Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (14 page)

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.

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 deserve 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.