"That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful"

Morgan Ann Bennett

I sat in the window sill of the lavender room, the one place in Malcolm's hellish home that felt like a home. It wasn't home at all, but the memories I made in it, made it seem so.

We were going to the grand opening of The Q. I couldn't bring myself to be excited about it. I'm sure it'll be beautiful and all the rage, but Quinn isn't here to celebrate and the place is named after her.

I know it's been a while and I should stop mourning now, but it's seemed like it's been one thing after the other, and I've had a hard time coping.

Knock. Knock.

I'm surprised he did so before coming right in.

I jumped off of the window and hurried to sit in front of the vanity where I finished applying makeup over my bruised left eye.

Actually, it wasn't Malcolm, but X.

"Malcolm says the car is ready." X, the chauffeur, let me know.

I let out a pained sigh and pushed my makeup back on the vanity, seeing my under eye was as concealed as I could it.

And no, he didn't hit me. I fell down the steps. Well, maybe I wouldn't have fell if his hand wasn't in my back. I tumbled down one flight of stairs and hit my face on some ski junk he had at the end of of the staircase. Luckily all I did get was a bruised eye. But he didn't hit me.

As I descended said staircase, I watched the woman graciously glide across the hardwood floors. She made my blood boil for reasons other than being Malcolm's mistress, I didn't care about that. How could she be so happy sleeping with a man so vile? So repulsive. I bet she's just like him - evil. Every time she looks at me it's like she hopes I die in the next minute. I don't know if she thinks I'm here because I want to be but that's far from the truth. The only shocking part about their "affair" is that she has a kid, and he's older, eight or ten. But when I wanted to move in Quinn, that was just the end of the world.
Her wide hips are a lot more convincing than I was, I guess.

I wanted to shake her by the shoulders, tell her to get a grip and get out. I didn't even know her name, just where she's from — Denver because he's always there creeping with her— and that she has a basketball playing son. I couldn't express my hatred for her enough. Why do I have to be tortured by this man while she voluntarily stays with him for whatever reasons?
Why Malcolm didn't let me go? Unclear. I don't think me being here is about his attraction to me anymore. Like he said, I'm broken. No, it's something beyond that at this point - his own ulterior motives. Spite or maybe even insurance.
I don't know, I stopped asking questions after almost losing my hand.

The woman held the door open for me. She was in one of his Versace robes and drank directly from the orange juice carton. I'm glad I don't like orange juice.

My eyes were glued on her round face as I made my exit with X on my trail, rushing me before Malcolm got impatient.

