Pretty Monster Read online

  “Whiskey on the rocks. Single barrel, if you’ve got it. And a pack of Parliaments.”

  The poor man’s expression was of utter shock. She might as well have just told him she had killed a man. Trent laughed out loud.

  “I don’t think Hank here is used to such bold orders,” he said. “Best to start with something simple.”

  Hank glared at Trent, turning quickly to Quinn. “Ignore him. I can get you the whiskey. I just—I’m not sure we have any cigarettes…”

  Quinn had never had a serious addiction to smoking, but with alcohol in the mix, she always wanted a cigarette or two. The level of stress this place was putting her under didn’t help, either.

  “You didn’t even think to ask me,” Trent said to her, pulling a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket. “I’m a little hurt.”

  “I’m a little surprised,” she admitted as Hank began rummaging around for her whiskey. “You strike me more as a quarterback than a bad boy.”

  “I’m a little of everything.” He waved the pack tauntingly. “What’ll it get me?”

  All it took was a snap of her fingers, and the pack flew into her hand. “Points,” she said as she slid the pack into her bra. “For future reference.”

  The move was so smooth, he didn’t even seem mad about the theft; he just turned back to Hank, who handed her the whiskey, and said, “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to make me.”

  Hank gave him a dirty look that indicated he would be getting bottom shelf. Quinn enjoyed the exchange.

  “So, Hank,” she said as Hank worked on Trent’s concoction. “How old are you?”

  “I’m 36,” Hank said, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Why?”

  “Just curious. What do you do when you’re not bartending?”

  “I’m in security.” It wasn’t a surprise, but it made her sad. “I work with Ridley a lot. Saw you come in with him.”

  “Yeah. I like Ridley.”

  He said nothing, but she could see the appreciation in his downward-cast gaze.

  “But,” she continued, “this ‘security’ thing. Kind of a dull job, huh? Doesn’t really seem fair. Is there something else you’d rather do?”

  He poured the shaken drink he had prepared for Trent into a glass and handed it to him before answering her. “If you’d asked Ridley, I’m sure he’d say yeah. But not me. Getting on those helicopters, meeting the new recruits, walking the perimeter of the island… It’s the closest someone like me can get to the real world. The most someone like me can really see.”

  His answer made her heart ache; she did what she could not to show it.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “So,” Trent interjected, leaning in close to her ear. “Where are you planning on smoking that? Someplace nice, quiet, private?”

  She turned to face him so that her lips were quite nearly touching his, eyes locking onto his so certainly that she knew she could control him with a single word. But she didn’t give him that word. Instead, she gave him two.

  “Dream on.”

  And she rose, deciding to find someplace nice, quiet, private.

  • • •

  She settled on the roof.

  It was just so crowded in the penthouse. Ridley was still talking with Angel and Drax; she thought about going to say hello to Drax, at the very least, but Angel’s death glare kept her away. Haley made her way over to Trent at the bar, and Pence and Charlie were off cuddling in la-la-land. Quinn did have that handy pack of cigarettes she had stolen from Trent, so why not?

  She didn’t need to look for the stairs. She opened the first window she found, opened it, and flew up to the roof. She didn’t really even have to fly; it was more of a jump.

  It felt incredible up there. The wind was stronger than it was on the ground level, the temperature a bit lower, though still fitting into the warm tropics pattern of the rest of the island. It was more serene than it had ever been on any of the rooftops in the cities she used to jump to and from. She could hear the ocean all around her. She could see the ocean, just on the outskirts of the island. She was high enough to see over the wall.

  She didn’t need a lighter for her cigarette; she could start a fire that small in her sleep. Once she took her first drag, she closed her eyes and dreamed. Dreamed of smoking on the roof of Kurt’s trailer. Dreamed of being back there with him. Even before him. Even with… family.

  Not that she could even picture her mother’s face any more.

  Dash’s voice woke her from her muddled daydream. She wasn’t even sure how she knew it was his voice; he only ever spoke a few words at a time to her in class. But she knew.

  “Sorry,” he said. She opened her eyes reluctantly, glancing over at him. “Didn’t think anyone would be up here.”

  “Free country.” She grinned in spite of herself at the irony of her comment. “Well… supposedly.”

  He didn’t laugh, but she thought she caught a hint of amusement in his eyes. He hesitated, as if debating whether to continue toward her. But he did.

  “Wouldn’t have expected to see you here,” she told him, taking another drag of her cigarette. “Didn’t exactly peg you for the party type.”

  “I’m not,” he said, coming to stand next to her, looking out at the same world that she was. There was no drink in his hands, no lowered inhibitions in his eyes. “I come here for them.”

  “Them?” she repeated, taking a sip of her whiskey. She loved the burn. Always had. “Your students?”

  “I guess that’s what you’d call them. They’re certainly the first class I’ve had with access to a place like this. The most… trouble I’ve had.”

  “My kind of class.”

  He didn’t look amused. In fact, whatever brief civility had just existed between them seemed to disappear instantly. “Well, there you have it. I’m here because of people like you.”

