in the LIGHT of day Read online

  “Thanks, but I think I got it handled.”

  She's so cute and clueless, trying to hide her awkwardness from me. It only ignites the fire inside me more.

  “Ok, if you're positive. Have a good weekend. Maybe I'll see you around.”

  She gives me a nod, which tells me what she really wants to say is fuck off, creeper. If she only knew how deep my feelings were for her, she'd think twice about this opportunity she's being handed. It may seem absurd to others, but I'd do anything to make this woman happy. Happiness is such a foreign feeling to me, being raised by a heartless bitch and all.

  As she's putting the groceries into her car, I slide up behind her, putting my hand over her mouth. Catching her by surprise, I insert the needle into her flawless milky white skin. Soon we'll be together. Like it should've been all along.

  2

  Micah

  “I have noticed that if you look carefully at people’s eyes the first five seconds they look at you, the truth of their feelings will shine through for just an instant before it flickers away.”

  Sue Monk Kidd

  I wake to silence. Pure fucking silence. Not my usual wake up routine. I don't hear mom and dad rambling about the day’s events, or them calling me for breakfast. Something is terribly wrong. I open one eye slowly, nervous at what I may see. My gut feelings are usually on point.

  I'm definitely not in my room, but as crazy as it sounds, it's an exact replica of my room at home. The only difference is, it's not my room. There are roses on the dresser, which makes my stomach turn. I hate roses. The smell, the meaning, everything about them screams, I love you, or I'm sorry.

  I remember getting groceries at Food 4 Less last night and seeing Quinn Andrews in the parking lot. He was hot in high school, but now he's ripped with tattoos and a lip piercing. Not what I expected, but damn. He said a few words to me, then I felt a hand go around my mouth, and the sting of a needle, or what I assume was a needle, going into my neck. It's sore as shit. Was I drugged? Whose house am I at? I wonder if Quinn saw anyone. I'm so confused.

  Just as I'm sitting up and getting my mind to stop racing with all the what if’s, I hear keys unlocking the bedroom door. There are three locks and no doorknob. Strange, to say the least. As I take a quick peek around the room, I notice there are no windows. Only a skylight at the top of a very high arched ceiling. That can't be a good sign. Who builds a room with no windows?

  To my utter shock and disbelief, Quinn enters the room with a tray full of food, and a fucking smile plastered to his face. His teeth are bright white, which makes his smile all the more creepy. To think, at one time, I thought he was the hot jock who was untouchable to someone like me. My, how the tables have turned. Now all I see is the bastard who's locked me away: a hot one, but a bastard all the same.

  “I'm glad to see you're finally awake, Micah.”

  “Well, a needle to the neck makes for a good night's sleep.”

  “More like three days.” He looks at me with trepidation in his bright green eyes. How have I never noticed his eyes before?

  “Excuse me, did you just say three days?”

  “I may have given you a larger dose than I should have. My apologies.” Quinn takes a step back, as he looks down at his feet sheepishly. What kind of Mad Hatter world have I stepped into?

  “Your apologies? Is that all you're sorry about? Why am I here, Quinn? Let's talk about that.” I curl myself up into a ball, not wanting to move from my place on the bed. I wrap myself up in the quilt he’s given me because my hoodie is gone. I feel naked and exposed without it.

  “I see you, Micah. I always have. You hide behind your baggy clothes and emo attitude, but I see you. The real you. The one you hide away in that room of yours."

  “Cryptic much? Where's my hoodie? Did you do something to me last night?” Yes, he's right about my clothes, but that doesn't explain why he drugged me and is keeping me here. Wherever here is.

  He doesn't seem to be bothered by the scars on my arms, which eases my anxiety a bit. They're all I see. Always. It's a reminder of the stupid shit I've done to myself because of what others think of me. I'd like to say that I don't give a shit what he thinks, but it'd be a bold-faced lie.

