Disruption (22 page)

D
ad had explained enough for me to understand what he was doing. Just like the pesticides he developed, these dosages of ‘disruption’ didn’t attempt to fool the pheromone production from the glands. They worked directly on the way a person received and interpreted a pheromone signature, sending a message that the outgoing signal was strong and positive, causing a mirrored result to the person they were rating with. For months now Dad and I had visited Mitchell’s Diner. Each time Beth the waitress had registered higher than normal ratings.

Sitting in our booth, Dad started to move off his seat. I watched from my disjointed dream position as my sixteen-year-old reflection grabbed his arm.

‘Please. I’ve watched you so many times. I can do this,’ I said, impatient to have my turn at the spy game.

Dad shook his head. ‘Not this time, Maggie.’

My nostrils flared in frustration. I wanted to participate, and not just for a piece of the action. I wanted a chance to wreak some havoc between two of the more unkind teachers at my school. A disruption of my own could come in very handy if I could create the right scenario. At the very least my BFF, Kaye, and I would have a lot of fun.

I looked pleadingly into Dad’s eyes. ‘I’ve been here every single week. I’ve helped. You know I have. Come on, Dad.’

I watched as he inhaled deeply through his nose. I didn’t miss the clenching of his jaw before his expression relaxed and he let his breath go. Dad slid his hand across the table, passing a small vial into my palm. Then he proceeded to quietly give me instructions.

I nodded, feeling a thrill of excitement. When Dad called Beth over to our table, I shimmied out of our booth and strode towards the bathroom, via the register where her drink always sat.

The me that was dreaming watched on separately from my bird’s-eye view and felt increasingly restless, knowing where this all led.

I moved clumsily, but remembered how at the time I thought I handled the situation like a pro. I’d seen Dad do it so many times and attempted to emulate the direct yet casual approach he so easily adopted.

Reaching the register, I thumbed off the lid and quickly reached my trembling hand over the counter to pour in Dad’s latest disruption. Once done, I basically tripped over my own feet on my way to the bathroom.

It hadn’t been the exact plan and I didn’t look back in Dad’s direction again. I was supposed to go to the bathroom first and drop the disruption on my way back to the table, but I needed the extra time to re-cap and stash the vial – along with its remaining few millilitres of disruption – into the back of my sock.

I watched as I hurriedly checked myself over in the mirror, slowed my breathing and prepared to head back to our booth. The hardest part was over. I bit back a smile, happy with myself. I was already fantasising about what I could do with my secret supply. School tomorrow would be epic.

Barely a few minutes had passed when I exited the bathroom, but instantly it felt like the world had somehow shifted axis. The scene in front of me was one I never would’ve predicted.

Beth was surrounded by a group of people, all looking wary, their M-Bands raised as they were registering pheromone ratings. The problem really hit home when I saw Beth’s wide, frightened eyes as she glanced between the customers and her own M-Band.

I took a step closer and watched as she broke into sobs. ‘I don’t understand. A minute ago … and now everyone is rating as … as negative.’

A local customer barked out a laugh. I reeled back from the venomous sound. ‘It’s not us who are the negs, honey-bunch. It’s you!’

Beth stumbled back, overwhelmed by the customer’s looming figure. I saw beyond her, to her almost empty drink by the register. My mouth fell open and I took another step towards her – knowing that something had gone very wrong – just as Dad’s hand gripped my upper arm and he pulled me out of the diner and into the car.

We travelled home in silence. Neither one of us missed the two police cars that came tearing down the road from the opposite direction. We knew where they were going.

Once home, Dad cut the engine and kept a tight grip on the steering wheel. ‘Did you get rid of the vial?’

I nodded, trembling, too frightened to tell the truth.

‘What was that?’ I asked.

Dad took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. ‘I don’t know, Maggie. But I do know we can never, ever tell anyone about this. Do you understand me?’

When I could only stare out the windscreen, Dad grabbed my shoulder, turning me to look at him. ‘Maggie, do you understand? You can’t speak of this to anyone. You have no idea how dangerous this could be for all of us. Swear to me!’

