Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (33 page)

“Motherfuck,” I moan before my head connects with the pavement for the third and final time.

Then everything fades to black.

Chapter 29

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Everything aches.

My body.

My brain.

My heart.

My body feels battered, my brain feels fried, and my heart, well my heart feels broken.

I don’t know where I am, or how I got here, but I tell my fried brain to snap the hell out of it and catch the fuck up.

I need to think.

Thinking back to the last memory I can remember, I yelp, which comes out muffled. A tight gag is preventing me from screaming.

Shit!

Panic engulfs my entire being, and as I attempt to open my eyes to make sense of my surroundings, I realize my eyes
are
open.

So why is everything black?

It’s only then that I feel a scratchy blindfold is covering my eyes, preventing me from seeing anything.

Double shit!

A sudden ache stabs me in the heart, and as I try to raise my arms to rub my chest, they don’t move an inch because my hands are bound with thick rope.

Double shit fuck!

Taking a calming breath and counting to three, I attempt to kick my legs out, but sadly, they are also bound to the rickety wooden chair I’m sitting upon.

I don’t know how long I’ve been out or if I’m alone. All I know is that I need to get the knife in my boot, which is going to be impossible, but I have to try. I wiggle my fingers, but the rope is wrapped around my wrists so tightly, I’m surprised I haven’t lost feeling in my hands.

Now I really start to panic.

My hearing and my sense of smell are the only two things I have to work with, and I plan on exploiting the hell out of both.

Taking a big whiff of my surroundings, all I get is pine needles and fast food—so very unhelpful. But my sense of hearing is quite acute as I will my racing heart to calm the fuck down so I can get some kind of idea of where I am.

There is little to no background noise. No horns blaring, no brakes squealing, no people yelling, no dogs barking, no nothing, which makes me think I’m someplace remote, someplace far, far away from anyone, or anything.

My heavy breathing echoes loudly within my chest, and because of the stupid gag, I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate. But again, I will my breathing to a steady rhythm, and use my now semi-clear brain to try and piece together what to do next.

I am gagged and bound, and miles from civilization; however, I know there is at least one other person in the room with me. Looks like my sense of smell came in handy after all, as the fresh fast food is a dead giveaway that I’m not alone. And the pine needles indicate I’m in the woods—great!

I’m probably in some shack—some bug-infested shack—fucking perfect.

The thought of the huge creepy crawlies, who are currently breathing the same panicked air as me, throws my calm demeanor out the window, and I pointlessly scream around my gag, swaying the chair, hoping to tip it over so I can slither my way out of here. But I freeze when I hear a tongue clicking, because I was right—I’m not alone.

I don’t bother to scream for help, as I know this person is my captor. Instead, a string of profanities pass through my bound lips. My captor only laughs sinisterly, and the tiny hairs on my arms prickle with recognition, as I know that laugh.

“Justin?” I gasp around my gag.

The laughing ceases. I know it’s him.

Time freezes, and as hard as I try to make sense of why the hell Justin would do this to me, I come up short. So in its place, I decide to ask the bastard himself.

“Why?”

Why is he doing this?

“Why?” he angrily asks.

I nod, because it’s all I’m capable of doing.

“Because you ruined my life, you little bitch,” he spits. I can smell his perspiration, indicating he’s close.

I—what?

I remain silent, not knowing what to say.

“Oh, not so smart now, are you?” he snarls.

His weighty footsteps pound onto the creaky floor, and unexpectedly, my blindfold is ripped off my face, strands of hair being pulled out with the force. My eyes feel heavy, and as I pry them open, my pupils slowly adjust to the dim light streaming from the single light bulb hanging above my head.

My squinted eyes take in my bleak surroundings, and sadly, I was right. It looks as if we are in some rundown cabin, with nothing but a rusted sink with no taps, a wooden table and chair, a ratty mattress, and two windows, which are covered over with black sheets, to set the mood.