Thankfully, Malcolm was already downtown "taking care of business" so I didn't have to sit prim and proper for the entirety of the ride. I had time to think for once and it felt like the first time in a while I was able to escape into my mind and have thoughts of my own. So I relished in it. In fact, the grey, crying sky and thunderous claps reminded me of this one time with Chris. . .

~~~

"—AH! My hair." I shrieked at the first sign of rain.

"You're gonna melt or something?" He asked smartly, still trying to set up the projector on the cliff.

"Chris!" I cracked a loud scream, struggling to open the doors to his truck.

"Damn it. Alright, alright. Get off of Precious like that." He swatted my hands off of the door and unlocked it. Finally.

It started to pour and I hopped in the passenger seat, removing myself from the soaked hiking clothes.

What was supposed to be a romantic evening with a Mountain View turned into a rainstorm at a campground in the middle of the day. The sky was dark and looked like it wanted to wreak havoc, ruining plans with it's cold cold rain. The roots of the Blue Spruce trees stayed firm in the ground as the wind huffed and puffed on them something serious.

Once I was shivering in the front seat in nothing but one of Chris's t-shirts I stole from his backpack, I folded my arms and eyed him for anymore bright ideas.

He warmed himself up in a pair of briefs and a navy blue tee, cranking up the heat.

"So much for 'we're gonna be out in nature and it can be a cute date.'" I mocked him.

I started to frown. "We never do anything cute anymore; you just wanna have sex and go out to dinner."

"Will you shut up?" He exhaled, pointing to the set up in the back of the truck.

My eyes filled with wonder when I saw a bin of snacks, champagne, fuzzy socks, and rented movies. Beside it, a bundle of blankets and pillows, folded neatly to perfection. One blanket was even weighted and I knew I'd be calling it mine forever.

"Awwww!" I cooed, unable to speak any other words at the time.

"SO CUTE!" I growled from the back of my throat, making Chris laugh.

I climbed over the seat and fell on top of the trunk bed he specially ordered for such an occasion. It was comfortable and much appreciated.

Immediately I ripped open the pack of fuzzy socks. One pair was grey with black stripes — I knew he'd want those. The next pair was sky blue with white, the other was green and yellow, and finally, a pink pair with purple stripes for myself.

I wiggled my cold toes in Chris's face before warming them up with the fuzzy feet mittens.

I pouted seeing I didn't have a brush so I couldn't brush my hair neatly to maintain my blowout.

Chris looked at me. "Let me do it."

"My hair?" I questioned, sitting on my knees.

"Yeah, come here." He reached forward to pull me down between his legs.

I giggled, just letting him do whatever.

My face started to curl as I winced. "Why are you being so rough?"

"Sorry, I thought you liked it like that." He joked, earning a playful nudge.

"Scrunchie." He asked for it like a damn doctor needing a scalpel in surgery.

I laughed, giving him the pink one off my wrist.

Chris held my hair tight in his hand, giving me a fucking eye lift.

"Why do you love pink so much?" He asked like it was a burning question.

"I don't know," I said, swirling my fingertip over my kneecap, "I just do; it's my favorite color."

"But why?"

I hunched my shoulders slightly. "It makes me feel girly."

"Morgan, you're, like, the girliest."

"Thank you!" I took the compliment and flashed a big smile.

"It's one of the first things I really noticed about you: you loved pink, always smell like a fuckin' angel or some shit, your hair and nails are always done, and even when you try to dress down it's cute, like you couldn't look bad if you tried."

"Why am I wet right now?" I bit down on my nail.

Chris just laughed and continued doing my hair.

I got my camera out to see what he was doing and the concentration on his face almost made me pee myself.

"Stop." He cracked up, trying to finish his... hairdo.

He pushed me in the back once he was done and proudly boasted, "Check me out!"

I looked at the bun in the front camera and actually was impressed.

He clapped his hands together and popped one green grape into his mouth.

"Okay, relax, it's not like you did a fucking braid or something." I laughed, bursting his bubble.

"Shut up." He smacked his lips, pushing my body. I went flying to the other side of the truck and hit my head on the window. Ouch.

I started to laugh immediately, rubbing my head. Seems like I was always clumsy around him, or he always made me hit my head on something in the early stages of our relationship.
It's November though and we've been together for quite some time now. Long enough for him to know I can take some roughhousing but no, he swore I was physically hurt and going to die.

"I did not mean to push you that hard!" He gasped, looking stunned.

I sat up and shook it off. "I'm fine."

"Oh my God, are you okay?"

"Yes! I'm fine."

"No but you flew." He laughed.

I let out a laugh myself. "It's okay."

"Does your head hurt?"

"Chris, I am okay."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I repeated, settling back onto the bed.

Chris kept his jaw unhinged, hand on heart like a concerned mother would.

"I am so sorry."

"Chris!" I yelled, getting annoyed.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked, eyes wandering around my face.

"I'm about to be if you don't shut up."

He sucked his teeth. "Okay. I'll just shut up then."

"Good." I huffed, opening his laptop so we could watch a movie finally.

Maybe, like, three minutes passed before either of us said a word.

All of a sudden, Chris started to laugh and at first I ignored him. Then he got louder and more hysterical so I faced him, trying to be serious because it wasn't that funny but his laugh made it even better.

We just sat in the trunk laughing like a pair of hyenas, and he hadn't even smoked, yet.

It seemed like a lifetime before we came down from the laughter fit. My sides were hurting and eyes watered.

"You're funny." Chris said, making my cheeks turn red. Honestly, that was one of my favorite compliments from him. Though he pushed me and thought I was dead for a second, it made me feel good to bring that joy to him.

I sighed, coming down. "So, how about some music?"

"For sure." He rushed, patting down his pockets for a lighter most likely.

I felt this knot in my stomach as I usually did when around Chris. The fact that I still got butterflies with him told me he was the one. I didn't get nervous necessarily more like, all warm and tingly inside.

At this point, I basically took on his whole personality. I used his lingo, stole from his wardrobe, adopted the color black into my own day-to-day life as well, and I definitely copied his music taste.
Whenever Chris wasn't getting pumped before a workout or feeling hyped, he wouldn't listen to rap. No, he liked melodic music, something to vibe to. From old school r&b to indie, classic rock, and new age neo-soul, he had taste, that's for sure. Some of his most listened to artists included Anthony Hamilton, Kaleo, Otis Redding, Queen, Rod Wave, Nas, J.Cole, Dylan Sinclair, and Wale. See, taste.

I just put his untitled playlist on shuffle, knowing he'd be okay with whatever played.

I liked watching my man smoke. Everything from him rolling the joint to licking it and the way he got so philosophical once he got high was all so attractive. Well, he could wear a paper bag and I'd still be foaming at the mouth, honestly.

His hands were thick and veined and one rested on my knee cap, the other passing me the joint. When I denied, he put it out to save for later.

Chris's eyes were low and red and he started to blink more slowly and speak less. If getting a contact high is a real thing, I'm that, for sure.

"Chris, do you ever get mad at, like, how we met?" I asked with my chin in my knees.

His hand slid up and down my calf in a way that seemed more calming to him than it was pleasing to me.

"Mad? No."

"I do. Whenever I think about it. I just wish we could've had some magical meet-cute, you know, something nice to tell the baby one day..." I looked down and rubbed my stomach. I wondered how big I'd get, if at all. A lot of women aren't okay with not having a huge bump because they don't look pregnant and think they'll have less of an experience. Me, I don't care for getting big. I know it's natural and I'll be able to work it off, but I'm sorry, I didn't want junior or mini me making mama all swollen and unattractive. Although, I'm going to look so good in maternity clothes. And not those ugly maternity clothes that brands make as an afterthought for women when they feel like whales and can't fit anything cute, no. I mean track suits, maxi skirts, the whole thing.

Chris picked his head up and looked at me. His facial expression was unreadable, it was just blank, I couldn't tell if he was upset or not.

I stopped talking anyway, baby talk can scare some guys.

"I'm going to tell our son that I swept you off your feet and rescued you from a fire breathing dragon; we fell for reach other, and the rest is none of his damn business." Chris made me laugh.

"Why are you so sure it's a boy?"

"I feel like if I keep saying it'll be a boy, then it'll be a girl. And I really want a girl."

"Aw, why?" I leaped into his lap and wrapped my arms around his tattooed neck.

Chris wet his lips. "Cause bitches love girl dads." He cracked.
My face went straight and I started wrestling him until he said he was just joking, of course.

