B R E N

The semester was finally over.

I didn't tell Madie, but I barely made it out alive.

Some of the final work had been literally impossible to do without physically being on campus, so I had to e-mail a few professors and beg for alternatives. Some were understanding. Some were not. It probably had something to do with me waiting until the last week of the term to say something.

Whatever.

It was over.

There was only one class—Civics—I actually didn't pass. And of course Statistics, which I had dropped out of before we even came to LA because there was no fucking way I was gonna manage that. But the rest I'd squeaked by well enough not to get put on academic probation.

I tried. I really did. I studied my ass off the last few weeks in preparation for finals. Madie and I had been buried in textbooks night and day.

But when your brain is fucked, it doesn't matter how hard you study.

We were celebrating the end of the semester by going out to a divey restaurant and bar about fifteen miles down the coast. It had been forever since we'd left the beach house, and even though that place was paradise, it felt good to stretch our legs in a new spot.

It was packed inside, so we had to wait for a table. The beachside hangout had an odd combination of decor. Dinged-up road signs and sports' paraphernalia hung haphazardly on the walls. There were also some tiki torches sprouting from sand outside and grass skirts taped along the bar, and I decided that the owners must not have been able to pick what kind of bar they wanted it to be.

Madie spotted the pool table in the corner and walked her cute ass over there, picking up a cue stick before looking over her shoulder. "Play with me, baby."

I guess flirty Madie was out tonight, and I was here for it. But I was here for anything that involved that girl.

"You got it," I said back.

Madie took her sweet time, setting all the balls in that plastic triangle thing in the middle of the table. Did those things have a name? No fucking clue. But Madie was making damn sure that the balls alternated stripes and solids, and they were all turned just right. I had no problem leaning back against the wall and watching her.

Eventually, she plucked that triangle off the table and then leaned over to take the first shot, breaking the cluster she'd made. There was probably a name for that, too, but I didn't give a shit about pool or this game. I heard the balls ricochet off each other, not paying attention to where they ended up. I was far too busy staring at my girlfriend's ass, which was damn near close to falling out of the bottom of her flowery sundress.

It might have been December, but she was literally summer in a person.

Before Madie had the chance to stand, I walked up behind her and placed my hands on her hips. I found her ear, nudging aside the hair covering it so I could whisper in it. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Like what?" Her voice was husky and low, and I wished to hell and back that we were alone right now.

I moaned a little in her ear, letting the vibrations fill her. "I think you're asking to get bent over the kitchen table when we get home."

Her response was to push her ass into my crotch as she stood up and twisted away from me. A sly grin plastered across her face as she walked around, surveying the pool table.

Yeah, she definitely wanted to get bent over the kitchen table when we got home. And I was all too happy to oblige because that was going to be damn hot. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my thoughts in check. But shit, my pants were getting tight anyway.

One of the solid balls rolled into a pocket, and Madie handed her cue stick over to me. "You're up." She winked. I groaned.

We played for about twenty minutes, caring a lot less about the game and a lot more for the heated stares we were giving each other across the table. It just never got old with her. Looking, gazing, realizing she was for me.

When they called my name to let us know our table was ready, Madie slipped away to the bathroom while I set aside the sticks and plucked the balls from the pockets. I had no idea who won; it didn't matter.

Just as I was clearing the last one, I heard her voice.

Only it wasn't her voice.

It was strangled and pleading, and even before I looked up, I knew something was wrong.

Something was terribly wrong.

"Bren?"

I lifted my head, and I saw the end—the end of all of this.

Madie's eyes shone in terror. Her fingernails dug into the veiny arm around her neck. Her feet searched for something solid. And Quinton's gun was fixed on me the entire time.

I tried to swallow, but everything was chalky.

Dry.

Dead. 

"Quinton," I choked out.

The end of the pool table was sticking out between us, but it could have been an ocean. And suddenly, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to swim.

