Twisting Fate Read online

  Two words are running through my mind: ass-hole. He wasn't lying about that.

  Is it weird that I'm curious to know more about him? I'm not used to being around this type of guy and that draws me to him more; he’s something different. It seems like I only attract the guys that act like I'm a rare breed and want to treat me like the little virginal Kinzleigh that's only good to marry. I'm not that girl anymore. It's kind of refreshing to be around someone that obviously lives in darkness and welcomes it, someone that is okay with life being crappy.

  "Just friends?" I need to know what his expectations are before I just go off with him.

  His eyes darken slightly as the question is open between us. "Sweetheart. If I wanted more than friends I wouldn't waste my time on hanging out. I don't do the little boyfriend girlfriend thing I'm sure you're used to." His eyes trail down my face and my torso. "The only kind of relationship I enter into is a relationship in which we only do one thing; fuck. Based on your current state I don't think we'll be going there. I may not have respect for myself anymore, but I still have respect for another man's child and I'm not inserting my cock into anything housing one."

  I blink at the bluntness that was just spat at me. What is his problem? Is this the same guy I met at the tattoo parlor? I should get up from this bed and stomp out of the room requesting to be taken to my car, but something stops me. I remember the way Konnor changed after Sophia. He mentioned that the pain get's so immense sometimes, it gets difficult to distinguish the good from the bad in its attempt to find an exit, and in the process he turns into a soulless creature not caring about the feelings of another. According to him pain distorts the way he views things.

  Maybe guys just deal with pain different from girls. Could he just be dying for someone to relieve him of the burdens he carries? Whatever his deal is, I want to know more. Some part of him beckons to be heard, whether he wants it or not. He needs someone. I can't be that one for myself, but I keep feeling like I can be it for someone else. It's not in my nature to just leave him behind without even trying to understand him.

  "Fine," I say. "Show me where these clothes are."

  He points his head in the direction of his closet.

  "I'll be waiting in the living room. Everything you need should be in there." He pulls a cell phone from his pocket and begins touching in various locations on the screen. "We need to leave in the next thirty minutes," he says and turns for the bedroom door.

  Once on the other side he shuts it and leaves me sitting in the middle of his large bed. Where are we going? Tossing back the comforter, I get out of bed and walk in the direction of the closet. When I open it, it's filled with men’s clothing on both sides of the walk in closet. Most of them dark, but little bouts of color mixed in. In the very back of the closet is a small section of women's clothing. Why does he have women's clothing in his closet? He just said he doesn't date, so I can't fathom him living with a woman he's just having sex with.

  Well, I'll just have to be curious, because after his response earlier I don't dare to ask. I begin filtering through the items hanging on the bar and they're fun and flashy; no doubt someone young. The woman’s style definitely differs from his, fashionista meets rock star. Each piece looks to be the right size, but I don't want to accentuate my belly. I settle on a flowy, turquoise and pink color block, racerback top and a pair of white denim, cuffed, crop pants. I remove them from the rack and walk out of the closet, hoping they fit.

  I slide the denim crops on over my butt first, and thankfully they fit, because my belly is higher in the front allowing them to button. The shirt is fitted in the back, but hangs straight in the front. It doesn't accentuate my protruding stomach. Whoever they belong to has taste. I return to the closet in search of a pair of shoes.

  I find them lined up on the floor below the clothes. There are heels in every shape and color and a few pairs of flats. I settle on a pair of pink flats that match the shade in the top. I have no idea what my hair looks like and I probably have sleep breath. I walk out of the closet and notice a closed door next to it.

  I turn the knob to see if it's locked and it opens. Pushing the door open I enter into a small bathroom. It's plain with a black shower curtain and matching rugs as well as accessories. The only decor is a large framed poster on the wall.

  It's a large white guitar with what looks to be some kind of poem in red lettering. It's eye catching and I can't help but to read the words imprinted on the front.

  The Musician in You

  Abby Carter

  The room was full, the lights were low

  Everyone inside was ready for the show

  To them you were the god of rock

  Living a small town dream and climbing to the top

  But to me you'll always be,

  The teenage boy that loved singing to me

  You came out on that stage and the crowd went into a craze,

  But when I saw you everyone else started to fade

  You were the only one in the room

  Bearing your heart and soul was what you loved to do

  That was just the musician living in you

  Every time I watch you perform

  For the slightest moment I feel forlorn

  I'm terrified what will happen when you see

  Just how exceptional you are compared to me

  You are an addiction I crave

  Forever in your hands my heart is enslaved

  One day when your name is up in lights

  Becoming the rock star that has all the girls in fights

  Please remember the girl next door

  That loved the boy you were before

  I gasp as I finish the beautiful words flowing down the paper. It's beautiful and so full of emotion it takes my breath away, to the point of having to sit on the toilet because my knees feel weak. Who is she?

  You can feel the love rolling off the paper as you read it in your mind. She was terrified of being left behind by the one she loves, like I was for so long.