~~~

"Morgan?" X calling my name snapped me out of my thoughts.

"We're here." He said, parking the SUV.

Oh. The Q.

There were a bunch of townsfolk waiting to be let into the hip, new restaurant.

The outside was modern with wood work and black framing, I loved the feel. If only I could allow myself to be excited for this. . .

'The Q' was in big white letters in a standard font that was bold and unable to be missed.

I felt proud, reminding myself this is for Quinn. And Callie.

When Sherry and Alvin went over the menu with Malcolm one day not too long ago, they wondered what one menu item should be called - some Buffalo chicken dip or something. Drawing a blank, Malcolm turned to me for advice, understanding I'm full of good ideas as the restaurant was one of them in the first place.
I didn't hesitate to suggest it be named after Callie. They all hung their heads, I could see they didn't agree right away but I didn't care, she should be honored, too. "The Callie" wasn't exactly an ideal name for a side dish, though, so I went with "SoCall." Like, Southern California— SoCal— but with two L's like her name and since she actually really liked Buffalo chicken dip, I thought that's so Callie hence SoCall. Surprisingly Malcolm allowed it, literally the least he could do.

I was crying already before even being let out of the backseat.

X squared my shoulders. "Get it together, girl. He sees you crying and it's both of our asses. Now I don't want to end up like Teddy, and I know you don't want to have to put concealer under both eyes everyday. Wipe your eyes and let's go."

I sniffled, taking his advice. He was a rugged man but I think he meant well. Someone who didn't have a heart wouldn't have gave a shit about my crying. Sure he was trying to save his own ass, but didn't want to see me get hurt, either. Just goes to show me that these henchmen he hires must really owe him or need the money that bad. A recurring theme I've noticed since moving: it's crazy what money will make a person do.

Everyone was at the grand opening in support of The Jonses as well as Mister and Misses Vaughn. No one gave a shit about Malcolm though he convinced himself he's the face of the company.

I was led around the back where I could enter and join Malcolm before he addressed the crowd standing out patiently in the freezing rain.

"There you are," he spoke to me with a cough. "Let me get a good look at you."