"You're such a meddling fucker, you know that?" he growled, taking a step forward and dragging Madie with him as she clawed at his hold. "From the moment I saw you lay your beady fucking eyes on my girl, I knew I didn't trust you for shit."

I held my tongue from telling him that she wasn't his girl. She'd never really been his girl.

"How did you find us, Quinton?" I asked lowly. My body was frozen, rooted to the shitty floor of this divey restaurant—wooden, slated, and crusted with spilled drinks. I wondered if blood had ever seeped through the boards, hitting the basement concrete below.

"I've always known where she was." He spat the words at me. "I didn't know you were here, too, but I suspected it. Was counting on it, actually."

"How?" I asked again. A crowd had gathered around us now. I couldn't see their faces, not daring to take my gaze off of Madie and the gun, but there was a hushed silence that told me people were watching. People were here. People would call the cops. People would save her even if I couldn't, even if that gun went off. But I just needed to keep Quinton talking long enough to give her a chance.

Quinton scoffed. "I shared the location on her phone with mine a long fucking time ago. That's how I found her when you took her away from me before."

What?

"I was going to take care of her." His lip curled. Those blue eyes were deranged, wild. "I was going to fix fucking everything."

"Quinton," Madie gasped. "Quinton, look at me." She was begging, pulling on his arm. But her fingers were slick now, simply sliding down his sweaty skin even when she tried to dig her nails in. Everything she did to get his attention was in vain.

Quinton shook his head, refusing to look away from me. But he spoke to her, his voice sickly sweet. I fucking hated it. "I went to the store. I went to the store to get everything to make it better for you when you woke, baby. I was going to make you feel better. I was going to fix it. But when I came back, you were gone. You were at the hospital."

"Because her brain was bleeding, Quinton," I said numbly as I connected what he was trying to say. I had hoped that I wouldn't ever have to feel such numbness and such pain all at once ever again. But here we were.

"Shut up!" Quinton roared, jutting his gun at me in time with his outcry. "Just shut up!"

And then I was back there. I was walking the fine line between deadly memories and the heart-pumping present. A screaming, abusive man. A gun trained on its victim. A desire to be heard through violence.

There was a part of me that did hear him. I heard Quinton. I felt Quinton.

When you're born into abuse, it's hard to escape it. You either drown in it, die from it, or become it. The lucky, the worthy, escape.

Quinton and I weren't lucky. We weren't worthy. He was becoming it—had already become it. And I was going to die from it.

"I've been waiting and waiting," Quinton snarled. "For weeks, I've been waiting to leave that fucking hell hole that you sent me back to." Beads of sweat were visible on his forehead as he seethed at me, talking with his gun for emphasis. His finger kept slipping on the weapon, his hands sweaty. And I was just waiting, too—waiting for him to hit that trigger. I was waiting to die.

I knew this was always supposed to happen. Because for a time there, I hadn't been drowning. And I'd been living. Fuck, I'd been living. For once in my life, I had felt whole. And I'd been so far from it all, from all of this.

"For weeks I've been waiting to come and make everything right again," Quinton cried, a sob getting stuck in his throat. He made a garbled attempt to clear it. "I knew my dad would eventually slip up and get drunk enough not to notice me leaving the door that he polices every goddamn night. I hate him. I fucking hate that man."

He screamed the last word, and I understood.

My dad shot my mom three years ago, and then he'd forgotten to kill me, too. He should have. I'd always known he should have. I'd always wondered why I was left alive to waste space in this world, left with no dreams or skills or talents. But now I knew it was just borrowed space, and it was time to give it up.

I was going to die. Quinton was simmering, high on delirious hate. A wire in his brain had been tripped. I'd seen it before, and that was how I knew he would finish what my dad had started. I'd known the job would get done somehow. Who knew it was going to be like this?

Madie was the reason I'd been given more time. Suddenly, I was sure of that. I would never claim to have saved her, but I did everything I could to help her save herself. And Madie had done that. She found her fire, and she burned so goddamn bright.