  Why do I feel like something bad happened to her? It always seemed to me that the world was a bubbly, tranquil place like that of a postcard until something bad happened to me and now I feel like I'm surrounded by death and despair. I want to know more about her.

  I'm broken from my endless thoughts with a knock on the door. "You ready?"

  Crap. Was I even supposed to be in here?

  "Just one sec." I jump up and tousle my curly blonde hair in the mirror. A bottle of mouthwash is sitting idly on the sink and I grab it. Twisting the top off, I pour a small amount of the liquid into my cupped hand and drink from it like a cup. After a few seconds of swishing I spit it down the drain and rinse out the sink. All good to go.

  I open the door and Riggan is leaning into the frame on the sides of his fists. He is working his jaw back and forth as he takes me in, slow and precise. His eyes darken as his eyes glide down my small frame and they take on something else altogether, as if he's become possessed. He looks like he has become the ultimate predator and I am the prey. It's a little scary if I'm being completely honest.

  I'm getting a little anxious when his face finally goes void. "I won't talk about it, so don't ask. I'll never talk about it." With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the doorway. He knows I read it…

  What just happened? Did he completely leave reality and go to some Riggan world inside his head that only he has access to? I don't think I've ever witnessed someone do that before. He looked like he could mutilate someone, under the control of something else. Whatever happened he went to some dark place and I need to know the trigger. I don't want to get caught in the line of fire next time it happens. Something about me is bothering him, but I don’t know what.

  For the first time since I met him I'm a little terrified to see where this is going. I have a feeling he is dealing with some demons that run deep down to his core, consuming his soul with guilt and regret. I want to know his story; why he's being burned alive in hi
s own body. Each time he looks at me it’s like someone is dousing the fire with gasoline. I'll do whatever I have to do to pull him from the pits of hell. I just hope I don't get burned in the process...

  Chapter 10

  Kinzleigh

  We pull into a place I don't recognize. It's in an older part of town than the main strip I've become familiar with. "Where are we?"

  He shuts off the engine and looks over at me, but only briefly. Every time he looks at me tonight he acts as if he sees someone else, as if he wants to touch me, but refrains. "A place I haven't been to in a really long time."

  He's giving me no information tonight. I wish I knew what was going on in that head of his. He grabs a new pack of cigarettes he picked up at the local service station from the console and begins packing them on his left palm. I've never understood why people like to smoke. It stinks, and the one time I tried it back in middle school when Presley thought we were being cool, I found out it tasted horrible. I thought I was going to cough a lung right out of my throat.

  He rolls the window down and tears the clear plastic off the box. I watch as he nervously removes the stick. His hands are shaking continuously as he brings it between his lips. His eye contact never breaks as he stares at the building a few feet ahead.

  Why would he bring me somewhere he's clearly terrified to go?

  I finally stop looking at him long enough to see where we are. He's not paying any attention to me anyway. When I look at the small, quaint building, I realize exactly why he looks like he does. Neon pink lettering stains the exterior. Abby's Spot.

  My eyes widen as the millions of questions race through my mind. I can hear the lighter spark beside me and smoke starts to swirl around us in a clouded haze. I want to know more than ever, what has happened to her. The pit of my stomach tells me it's something bad, really bad.

  "Are you okay?" I don't really know what else to say. He looks like he's soulless; a hollow corpse, similar to the way I feel living without Breyson.

  "I don't want to talk about it. I can't talk about it." He's already said that one time tonight and it sounds robotic. "I just need a minute."

  He inhales the smoke as if his mental stability depends on the chemicals that are entering his body with each transfer from the cigarette. "Okay. I can wait."

  I lean my head back on the headrest and close my eyes, letting my mind roam. There is so much sorrow in the world. It just doesn't seem fair to the people that get taken, the people left behind. What's the point of soul mates if you don't get but a short amount of time together?

  I'm not sure who has it worse, the people that go to a better place or the people left behind to cope with the absence of the one they lost. Look at people like Macie, Riggan and me. It takes every ounce of strength just to breathe every day; forget happiness. Even if you move on you're shorting yourself it feels like. How is it fair to be with someone else when you can't give him or her your all?

  Loving Breyson taught me to love hard or don't love at all. If you can't give someone all of you, then don't give him or her any part. I don't even know what Riggan's story is, but I have a feeling he is striving just to stay alive. I wonder if people dealing with loss and pain are somehow wired to find each other, to make it easier to deal with by being with people going through the same. I know that since I’ve been broken I’ve met more broken people than I’ve ever known in my entire life.

  "Fuck!" I jump at the unexpected outburst as his fist smashes into the steering wheel. "I need to do this, but I don't think I can."

  I don't know what else to do, so I just attempt to talk him down. "I'll do it with you. You brought me here for a reason, yeah?"