I turned rigidly in my black coat, scarf, and boots.

He went "Hm, you look good."

I nodded since he was satisfied and wandered around once he let me.

The inside was just as beautiful as the outside. It was a modern feel, again, but still rustic and charming for this little ole' town. The loft area was cozy and would make the perfect hang out spot.

There was a booth far in the back with a VIP rope.

"Is that for birthday parties and stuff?" I asked.

"No, it's where I'll be doing business. No one else is allowed up there unless they are VIPs." Malcolm made clear to everyone in the room.

"As if we'd want to sit in your devilish booth and listen to you talk about drugs and sex all day." Carter spat.

Mary put her hand on his chest hoping to calm her husband.

I barely looked at them because I didn't want to get emotional or risk any trouble with Malcolm.

"Carter, what happened to you? No, really. You were quite the devil yourself before the rehab."

It was very chilling to see them talk in each other's faces. Hell, it was chilling just seeing them in the same room together. Carter all this time had been trying so hard to steer clear of Malcolm, his hatred for him was clear as day. The fact that Carter hadn't gotten a hand on Malcolm yet was a miracle, really.

"Let's not make this about you two. If we're all going to be in business together, let's act like businesspeople. You don't have to like each other or respect each other, but don't kill each other." Alvin spoke up. He thought he was the voice of reason but there was no reasoning with these two grown men who had a beef as old as time.

"Let's just go cut the ribbon." Mary suggested.

"Gladly." Malcolm hummed, carrying the large scissors with him. No one trusted him with them and we all walked many paces after him.

Malcolm didn't let anyone else speak, loving the sound of his own voice. He went on about how he's built an empire from the ground up, came from nothing, and now has everything. He said he hopes this place will live on forever and be a part of his legacy. I think he even mentioned his side businesses and offered free drinks to the first ten people at the bar. It was all of bunch of bullshit that I almost fell asleep standing up listening to it.

At long last, though, he shut the hell up and cut the ceremonial ribbon.

The crowd roared with excitement and gave a round of applause for the owners.

Familiar faces walked past me as I held one door open, Mary on the other.

"Welcome in!" Mary greeted people.

"Hi!" Some said to me.

I kept my head down and waited for this to be over.

Once the last person got through, Mary said "I have to go to the bathroom."

Carter let go of her hand so she could do so and I knew she wanted me to follow so I did after letting Malcolm know where I'd be. He didn't care, of course, waving me off since he sat in the VIP booth with his colleagues.

I rounded the corner and pushed open the bathroom door.

Mary's arms were wide open and I ran into them, letting out all my emotions from the days and weeks I hadn't seen or heard from her.

"Oh my gosh, look at you." She cried, cupping my face.

"Are you okay? What has he done now, how's your hand? Your neck?"

I put her hands by her sides and sealed my eyelids together, pushing out a few tears. It was hard for her to see me like this, sure, but it cut me deeply having to face her in this mental and physical state.

"Mary, I'm fine. Trust me, I'm okay. I just missed you, and I'm so sorry."

"Shh. You have nothing to be sorry for. How are you doing, really? You look so thin." Her tone worried me, she was worried sick and I hated that I made her feel so helpless.

I swallowed hard and began to pace. "How's Chris? You didn't tell him, did you?"

"No, of course not, you asked me not to."

I nodded. "Is be okay?"

"Honestly?" Her gritted her teeth, distracting herself by picking at her nails.

I stopped and flailed my arms. "What, what is it now?"

"There's a girl, her name is Sabrina-"

I couldn't even listen, I plugged my ears and resumed pacing again.

"Listen," Mary insisted. "he doesn't like her but apparently she's been coming on strong - the reason he got a raise."

"Aw, he got a raise? Good, I knew he'd do good there. What, he has a month left?"

"Well that's the thing," Mary fretted, "he's doing so good, they want to keep him in New York, Morgan."

"What?" My whole face fell with my tone after the news.

Mary nodded her head, lips sucked into her mouth.

"And he's thinking about accepting the offer."

I inhaled then released. "What else?" I wanted to know everything about his new life there.

"He has a friend named Cleo, you'd like her."

"Cleo must be gay, right?"

Mary laughed lightly. "She is. She's a big personality that's for sure."

"I'm glad he has someone out there..."

"Morgan, is there anything we can do? I'll call the FBI, anything to get you out of this situation. It's hurting me to see you like this. Even if it's not with my son, I want you to have a happy ending.
Malcolm is— he's going to kill you."