I licked my lips nervously and Dad sighed, letting go of my arm. ‘It’s okay, don’t be scared.’ His expression softened. ‘It’s just, this is big and there are people out there, people who would do terrible things if they knew that negative disruption was actually possible. I … I had no idea that it was so powerful.’ His back stiffened and I could see his torment when he looked at me again. ‘We can’t say anything. Maggie, I’m asking you to do this for our family.’

I nodded, tears falling down my cheeks. What had happened to Beth? Was she okay?

‘Promise me.’

‘I promise, Dad.’

It was the moment everything changed.

The last time I would ever feel like that sixteen-year-old girl.

The last time Dad and I went to Mitchell’s Diner.

The last time we ever saw Beth.

I didn’t want to wake up. I most definitely didn’t want to open my eyes. Didn’t want to have to be in the real world. Because wherever I was it was sooo good. My earlier dreams had faded away and I was surrounded by indulgence. Not normal bed soft, but unbelievable cushioning and perfect temperature. You’d expect it to be too hot, because of the sinkability factor, but it wasn’t. It was perfect. I wriggled my body, keeping my eyes closed, willing myself back to sleep.

‘Maggie?’

It was Quin’s voice. I was still dreaming. That was the only possible explanation for the surreal contentedness of this moment.

This dream was so much nicer than the others.

Before I knew it, I was saying things that the real me would never admit aloud. ‘So tired, Quin. All the time,’ I mumbled. ‘I could sleep for years. Want the quiet, so much.’

His fingers brushed lightly across my forehead. It was a good dream.

‘Feel guilty, wanting it. Dad’s had no peace for so long. But I still want it, quiet from the guilt,’ I confessed, burying my face into the silkiness of the softest ever pillow.

Quin continued to stroke my hair. ‘I’ve never known anyone like you,’ he said, his voice adequately dream-husky. ‘The passion and fierceness you have for the people you love … He’s so lucky.’ His voice caught on the words. ‘I’d give everything just to have a person put me first like you do your father. You’re … It’s everything, Maggie. Everything.’

I scoffed. ‘I’m alone anyway. Always alone.’

His hand stilled and he shifted, his voice dropping to a whisper, making me acutely aware of his nearness. ‘Not anymore. I promise.’

Okay, even a sinfully sinkable bed couldn’t distract me completely from the fact that the voice beside me was starting to say things not even my dreams could conjure.

I cracked one eye open to see Quentin sitting on the outside of the blankets, fully clothed, my files open on his lap. He had a small smile playing on his lips. Then I remembered.

My other eye opened and I rolled onto my back, noting that the magical mattress seemed to adjust of its own accord to accommodate me. ‘Gus shot me with a tranq gun.’

Quentin’s smile widened. ‘Yes, yes he did. It was only an hour shot; he promised you would be fine.’

‘Son of a bitch,’ I said, but it was half hearted. It was the bed’s fault. I was actually wondering if he’d done me a favour.

‘Where are we?’ I asked. And who do I have to kill to get this bed?

‘Sebastian’s place in Old Alexandria. He’s out of town for a few nights and told me I could crash here if I needed.’

‘I think I want to marry him,’ I mumbled.

‘What?’ Quentin said.

Nope. No mumbling for him.

‘His bed is so good. Really. Have you slept in this before?’ I asked, still fascinated and – I noted later to my embarrassment – still wriggling around. I blame the residual tranquilliser.

‘Oh,’ Quentin said, now smiling again. ‘I have. It’s extremely comfortable. I agree.’

I started to get up.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked.

‘Bathroom and then I have to get to work. You’re not the only one who needs to look over the maps.’

He watched as I got up and then pointed me towards the bathroom door.

‘There are fresh towels under the sink and your bag is by the door. If you don’t have anything to sleep in … I could grab you a T-shirt.’

I waved a hand at him as I grabbed my bag. ‘I’m all good.’ Before I closed the door, I glanced up at him. ‘Quin?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Thanks for catching me when Gus shot me.’

‘I’ll never let you fall, Maggie. Not if I can stop it.’

‘Hmm,’ I mumbled, unsure what to do with his response. In fact, I had no idea what to do with our entire earlier conversation. If I’d known I wasn’t dreaming, I never would’ve confessed so much. It was way too exposing.