  The muscle in his jaw twitches back and forth as he stares at the lettering on the wall of the building. He doesn't seem like the type of guy that would get this worked up over a girl, but I am assuming there is something dark about this girl. "Let's get this shit over with. This day is never going to get any easier."

  We get out of his truck and begin walking toward the building. There is a line of people waiting at the door for entry. I cup his upper arm in my hand, stopping him. "I don't have my license."

  "You don't need it as long as you're with me," he says and continues forward. He looks like a man on a mission. Nothing can stop him or slow him down. From the outside this doesn't look like the type of place someone like him would hang out in. It looks more like a sorority hangout.

  Who am I to judge?

  We get to the glass door and a large man is standing guard. He looks like a body builder. He is covered in curve of muscle with broad shoulders. This guy could give the hulk a run for his money. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt with the company logo across his chest in the same pink as the signage. It's surprising it even fits over his large frame.

  "Well, well. What do we have here? I thought I was going to get a call to come get your sorry ass out of prison before I saw you again. You've been on a roll, Son. You too good for us around here now, Riggan?" When he speaks, it seems so harsh. What is his problem?

  "Don't dig up my shit, Kane. I'm not in the mood to be pissed off today. I've been clean for 6 months now. Let it rest and leave it buried," he says balling his fists to his side.

  Clean?

  I stand here looking back and forth between the two of them in the little stare off they seem to be having. Maybe I'm in over my head here. I don't want to be involved in any trouble.

  Just when I'm about to walk back to the truck the security guard holds out his hand at Riggan. "Truce? You know we just miss you around here. You're not the only one that lost something, Bro."

  My stomach sinks from that one little word; lost.

  I throw my hand up over my mouth as I gasp out loud unintentionally. I was two seconds too late. They both look over at me as my eyes become moist, and the bouncer, Kane I think it was, had that same look Riggan had earlier as he takes me in from head to toe.

  "Who is she?" His words come out short and choppy as if trying to conceal emotion.

  "Kinzleigh," Riggan replies. "She's just a friend. It's not what you think."

  What is it with these two? This is the weirdest meeting I've ever been in. "That's all levels of fucked up, Man. Fucked. Up."

  What is he talking about? Can we just go in already?

  "Leave. It. Buried. Kane." With that statement Kane opens the door and steps to the side letting us enter.

  "Tell Amy it's on the house tonight. You're going to need it." He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me in front of him.

  As we walk into the building the first thing I notice is how classy it is considering it's a bar. Potted trees sit in each corner of the room and the floor is white stone with a silver glitter embedded in the glossy topcoat. There is a counter in the back with a girl wearing a sexy, short dress in hot pink.

  That must be the going color around here. Her bronzed cleavage is hanging out the neckline of her dress and her thick, black hair is bouncing in curls down to the middle of her back. She has big brown eyes and a smile plastered across the front of her face.

  I wonder what it would feel like to be that happy again?

  "Welcome to Abby's spot. ID's please." Even her voice sounds perky. Kill me now. She's gorgeous and I feel plain compared to a girl like that. I've never had that kind of sex appeal.

  "Leslie, give them bands. Riggan here is a friend of management. His guest is covered as well. Give Amy a heads up, will you? These two are drinking on the house tonight," Kane calls out from across the room at the door.

  She nods and pulls out two wristbands. "Of course." I'm about to say I won't be needing one because I don't intend to drink when Riggan shakes his head as I'm opening my mouth. Instead, I just close it and let her wrap it around my small wrist.

  A few more people come in the door and Riggan nods for me to follow along beside him, through the door beside us. It opens up into a large open space. The bar is in the center of the building forming an O. The place is packe
d with bodies from wall to wall. It's hard to describe this place. It's classy and girly, but it seems to have a rock vibe; sorority girl meets rock star? That’s kind of a strange combination, but then I remember his closet looked the same. Coincidence?

  There is a large opening in front for dancing and a stage set up with band equipment. Round high-top tables are lined along the walls for sitting. The floor is the same stone as the entry, but the walls are filled with framed posters signed by various bands as well as guitars and other musical items decorating the wall.

  "Pick somewhere to sit and I'll find you, okay? I'm going to the restroom. If the shot girl comes to the table I want three shots of Jack." I nod and he places a twenty bill in my hand before he heads in a different direction.

  I look around in an attempt to find an empty table. There is a DJ booth sitting low key in one of the corners of the room. The dance floor is full of sweating bodies grinding to the beat of the hip-hop music as the strobe lights bounce off the wall matching the rhythm of the music.

  Standing on my tiptoes, I finally spot an open table. I begin walking in its direction, squeezing my way through the layers of people. I finally reach the vacant table and take a seat in the high chair back. My anxiety is starting to act up some. I don't do well in large crowds of people that I don't know unless I have plenty of space.

  "Can I get you something, Sweetie?" I look over to the edge of the table and there is a tall, leggy brunette standing in a dress and heels similar to the girl at the front. They definitely don't hire ugly girls around here. I feel like I walked into a bar full of pageant girls.