I listened to her words and felt my lip quiver.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm already dead," I puled, eyes wandering to the floor. "like I'm in limbo."

Mary shut her eyes and cried silently. "Come home with me, Morgan. Tonight. Right now. I'll pay for your ticket to wherever you want to go. Just, please..."

"I have tried to escape him eight plus times now. What makes you think this one will be any different?" My words stunned Mary.

She looked at me with her mouth agape, eyes unsure which part of my face to fall on.

I talked almost mechanically, no life or urgency in my tone. "Besides, what am I gonna do, move on? Start a new life somewhere and pretend I mean something? I got myself into this."

"Would Callie and Quinn want to see you like this?" Her words struck something in me. I respected her too much to say what I was thinking out loud but it wasn't pretty.
No, they wouldn't want to see me like this. But guess what? They can't. They're dead.

"Morgan? Where's my Morgan?" Malcolm's voice was loud on the microphone we could hear it in the bathroom behind a closed door.

Mary just stared me in my face, I knew she thought her psychological gaze would work on me, but not this time.

"Excuse me." I said low, sauntering past her body.

As I walked through the door, I heard her sniffles growing louder and louder.

I stepped back into the brisk air and wasn't prepared for it though it had been like this for months now. The cold was starting to get annoying - depressing, really. When I first moved here I couldn't wait for the flurries and overall winter aesthetic. Then Christmas rolled around and I spent that sulking and missing Chris as well as Quinn and Callie. I guess the effect just wore off. Now the Holidays are gone and the spirit went with it, snd it's just white everywhere and cold and I hate it.

"I have an announcement to make." Malcolm broadcasted. He stood with misplaced confidence in front of the doors to The Q. Of course to his right and left, Sage and X.

Malcolm pulled the microphone from his lips and signaled me to step near to his bundled up body.

I did as told and was skeptical but tried hard to not let my face show it.

With the world's most faint smile, I let Malcolm grab me by the waist. Trained by now, I didn't flinch at his touch this time.
Good, I told myself in my head with a deep inhale. He won't hurt you now. Maybe I'll even get my phone privileges back.

Malcolm released my waist following a squeeze to then grab hold of my hand in the glove and kissed the back of it. I was caught so off guard that I creased my eyebrows and stared at my hand, wondering if there was a bug there or something he was trying to kill with his cracked lips. Nope, just a regular kiss? Weird - from him, anyway.

But I cringed and there go my phone privileges, I mentally kicked myself.

However, he didn't squeeze tighter to teach me a lesson or whisper a threat once the crowd's attention was elsewhere. Instead, Malcolm gave a signal to some man on our right.

"I didn't even see him there." I said to myself at the sight of the man who appeared to be some type of park ranger, or something, judging by the green vest, boots, and hat.

The man made a sort of whistle call with his mouth. I was confused, unsure what was about to happen. He stood there patiently with an arm out. On his arm, a brown sleeve-thing? I don't fucking know. I remembered seeing them in a nature documentary.

"Is he about to bring out an owl?" I questioned Malcolm from the side of my mouth.

"Shh, darling," he whispered, "don't ruin the surprise."

I leaned back away from Malcolm and waited like everyone else for whatever was to answer that call.

"Look!" Malcolm exclaimed, pointing in the sky.

A loud gasp echoed from the crowd. We all watched in awe as a great bird swooped in and landed on the man's arm.

He gasped as well at the bird. "What's this?" Asked the ranger in a tone that sounded way too fake.

I couldn't pick between rolling my eyes or a yawn.

After a bit of a fight, the ranger retrieved a scroll from the intimidating talons of the bird and wore this uber creepy grin as his eyes looked over whatever was written on the scroll.

Well I didn't care for his poor acting or Malcolm's surprises but the tension was killing me.

"What is it?" I mumbled, standing on my tiptoes as if that would help me see better.

The ranger turned the paper so that I could see and I read the words:

Marry me darling

The murmurs from the witnesses were a mix of confusion, admiration, and general amusement at the bird still.

Maybe if I act like I can't read no one will repeat it?

I squeezed my eyes closed tightly and crossed my fingers, praying this wasn't real.

"Darling," Malcolm mused, getting down on one knee after Sage threw his coat down. "will you marry me?"

Holy shit, I internally fretted and probably looked insane doing so. He's serious.