I ended up staying in the shower for a long time. Long enough to wrinkle and for the water to run cold. Then I stayed in the bathroom after I’d dressed in a singlet top and shorts, sitting by the edge of the sink with absolutely no idea what to do.

I pulled up my top and assessed the healing wound. I had removed the staples last week and only a raw pink scar remained, though it was still tender to touch. For the first time I became acutely aware of how unattractive it was.

My hand gripped the door handle, but I just didn’t seem to be able to twist it open. I needed to get my work done. But thanks to Gus shooting me, now all I wanted to do was get back into the world’s most squishy bed and sleep. I wasn’t the only one inhabiting the bed though. And what the hell did that mean?

I put my ear to the door, but I couldn’t hear anything. Eventually I started mumbling to myself in the mirror. ‘Stop being a baby. You need to sleep. He needs to sleep.’ In the end I just rolled my eyes at myself, threw my shoulders back and opened the door.

Quentin had changed into sweat pants and a T-shirt. He was still on top of the blankets, but the files were gone and his eyes were closed.

I rubbed my hands up and down my bare arms. It was cold in the room and I looked around to see if there was any heating. I couldn’t see anything. In the end I gave myself another dramatic eye roll and started heaving the blankets back on my side of the bed.

Quentin turned his head in my direction and opened his eyes. ‘You okay?’ He sounded groggy.

I nodded, getting under the sheets.

‘You sure?’

I bit my lip. ‘It’s cold. You should get under the blankets.’

He tilted his head, but then seemed to agree because he stood up and drew the blankets down, sliding into the bed.

He rolled over to face me, which caused me to turn away from him and settle on my side.

Such. A. Comfy. Bed.

‘Go to sleep, Quin.’

I heard him chuckle behind me. ‘Kind of hard with you right there.’

I didn’t respond. Not even when I felt him starting to inch his way closer. Not even when his arm moved around my waist. Or when he pulled me in close to him. No. Through it all I was impressively silent.

Of course, he could feel my M-Band vibrating with a heart-rate warning, but I stubbornly ignored it.

‘I know it’s wrong,’ he whispered. ‘I know I’m not the kind of guy who is allowed to say this … Even before I knew I was a neg, I never thought I would say it.’ He breathed in and when he exhaled I felt his breath warm my neck. ‘I honestly believed I’d find my true match, that I would never settle for less. But it’s
me
who’s less. And Maggie … you’re so much … more.’

My M-Band vibrated again. The rest of me was frozen in place.

Quentin’s fingers brushed the exposed band of skin on my stomach. ‘But I have to say it.’

Oh God. I knew what it was. I didn’t even have to think about it. I just knew.

I finally managed to muster one word. ‘Don’t.’ He was changing the game. Changing the rules. And I was crap at this game. Absolute crap. I had to stop him. But I couldn’t …

‘I have to,’ he went on. ‘At least once. At least so if you turn your back on me tomorrow and walk away, I know I said it. No matter what,
I’ll
know that
you
know.’

The way he said it,
I’ll know that you know,
snapped something in me. I shook my head. ‘You’re confused. Don’t say things just because you’re scared. It doesn’t make them true and words are dangerous. You can’t make them go away.’

His hand travelled up my arm, all the way to my neck before returning back down my arm until his fingers entwined with mine. I still didn’t move. Our breathing was in time. Rapid.

‘I know you feel it too. I know you missed me like I missed you these past two weeks.’

So true.

‘I tried to stay away,’ I confessed. ‘I heard you tell me you wished we’d never met.’ I shook my head at myself, inching myself further to my edge of the mattress. ‘You were right.’

‘I figured you heard me. I tried to stay away too. Tried to let you go, because I knew I was no good. But … I can’t.’

‘Quin –’ I started, but he cut me off and it was a good thing because I was about to tell him everything.

‘I’m not scared of this, Mags. You and me? I’m petrified of losing us.’

In a swift move he used the space I’d put between us to pull me onto my back, and lean half his body on top of mine, trapping me and cradling my face with both of his hands.