Quinton shifted on his feet, his dirty sneakers squeaking against the floor. He was a mess, sweat soaking through crumpled clothes. But all of his terrifying anger was directed at me when he spoke again.

"You took away the only good thing in my goddamn worthless life."

And the quiet of his voice when he said those words combined with the steadying of his hands told me it was only a matter of moments now.

Tears flowed down Madie's blotchy face, and I'd never tried to stand still so hard in my entire life. I needed to go to her. I needed to end this. I needed to go to her and end the pain on her face, the pain that I'd tried so hard to drown in my love so she wouldn't feel it anymore. The top of her pretty dress had been torn, a strap falling off her shoulder. Angry red lines, scratches, ran down her arm.

She was going to be okay. She had to be.

"Quinton, stop," she sobbed. "Please stop. Don't do this." She wiggled in his grip, trying to break away. She stomped on his feet. She sank her fingers into his arms. But Quinton was a linebacker, built like a fortress meant to keep her in.

His grip on her neck tightened, and I saw the second she began to choke, her mouth opening like a fish out of water.

And I couldn't do it anymore. I took a step forward. "Madie—"

"Don't you fucking dare." The barrel was in my face. But not close enough to grab. "You shouldn't have taken her from me. I hate you. And I've been dreaming of killing your ass for a whole shitty month. Screw everything else. Nothing else matters anymore."

I clenched my teeth. And in between that jaw-grinding pain, I spat, "Loosen your grip, man. She can't fucking breathe."

He must have because I heard Madie gasp, her face relaxing. I took in every inch of that face, every tear, every fleck in those blue eyes I loved so goddamn much. "Madie," I breathed.

I was done with Quinton. It was only her now. It had only ever been her, after all.

"I was never one of the lucky ones," I murmured, holding her eyes, silently begging her not to look away. "But you could have it all. I know you could. You'll be okay."

Without me. She'll be okay without me now.

Madie knew she was worthy, fucking deserving of it all. She knew she didn't have to hide. She knew it was okay to feel and to live and to be who she wanted to be all along. But in this messed up world where no one had ever loved her the way they should, I knew I needed to use my last breaths to tell her how much I loved her.

"Bren Hadaway, don't you even—"

Quinton cut her off with a squeeze that made her eyes grow even wider. Wetness covered my own face; I didn't bother with it. It was there for a reason. Madie craned her neck, looking up at her captor—her abuser—in desperation. Her expression twisted, and I could see that something was burning in her throat. But I couldn't let that happen. Not now, not when I knew what he could do to her if she lashed out at him.

I sucked in a shaky breath. "Madie, look at me."

She listened.

And then there was calm.

It found me in those ocean blue eyes.

"Bren." Her lips formed my name, her voice whimpering it. "Bren, no." She was shaking her head, her hair getting caught in her tears and in Quinton's scraggly beard that told me he'd been living in a hell he deserved. "No, Bren."

My heart was breaking. I wanted to have it. I wanted to have it all with her—the future. Me and her, together. But I was never meant to have a future.

"It's okay," I whispered. "Just look. Look at me. Please." I was desperate. I needed her to stay with me right now.

My life was so ugly; almost all of it had been that way. I'd never known beauty existed. I thought everything was dark as hell. But Madie Lenertz brightened my world, and I could finally see it, all of it. I saw a world that was colorful—a world that was worth something, all because it had her in it. But I wasn't worth enough to stay in it.

I saw a world that was so fucking good.

And all because I saw her.

I didn't see Quinton's wavering gun or the crowd of frozen, fearful onlookers. I didn't see Quinton's hatred or the hatred of the world. I didn't see his finger tighten on the trigger, finally pressing down. I just saw her.

I didn't hear when Quinton yelled at us to shut up. I didn't hear him make his final threat. I didn't hear the sirens.

I just heard my voice. Before it died.

"Madie, I love—"

🖤

xoxo amelie