I’m guessing people come out here to get their dicks sucked by five dollar hookers.

Or… to torture people.

Justin is giving me sea legs with the way he is pacing the room like a caged tiger. I suddenly get dizzy for another reason, the Beretta handgun he pulls from the waistband of his jeans.

“Justin,” I say around my gag, my eyes dropping to the piece.

“Shut up!” he yells. “It’s now my turn to talk.”

I do as he says, as I need to buy some time before he… kills me.

He finally stops pacing and pulls up a chair, straddling it, so we’re facing one another.

Justin looks like a crazed man. His short hair is tufted into one, greasy clump, obviously from fisting it so tightly it no longer moves. Brown, beady eyes narrow on my face, and his lip curls in distaste when I whimper under his cruel stare. He smells to high heaven and his dirty, grass-stained white t-shirt, which has a yellow tinge around the collar and underarms, may be the reason why.

Overall, Justin is no longer the man I remember him to be.

“It’s funny. Seeing you bound and gagged doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies like I thought it would,” Justin sneers, looking at me with nothing but hatred in his dull, brown eyes.

I was hopeful he’d come around, but as he rises from his chair and pistol whips me to my right temple, I know I’m wrong. Blood trickles from the wound, slipping into my ear, and again, I see stars.

“Better,” he says with a smile, retaking his seat.

My head lolls to the side and I wish I could cover my ears, because the buzzing noise rattling around in my head is scrambling my already sore brain.

“No passing out,” he says, steadying my wobbly head in a vise-like grip under my chin. “I want you to hear everything I’m about to tell you.”

I break free from his hold, as his touch makes my skin crawl, but I nod, indicating I’m listening.

“Good girl,” he sneers. My eyes focus on the monster in front of me.

“What I told you was true. I did have a huge crush on you. All through high school, you seemed so far outta my league, but that time behind the gymnasium when I found you crying, and I comforted you, and you let me in, I thought maybe you felt something for me, too. When I kissed you, I was so inexperienced, but the kiss was perfect. And even though I’d kissed a few girls before you, they never made me feel like you did.”

I still don’t understand what this has to do with me being tied, gagged, and bleeding in front of him.

“Anyway, after that, I thought that maybe you’d felt it too, but I was wrong. The next day, you acted as if I didn’t exist and that fucking hurt. I was so lonely, and I knew you were, too. So I thought, maybe we could fill that void for one another, but you didn’t care. You went on like I never existed. And I faded into the shadows, watching you from afar.”

That is so creepy. I don’t even know how to process it.

“Two years later at that party, when I was sitting alone on the sofa, because no one wanted to talk to the weird, poor kid, you did it to me again. Do you remember that night?” he asks, his hateful eyes never leaving mine.

I nod, and my breathing starts to increase, as I’m beginning to see a pattern.

“That was the night you tore my fucking heart out. I had finally gotten over you, even dated a few girls, but then you came and sat near me, acknowledging me after ignoring me for so long. All my feelings for you came rushing back.”

I think back to why I sat beside him.

It was because I was waiting for Mickey, the local quarterback. I only agreed to do the drop off because he paid good money for a gram of coke. He texted me while I was rummaging blindly through his parents’ pretentious mansion, looking for him, and asked that I wait for him downstairs, as he was out on a beer run and would be back in twenty minutes.

I had been bored amongst the jocks and cheerleaders, and I saw Justin sitting on his own, so I figured I’d kill some time by talking to the only person I could tolerate in the room. But I didn’t realize he was in love with me. If I had, I would have pushed him away when he kissed me.

“Ah, so you do remember,” Justin says, watching me closely as I replay the events in my mind.

“Why did you kiss me back, Mia, why? If you never liked me, you should have told me and not led me on, you little cocktease!” He reaches out, slapping me so hard across the face my head snaps back with the force.

But I push past the pain, because I need to know how the story ends.

“After you left me sitting on the couch, like I didn’t matter… I followed you. I wanted to tell you once and for all that I was sick of being ignored and that I loved you.”

