over, his face blemished in rage.
“Mia, your bastard friend here has every right to know that you chose his brother, his half-brother over him. I mean, tough break that is.”
“What?” Tristan wheezes, taking a step back, his face paling to an ashen white. “Half-brother? What the fuck is he talking about?” he yells, looking at Quinn who stands by his side, his head lowered in humiliation.
“Holy shit,” Tristan gasps. “It’s…true?” he asks, his eyes widening in shock.
This day is on a repeat shit loop, and I close my eyes, wishing it would end.
“Quinn?” Tristan presses, his voice rising in panic. “Is it true?”
“It’s true,” Quinn finally replies, meeting Tristan’s horror-struck face.
Before Quinn has time to explain himself, Phil slams his fist into Tristan’s chin, knocking him out cold as he drops to the ground with a nauseating thud.
“NO!” I sob, my eyes not believing yet another tragedy before them.
“Motherfucker!” Quinn roars, charging toward Phil, but the distinctive feel of a gun barrel being shoved into my back stops Quinn in his tracks.
“Get in the van,” Thomas snarls into my ear, and I recoil, sickened by his touch.
When I resist, Phil scolds, “You’re wasting time, Mia. Get. In.”
I hate that he’s right, because as I look at Abi, who stands behind Quinn; I know Cynthia doesn’t have much time left.
“Fine,” I spit, turning around and pushing past Thomas as I get into the back of the van.
“Get in,” Phil commands, waving his gun toward Quinn.
“What? No!” I scream, trying to push past Thomas to claw out Phil’s eyes.
But Quinn nods, his jaw clenching as he steps over Tristan to get into the van. Thomas pushes me back into the seat and I fall as I’m caught off balance. But Quinn is beside me in an instant, steadying me with a firm hand.
We both watch as Phil slides the door shut with a big smirk, and Thomas climbs into the front, turning around and pointing the gun our way. I look out the window and see Abi weakly dragging Tristan’s unconscious body away from harm’s way. How can this be happening? Who’s going to protect them now that we’re gone?
Phil starts the engine and as it roars to life, I weep into my hands because I thought I knew what I was doing, but everything is now so fucked up.
“It’s okay, Red,” Quinn softly coos, wrapping his arm around me and I sob into his embrace because I don’t know what else to do.
The moment the van commences moving, I sob harder, but I allow myself one final look at the bedlam I’ve left behind. All I see are victims, victims because of me.
Abi begins screaming as she runs after the van, begging for me to help her, but I can’t—I’m just as trapped as she is. I lean over Quinn and place my splayed hand out against the glass, silently promising her that I’m coming back for her. I’m coming back for them all. I don’t know how, or when, but I’ll find a way.
Abi is a distant blur when I finally remove my hand from the window. Settling low into my seat, I wish I could disappear without a trace.
“Why did you bring him?” I whisper to Phil, who looks at me through the rear-view mirror.
Quinn stiffens up near me, but I ignore him as I need to know why.
“Because he’s valuable to me. And because he’s valuable to you, too,” he simply replies, dismissing me as he returns his attention to the desolate road ahead of him.
Phil saw no value in Tristan, because he saw the inner strength in Quinn. And being the true predator that he is, Quinn is now Phil’s new plaything.
With that disconcerting thought in mind, I lean my head on Quinn’s shoulder and try not to cry as he stays rigid, not attempting to give me comfort. But I don’t blame him, because I wouldn’t give me comfort, either.
The van is still for minutes, but I break the cruel silence as I sadly whisper, “You were right.”
Quinn stills under my comment, but doesn’t speak. He only glances out the window, too heated to face me.
But I know he’s heard me, so I hopelessly declare, “Love really can’t save you from your own fate.”
Because it sure as shit didn’t save me from mine.
Acknowledgments
The day Something like Normal was conceived was one of the best days of my life. I cannot begin to tell you how much I enjoyed writing this series, and I thank Limitless Publishing from the bottom of my heart, as they believed in me, and made my dream a reality. Three books later, and I’m still forever grateful.
My beautiful fellow authors and friends, I love you! This means you: Beverly Preston (I love LOVE you!) Kendall Ryan (Tim Tam parade!) Lisa Edward, Jay McLean (vomit, vomit everywhere) Ilsa Madden-Mills (Eric forever!) Beth Michele, CJ Roberts (I can’t wait to converse with you again) Rachel Brookes, Nina Levine, Kylie Scott, Tina Gephart, Hazel Robinson and Kathy-Jo Reinhart.
My brilliant editor, Toni Rakestraw. I feel like we’ve formed a forev
er long friendship. It’s scary but you totally ‘get me.’ Beware world! Thank you so much for everything.
My beautiful family - Mum, Dad, Fran, Matt, Samantha, Amelia, Gayle, Peter, Luke, Leah and Shirley. I am the luckiest person alive to know each and every one of you. You brighten up my world in ways I honestly cannot express.
My husband, Daniel. Thank you for your constant support. Your little pep talks get me through the day (even though I don’t listen :P) You are my inspiration. I love you.
Louise - what can I say? I have never met someone like you before. You truly are an angel.
Gemma -
Got a secret,
Can you keep it?
Swear this one you'll save.
Better lock it, in your pocket
Taking this one to the grave.
-M
Ariana McWilliams - You are the kindest, most genuine person I have ever met. Thank you for not judging my grammatical mishap...hmm...so wet.
All the bloggers who helped get the word out by participating in cover reveals, release day blitzes etc... I thank you. Your help is greatly appreciated.
My readers - I know I say this ALL the time but I am honestly so, so lucky to have your loyalty and support. Thank you for welcoming Jasper and Quinn into your heart and homes.
Zac Efron and Lucy Hale for being so pretty.
And lastly, my fur babies-mummy loves you. Buckwheat, you’re my best friend...furever!
About the Author
Monica James spent her youth devouring the works of Anne Rice, William Shakespeare and Emily Dickinson.
When she is not writing, Monica is busy running her own business, but she always finds a balance between the two.
She enjoys writing honest, heartfelt and turbulent stories, hoping to leave an imprint on her readers, and her inspiration comes from everyday life. She is an Amazon bestselling author in the US, UK, Australia and Canada.
Monica James resides in Melbourne, Australia with her wonderful family, and menagerie of animals. She is slightly obsessed with cats, chucks, and lip gloss, and secretly wishes she was a ninja on the weekends.
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/authormonicajames