  “Do something to you? I’m not a fucking rapist, Micah. When we fuck, it'll be because you wanted it, not because I took it. Your precious hoodie is in the wash. Please, eat your breakfast, and we’ll talk later. I have some errands to run. Everything will be fine as long as you do as I say.”

  Not giving me time to protest, he's out the door and locking it before I can say another word. What the actual fuck is happening?

  Quinn

  I've already scared her. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn't just be a normal guy, asking out the girl he's been crushing on for years. No, I had to go all crazy stalker on her ass. Now she's afraid of me, with every right.

  I had to get out of there. Clear my head. I had everything planned out to a tee, but seeing her curled up on that bed, in the fetal position no less, has me doubting my moves. And the scars. Jesus. No wonder she hides her body. They look self-inflicted, but why would my angel harm herself? Her scars run deeper than I could've ever imagined.

  I just want to make her happy. I thought making her new room look exactly like her old room would ease her discomfort, but it didn't seem to work. It seemed to have creeped her out even more.

  I remember the first time I ran into her at school. She was a sophomore, and I was a senior. I had been there for a few weeks and noticed her the second I walked into the school. She was darkness in a room full of light. Not the typical preppy cheerleader bimbo I was used to surrounding myself with. For me, it was all about fitting in. I couldn't let anyone see who I really was. The devil inside me had to stay contained. Elizabeth, my bitch mother, wouldn't have it any other way. It's all about appearance.

  I was in a foul mood, having to move for the third time in four years, sick of the typical kids that inhabited every school I'd been to. She was different. I may look like the outgoing hot jock to most of them, but inside I was full of rage and disgust. Disgust at society in general. My father was a traveling businessman, which meant we moved often. I hated him for it, but I hated her more.

  Micah Daniels became my obsession that day. An obsession that will never be sated.

  “Stupid piece of crap locker. Why do you hate me so much?” She slams her tiny fist against the locker and cringes in pain.

  I stare at her in a daze, wondering who this peculiar little thing is. She's so fucking beautiful in a dark and twisted way. She's not like the rest of these rodents. The need to know her overwhelms me.

  “Hey now, what did that locker ever do to you? I'm Quinn, Quinn Andrews. Looks like you could use some help.”

  “Well, Quinn, Quinn Andrews, this locker has been my nemesis for two years. I'm convinced it's a conspiracy.”

  I laugh at her hysterics over a jammed locker, but I can see the frustration written all over her face.

  “Let me give it a try. I've had a lot of practice with shitty lockers.” I twirl the combo and give it a double-tap with a closed fist, and it opens.

  “Wow, my hero. Thanks a lot. Someday you'll have to tell me your secret.” She gets her books out and looks me in the eyes for just a brief second, then waves a frantic goodbye while rushing down the hall.

  She’s right. Someday she'll know all my secrets.

  Every.

  Single.

  One.

  3

  Micah

  “Dance with me. Bring my demons to their knees.”

  Nicole Lyons

  Quinn's been gone for hours, and in that time, I haven't moved an inch. I'm lost in my own thoughts. I don't know why I'm here or what his plans are. No one's ever given me a second glance, yet here I am, locked in a room that Quinn has put me in. Why?

  I try to think of a reason for his actions, but I'm fucking clueless. I've always had a bit of a crush on him, but after the one time in school we spoke, I was never brave enough to go near him again. He hung out with the “cool kids," and I was far from anything resembling cool.

  Then again, it's quite obvious he's been hiding his true self. Is it completely crazy that I feel sorry for him? This isn't normal, none of it is – his actions and my feelings. I must be going mad; that's the only logical explanation.

  I look up, and he's standing in the middle of the room, just staring at me. I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn't even hear him come in.

  “Quinn.”

  “Micah, why do you think I've brought you here? You must have so many questions, and I want to be honest with you. I don't want you to fear me.”

  He's eerily calm, like he didn't just kidnap someone and rip them from reality.