My stomach drops as I know what comes next.

“I saw you dealing to Mickey,” he snarls, his lip curling in distaste.

I’m not proud of my actions, but I still don’t understand why Justin is so mad.

He sees the confusion in my eyes and kicks back his chair, towering over me.

“Do you know why I was the shy, weird kid?” he asks, bracing both hands on the back of my chair so our faces are inches apart.

I shake my head no.

“Because my dad was a junkie, Mia. I was so introverted because my family life was so fucked up, and I just couldn’t deal. Then I saw you and I knew you’d understand, because I could see that you too, were lost, just like me.”

I flinch, because his next words hit home.

“But I never suspected the reason was because you were a fucking drug dealer. You were everything I hated, because your career choice, was the reason for my shitty childhood.”

I’m sorry for Justin’s pain, and I’m not proud of what I did, but in no way was it a career choice. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but I just didn’t have the balls to stand up to my dad and tell him no.

“But it gets better,” he snickers, pulling back from my personal space.

I let out a premature breath, because as I watch Justin reach into his pocket, pulling out a ripped, aged photograph, I know the answer lies within this picture.

“Do you know him?” he asks, showing me a picture of a man in his early 40’s.

“No,” I mutter around the gag, shaking my head in case he can’t understand me, but he does.

“Look closer!” he yells, shoving the photo into my face.

Pulling back to get a better look, I still have no idea who he is.

“Look closer at the life you destroyed,” Justin spits, tapping the barrel of the gun against the discolored photograph.

My eyes focus on the picture of the man in blue slacks, watering his rosebush, but still, nothing.

“You filthy whore!” He slaps me again, but this time, my teeth rattle inside my bloodied mouth.

“You can’t even remember the face of the person you killed!” Justin screams, his fingers crushing around the photograph in rage.

“What?” I gasp through my gag, my eyes widening.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You dealt this man a bad batch of heroin, and this man was my father!” he shouts, shoving the picture into my face so I can get a clear view of the reason behind Justin’s rage.

What the fuck?

My stomach burns, and I feel rancid bile creep into the back of my throat. But I hold back my vomit, as I know I will choke on it if it comes up.

Staring at the photograph with a heavy heart, I can see the resemblance between Justin and his dad, and I don’t blame Justin for hating me. He has every right to despise me, because I don’t remember the face of the man whose life I destroyed.

I deserve this. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but still, I didn’t stop.

I won’t fight Justin. If this is what he has to do to get some kind of peace, then so be it. Revenge is a powerful thing—I should know. And I’m willing to sacrifice myself, to give Justin his vengeance. The vengeance he deserves.

“I followed you one day after school, because after the party, you weren’t really around.”

That’s because I was failing, and didn’t see the point of attending something as trivial as school.

Thinking back, I know the day he’s talking about, as it was the last day I was at school. I was there to collect my shit and drop out. I had a small batch of heroin stashed in my sock that I was to deliver, but I went to school first, because the drop off was about ten minutes from Parkdale High School, which was unusual, as I mainly dealt to folk in the city.

That drop off, I now realize, was to Justin’s father. And you know what, I still can’t remember his face—but there’s a reason why I can’t.

The faces of the people I’ve dealt to, they all morph into one, because I don’t want to know what color their eyes are, or how big a nose they have, or what they do for a living. I don’t want to know, because that would make them a person. That would make them someone with a family, which would make them a mom, a dad, a wife, a husband, a soccer coach, a bus driver, a sales clerk, a track champion, and also, someone’s kid.

It made it easier not to feel guilty when they were just nameless, faceless clients. It made it easier to accept that I was ruining their lives.

“I saw you deal to my dad,” Justin whispers, lost in thought. “I always wondered who he got his gear off of. I just never imaged the girl I loved was the one responsible for ruining my life!”

“I’m sorry,” I whimper, wishing I didn’t have this stupid gag in my mouth.