  As quickly as his distaste for her returned, so did hers for him. What was wrong with him? Why was he so quick to judge? What did he know about her?

  “‘People like me,’” she repeated. “As if you know me. As if you know anything about me.”

  “We all know about you. We’ve all seen the stories.”

  “The stories?” Her voice rose along with the temperature around them. However hot she was making it, she felt ten times hotter. Straight whiskey was no joke; it had been too long since she’d had it. “You’re referring to the stories regulars concocted out of fear and loathing towards me, a pretty monster living amongst them who they couldn’t predict or control? And you choose to believe their stories?”

  He was silenced by that, at least for a moment, and she was glad. She could see the self-doubt in his eyes. But she could also see a persistence that she couldn’t understand. Why did he hate her so much?

  “That’s a vulgar term,” he said quietly. “’Pretty monster.’ You should learn to use other verbiage here.”

  “And what about just ‘monster’? Don’t like that one either?”

  “No, actually. I don’t.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she snapped, stomping out her cigarette and lighting the next. “I’m sure your beloved mother doesn’t, either. Kind of like racists avoiding saying ‘black;’ it’s okay if they say African American, isn’t it? Makes all the other problems go away.”

  His glare went from hateful to confused. “What are you getting at?”

  “The obvious problem that exists on this island. Monsters going into ‘security’ because there’s nothing else for them. Drax having to work while being in school just to secure some other line of work for himself. Hank only being welcome at a party when he’s agreed to bartend.”

  To say that he looked surprised would have been an understatement. Surprised, and somehow, still confused. “I know that it’s a problem, Quinn. I’m just surprised you do.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “Is it true?” he asked her, looking into her eyes. She didn’t fe
el captivated, the way he had forced her to on the field before commanding her to kneel. But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel captivated in a different way. Were her cheeks red? She had to stop drinking the whiskey…

  She finished the whiskey.

  “I saw you come in with him,” Dash said. “With Ridley. I’ve never seen him at a party like this before in my life. And then you asking Hank all those questions?”

  She stared at him, not following. “What are you asking me?”

  “Did you really bring him here? Ridley. As your date.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I guess. I mean, as friends. I’m not looking to get into his pants, if that’s what you’re asking. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  He squinted at her, not seeming satisfied with her answer. “And what does he think? What are you leading him to believe?”

  She took a long drag of her cigarette before tossing it sharply to the ground. “Look, asshole. Ridley is a friend. Just because no one else in this godforsaken place chooses to be friends with him doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. Just because everyone else in this godforsaken place wants to get into my pants doesn’t mean he does. And just because I brought him here doesn’t mean I’m leading him on. What is wrong with you? How can you possibly make so many judgments about someone you know so little about?”

  He held her gaze for a long time. His brain was firing on all cylinders; that much was clear. She had him rethinking things. Wondering things. Admitting things to himself for what might be the first time in a long time.

  “Tell me this,” he said, leaning against the post next to them, turning his back to the beautiful view and facing her directly. For the first time that night, she felt like she had his full attention. “Why do you smoke? Knowing perfectly well that it will kill you. Why do you do it?”

  She stared back at him, not blinking, not missing a beat. “Not that I owe you any kind of answer, for any kind of question, but—if I give you this one—will you promise to shred whatever nasty opinions you’ve made of me, and wipe the slate clean?”

  He held her gaze, breathing slowly, carefully. “If you’ll do the same for me.”

  “I never had any opinion of you but a positive one. Until you forced me to feel otherwise.”

  “Regardless,” he said, seeming to take her point. “If you’ll do the same for me.”

  “Fine,” she said, mind racing. “Because I know. I know what fate has in store for me. I know I’ll be lucky to last another decade.”

  He stared at her, nothing in his eyes but fascination. Intrigue.

  This look, she was used to.

  “If cigarettes are my downfall…” She laughed dryly. “It’ll be a fucking miracle. And I’ll have lived a longer life than I ever would have thought possible.”

  And then, deciding that she owed him nothing more, she headed back down to the party.

  • • •

  Quinn spent another hour or two at the party, but she found herself unable to focus—and not just because of the whiskies. She couldn’t shake Dash’s eyes from her head—eyes that made no further appearances at the party. Eyes that she knew she had gotten to… eyes that she knew had gotten to her.

  Drax and Pence, an unlikely pair she hadn’t even realized were friends, caught her in her trance.

  “Quinn,” Pence said as they approached her at the bar, where she was staring dazedly down at the pattern on the counter. “You okay?”

  Quinn glanced up at her, blushing slightly. “Yeah. Weird night, is all. Think I’m still getting used to this place.”

  Drax smiled sympathetically. “I’ve been here for almost as long as this place has been around, and I’m still getting used to it. It’s always changing, too. But some things stay the same. Like your friends.”

  It was cheesy, but she appreciated it. She glanced up at Pence, who seemed to have grown pensive. “What about you? You been here long?”