  “I just want to know why? You don't know me. I'm nothing to you. What would make you think this was ok? Look at this room. How did you know this is what my room looks like? This is fucking crazy, Quinn.”

  “Stop! I'm not crazy. Don't ever say that again, or I'll make you regret it. My mother said the same thing to me my whole life, and I made her regret it. I thought you'd be happy. I've watched you for two years. I’ve studied you. Your life. Everything. You will come to see, in time, we're more alike than you could ever imagine. You'll see.”

  “How can you say we're alike in any way? I don't even know you, and you sure as hell don't know me. And what do you mean you made your parents regret it? What did you do, Quinn?”

  He starts pacing the floor and pulling at his hair. I purposely sparked the rage that's brewing inside him because I want to see the real Quinn Andrews, the one he's been hiding under a fake smile for who knows how long.

  “I'm done talking right now. You're messing with me, Kit Kat, and I'm on to you.” He poin
ts a finger at me, and I can see the fury in his eyes.

  “How dare you call me that!” I reach out to slap him, and he catches me by the wrist. Only one person calls me that – my mom. Oh god, my parents must be out of their minds with worry.

  “Don't ever raise your hand to me again. And don't fucking test me.” He walks out of the room, leaving me more confused and pissed off than before.

  Rubbing my sore wrist, I can see my attempt at getting him to open up was a bust. He became more cryptic than ever. He thinks he can break me, but I can play this game too, and I will win. What is it about Quinn Andrews that intrigues my dark side so much? Why am I not afraid of him?

  Quinn

  She's good. Very good. I may have underestimated the power she has over me. She had me on the verge of losing my shit, but it won't happen again. It can't. Weakness isn't an option. Not when I've risked all I am to be with her.

  I wish I had someone to confide in, but I'm on my own. I've always been on my own. Fake friends don't count for shit in the long run. They suited me well when my parents – and I use that term loosely – needed to see their son was normal. What the fuck is normal, anyway?

  No one just loses their fucking mind for the hell of it. Something or someone pushes them to the brink. In my case, it was the two people that are supposed to love you through thick and thin. Never waiver. Never lose hope. But they did. It turned me into the person I am today. The real me. In perspective, they freed me. That is the one gift I chose to accept from them.

  “Quinn, it's been six months since you graduated. Barely, at that. Time to make something of yourself. You've wasted enough time, don't you think?”

  God, she's a fucking miserable bitch. Hate is a strong word, but it's all I have for my dear old mother. I hate her with everything I am. It's not really my father’s fault; I'd fucking leave too if I were married to that woman. In the end, he left us both, though, didn't he?

  “Do you ever stop bitching? You ever wonder why dad has a job that takes him away so often? I finished school, just like you wanted, and I'll be out of your hair soon enough.”

  “What does that mean exactly? And your father is away supporting his family. Something you should take note of.”

  “Yeah, you keep that delusional thought in that pretty little head of yours. You and I both know the truth. Just like me, he was sick of your constant nagging. You're the reason I'm the way I am. You're to blame for what you see when you look at me. That disappointment in your eyes? That's all on you, mommy dearest.”

  Smack…

  I grab her hand before she can smack me again and push her away from me, maybe a little too hard. Fuck. The bitch ain't moving, and I see blood trickling down her head from where she hit the corner of the coffee table.

  I stand beside her for a minute, watching the blood soak the carpet around her head. All I can think is she’d be pissed that I ruined her white fucking carpet. No sorrowful feelings, no tears to be shed, just emptiness. Emptiness in my heart for a woman that never wanted me.

  I make my way upstairs, packing a duffel bag with the essentials, leaving my mother lying on the floor in a pool of her blood. It was an accident, but I'm not sorry. Guess she's right after all. I'm the devil, and I deserve to burn in my own personal hell. That same personal hell she put me in.

  Life is a fickle bastard. Eventually, you have to face the fact that no one truly has your back. You and you alone have to decide your fate and what will come of it. I decided after that day to never look back, and I haven't.