  “Just a few years. Like I said before… It was hard for me to keep my abilities a secret. But since I looked normal, we tried for a long time. Moved around a lot. My parents tried so hard to protect me. But the DCA caught me eventually. My parents are still out there somewhere. Worried sick about me, I’m sure. Wondering whether I’m alive or dead. Assuming if I am alive, I’m in a place much worse than this.”

  Sadness washed over Quinn for Pence. She wondered how many others on the island had been separated from their families. Everyone in the YA had been small children during the event. Had they all been alone in the city? Had their parents been the lucky few that weren’t affected?

  Or had they been killed, rather than affected?

  “Don’t feel bad for me,” Pence said, waving a hand. “At least I get to know that my parents love me. Some people, like Tommy and Izzo—their parents were afraid of them. Just about handed them over to the DCA. And then there’s people like Shade, whose parents died in the event.”

  Quinn wondered what Haley’s story was—where her parents were. She had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer.

  She had never considered herself lucky before, but in that moment, she did. She might have had a shit father, but she’d had an incredible mother when she was alive—one who would never have turned her own daughter into the DCA.

  Her somber thoughts must have come across as exhaustion, because Ridley came over to her at that point, politely interrupting to offer to walk her home. She considered staying, but decided she had enough to process for one night already, accepting his offer.

  “You disappeared for a good bit there,” he said as they headed back to the dorms. “Everything okay?”

  “I went up to the roof for a smoke. Dash was up there, for some reason. We talked a little bit.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised he was hiding out on the roof. What’d you guys talk about?”

  She considered this. So much, and yet so little. They still knew virtually nothing about each other, and yet in a strange way, she felt as if she had spilled all of her secrets.

  “You, for one,” she said. “He seemed totally confused by our friendship. Almost… protective.”

  He nodded. “Dash is very protective of me. That doesn’t surprise me. He doesn’t need to worry, though. Neither do you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure he saw you in that dress and assumed the rest. It’s undoubtedly very hard for him and any other guy to take his eyes off you in it. I’m sure he assumed I felt the same way.”

  Had Dash been right? Had she been leading him on all of this time? She usually had good instincts about this kind of thing, but if she was wrong, it would completely change her dynamic with Ridley.

  “And?” she asked. “Is it so hard for you?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking. But that’s not what it’s about for me, Quinn. It’s about the fact that when I look, I see. I see in you the same thing that I see in myself. Being a monster, even a monster as beautiful as you… It’s ruined your life.”

  She held his gaze, unable to breathe, he was so spot-on.

  “I like you because you understand,” he continued. “I like you because I can trust you. Because I can be your friend. Because you know what it’s like to be judged the moment eyes are laid upon you.”

  She did understand. But more importantly, she had found someone who understood her.

  “Dash doesn’t need to worry about me or for me,” he told her. “And neither do you. Don’t worry, Quinn—he’ll come around. He just didn’t spend long enough in the real world to know what you and I know.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “It doesn’t matter that you’re pretty,” he said, “and it doesn’t matter that you’re powerful. It only matters that you’re different. They know you’re different, they eat you alive.”

  6. RIVER AND SKY

  Quinn spent the following day nursing a painful hangover.

  Whiskey had always given Quinn hangovers. She always tried to c
onveniently forget that fact, just as she spent the days after trying to conveniently forget the ignorant decisions it influenced her to make. But it always came back to remind her. As delicious as it was, it was still poison.

  Haley, she learned with amusement, was right there with her. They helped get each other through the day, watching old movies in their sweats and trading off getting boxed meals for each other.

  “I have to say,” Quinn told Haley between films, “I’m a little impressed. Wouldn’t have pegged you for the drink-until-dawn type.”

  “I’m not, really, but Trent tends to bring out the worst in me.”

  Quinn tried to laugh, but it felt forced. She liked Trent in his own way, but she really liked Haley, and she knew Haley could do so much better than him. She just wished Haley knew.

  Sunday evening came sooner than Quinn would have liked, and she actually managed to get a decent night’s rest. By the time she woke up Monday morning, she felt halfway decent.

  English was first up that morning. Quinn had met the English teacher, Simon, the previous week, and didn’t mind him. He, like Lydia and Zerrick, had asked her a few uncomfortable questions, but he had been pretty easy on her, setting her up with a textbook on grammar that she had thumbed through with moderate ease.

  Today, though, she was in for a surprise: it wasn’t Simon waiting at the front of the room when she and Haley entered.

  It was Dash.

  She froze, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of her post-hangover appearance, from her oily, unkempt sea of hair to her second-hand sweats from Haley’s drawer. The only thing that annoyed her more than what she was wearing was how much she cared what he thought.

  That, and how well-dressed and hygienic he looked.

  His eyes met hers almost immediately. She tried to gauge what he was thinking, but she found it difficult. It was a new expression. Not the loathsome one he usually glared at her with, but, perhaps… The clean slate they had agreed upon?

  “That’s weird,” Haley whispered as they took their seats. “Dash usually only teaches special seminars. Simon must be sick today.”