  My father pretty much dropped off the face of the earth, and I have no plans of spending a minute of my time looking for him. It's been two years since I left town, and no one gives a shit. Just goes to show you how fake those “friends” of mine really were. The ones that pretended to be so interested in me. Then again, I was just as fake as them, if not more so.

  I eventually learned that my mother was found two days later after she was supposed to have had lunch with a friend and never showed. They found her near the front entranceway. Dead. She must've woken up briefly and tried to alert someone. It didn't work, and she didn't survive. I think I felt or imagined what people would refer to as guilt, but it quickly went away.

  I wasn't even questioned about my whereabouts or if I knew anything. It's like it was all swept under the rug, or I wasn't the only one who could care less about my mother. People knew who she really was under all the makeup and fake smiles. She fooled nobody.

  I have a black, empty soul. I'm dead inside.

  4

  Micah

  “Weeping is not for the weak. Not all are brave enough to let their softness speak.”

  A. Shea

  Quinn has been gone most of the day, and I wonder what he's been up to. The odd thing is, it's been a somewhat peaceful day, besides the anxious thoughts I've been having. The one thing I worry about the most is what my parents must think. Do they wonder where I went? Are they searching for me? Are they scared? I wish I could at least let them know I'm alive. They're all I've ever had. No one else would care whether I was dead or alive.

  I'm so confused and pissed off. If Quinn wanted to talk to me so bad, why couldn't he do it like any other normal fucking human being? No, he had to drug me and drag me away like a deranged caveman. I haven't seen him since high school, and that was a brief run-in. Apparently, he's been busy. Busy being a maniac stalker. Who'd have thought?

  I hear a noise from behind the door, which means he’s back. I scramble to the bed, pretending to be calm and collected. I can't have him thinking I've been pacing a damn hole in the floor for the last three hours. Give or take.

  “Micah.”

  “Quinn.”

  We stared at each other for what seems like forever, until he speaks and breaks the silence in the room.

  “I'm sorry for leaving you alone all day. I had some things to take care of and pick up. I brought you food from your favorite restaurant. I drove thirty minutes to get it, so sorry if it doesn't taste the best. Please, eat.”

  He hands me a take out bag from Sharky’s, and I wonder how he knew it's my favorite. I wonder about a lot of things, but right now I'm starving and honestly don't care if it's poisoned at this point. I just want the food. All the food.

  “Thirty minutes? So we're not in Deer Creek, are we? Why were you at Food 4 Less then?”

  “Just eat the damn food, Micah. Say thank you, and eat the goddamn food!”

  He's tapping his fingers on his pants; I can see I've rattled him. He let it slip that we’re not in town, and I know he's regretting it by the way he's acting.

  “Thank you for the food, Quinn. I appreciate the effort you went through to get it for me.”

  “You're welcome, angel. See, that wasn't so hard now was it?”

  Yeah, it was, but that's for me to know. He's fucking nuts, and I'm going to have to rethink my plan of screwing with him. He's unstable, which is becoming crystal clear. But why? What happened to Quinn to make him like this?

  Quinn

  My angel is making me feel shit. I don't like it. Not one bit. It literally brings me physical pain. Being around her brings a lot of feelings to the surface, and I wasn't prepared for it. Yes, I've been fascinated with her since the first time I laid eyes on her, but this is a whole new ball game. Feelings – meh.

  Watching her simply eat makes me happy. Fucking happy. I guess all those quacks my mother made me see were wrong. I can feel. For her. It's only ever been her. She's an oddity, and it makes me angry. Angry that someone has power over me. Power brings weakness. Weakness is unacceptable.

  Now I really do sound like an inmate on the crazy train. Feelings and emotions alone can cause a person to shit themselves.

  “Quinn? Did you hear a thing I just said to you?”

  “Huh? Sorry, no. What were you saying?”

  “I'm done eating. Thank you again. It was really nice of you.”