one ~ daybreak


Sunday, October 25, 2005

Theresa


Theresa Kincaid sauntered through the bustling sidewalks of downtown Seattle, her glossy hair a long stream behind her as she purposefully strode underneath the skyscrapers that loomed over her. She had a catalog of about a million other things she would rather be doing right now, but her eccentric drug dealer needed her help. Now, Theresa couldn't refuse him for a variety of reasons—and thinking about said reasons only darkened her mood. So, in order to keep her cool, she tried to focus on the one benefit she was reaping out of this: his excellent weed.

The bastard better be dying or something, she began to stew, He'd better not ruin my day over his petty bullshit.

All unsavory thoughts of Reggie literally flew out of her mind when someone rammed into her right shoulder. Theresa careened into the wall, bouncing off the gray-painted cinder block hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. They screamed for oxygen, and she nearly bent over to gasp for air, but instead just blinked back the stars and looked over at the offending person.

He was already stalking off before she could get a good look at his face, but she saw that even from behind, he was powerfully built, and judging by his salt and peppered buzzcut, he seemed to be middle aged. The way the fucker was walking, it was apparent he'd been in a hurry. Her fists clenched, and her simmering irritation lit into a blazing inferno.

"Dickhead!" She'd screeched after him, pointedly ignoring the appalled and amused stares of passersby. Her parents would've surely been horrified by her behavior, but decorum was the last thing on her mind after the shitty day she was having. Theresa had an overwhelming desire to dart after him and, she didn't know, maybe shove him into the building, hit him or something, but he slightly turned his head to meet her eyes as he was walking, smiling apologetically. "Sorry!"

An abrupt shudder ripped through Theresa's body at the sight of the man's megawatt smile, though before she had time to analyze why, her cell gave a sharp ring. Seething, she turned her heel and strode down the sidewalk, waving over a cab. Flipping her phone open, she couldn't help her sigh of impatience. "I'm like, ten minutes away from your spot, Reggie. What do you want."

"I'm leaving to grab some takeout. You hungry?"

"You're kidding me."

"I know," Reggie said smugly, and Theresa could practically hear the bastard giving himself a pat on the back for a job well done, "I just thought to myself, hey. Tess might have a certain craving for some chicken biryani right now. It'd be inconsiderate to let any guest of mine starve." Reggie's reedy voice rasped through on the other line.

An orange taxi pulled over and Theresa wasted no time in climbing inside of the vehicle. She politely told the driver her drug dealer's neighborhood, then snarled into the phone, "so let me get this straight. You call me over because of an 'emergency', just to blow me off, and to eat, no less? You couldn't have done this, oh I don't know, before you called me the first time?"

Reggie was a casual person by nature. He didn't take much to heart and it generally took a lot of effort to piss him off. She hadn't ever seen so much as a scowl on the guy's face. So she really shouldn't have been outraged when he easily replied, "what can I say. A guy's gotta' eat."

Theresa was going to fucking kill him.

"Where are you?" She asked through clenched teeth, futilely trying to keep her composure, "I'll meet you there."

Not only could Reggie save them both the trouble from meeting up at his pigsty of a house and explain exactly what he needed from her, Theresa could use this opportunity to gain more information on the prick. Where did he usually hang out? How well did the people who considered Reggie a friend know him? It got under her skin something fierce that he seemingly knew how much skeletons she had in her closet.

All in all, this interaction was slowly but steadily testing her patience, and she was on a time limit. Theresa had to get back to her father's apartment in a few hours, since Lionel was expecting her to be in at no later than five. Worrying her father was a lot more hassle than it was worth.

But since this was Reggie and simple wasn't really in his dictionary, he snorted, amused. "Were you even listening? I said I was grabbing takeout."

Theresa found that she was too pissed to deign a response.

"You know what? I think I'll just order for you. Tandoori chicken sound good enough? Or maybe you'd prefer something else—you're the expert here. What do you recommend, Tess?"

Instead of severely spitting out that he had the wrong Indian, that Theresa was indigenous—well, half, anyway—she reminded herself that letting out a string of expletives wouldn't be appreciated by her cab driver. She forcibly took another deep breath through her nostrils, promptly leashed her fury, yet again, and said as calmly as she could manage, "I don't have time for this, Reginald."

"You never do, Tess," Reggie quipped flippantly, voice growing distant as he made a move to hang up, "see you in twenty."


Theresa reached Capitol Hill in record time, turning a corner before she reached the old warehouse building that Reggie had converted into a loft. She ducked through the alleyway and climbed through the back door, which Reggie probably left unlocked since it was their regular routine. The rhythmic click of her stiletto heel boots hit the hard concrete of the entryway, echoing within the small space of the hallway leading up to the sliding double doors.

A Mariah Carey song could be heard blaring through Reggie's speakers and Theresa had to give it to the guy. His music taste was far above average, but it did nothing to alleviate the boiling sensation of indignation underneath her skin. The scent of male and lemon-scented disinfectant wafted into Theresa's nostrils, and already, she had to stave off a headache.

She slid open the steel doors then closed them behind her when she walked through, her eyebrows raised as she took in the scene before her.

This hadn't been what she expected.

The large living room that connected to the kitchen was spotless and where clutter usually occupied on Reggie's single sizable couch, Theresa saw that they were absent. His mahogany bookshelf in the corner of the living room seemed to all be in order and, even weirder, his desk, standing beside the bookshelf that held his computer and printer, was in pristine condition, the blank screen of the computer gleaning back the reflection of the living room.

Immediately on high alert, Theresa took careful footsteps as she perused the living room, her hands lightly brushing against the couch. She had never seen this place ever be so...well, clean. Did Reggie hire a housekeeper or something?

Theresa almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of such a thought. No fucking way.

Who was she kidding? She didn't bet on his shady ass willingly keeping a stranger around who, at any moment's notice, could rifle through his things and obtain more knowledge about that weasel than they initially were provided with. And, in the world that both teenagers shared? Information was pretty much synonymous with power.

Whatever the case, something was definitely up. Theresa considered calling out for Reggie, but decided against it. The music was too loud for it to do any good. She decided to go to where the bass was blaring: upstairs. She found that she didn't need to be silent as she climbed the steps, and when Mariah's whistling tones started to die out, a more upbeat tune replaced it and soon, Luther Vandross began to yell in her ear. She slightly winced at the sheer volume of the speaker, swearing under her breath. "Goddamnit, Reggie."

Just as she climbed the last step, an unfamiliar man clad in nothing but a towel walked out of the bathroom that was connected to Reggie's bedroom, toweling his hair as his dark eyes zeroed in on Theresa. She was about to ask who he was, but quickly gave pause, taking him in.

The man must've been a foot taller than Theresa, hair longish and dark that stuck, wet, to his forehead. His skin was a deep olive, and stubble decorated his handsomely pronounced jawline. Tattoos embellished his ripped torso, and like a moth to a flame, Theresa's eyes were glued to the muscles that stood at attention down the length of his body. Good grief. Was this guy even human? How did his abs get that...rigid?

"Who the hell are you?" He barked out, and Theresa tore her eyes away from his torso and finally met his gaze. She knew she'd been caught ogling, but hey. It was too late to play it off.

Muscles and abs aside, Theresa was wondering what Reggie's deal was. If he wasn't gonna' be in his own damn house to tell her what his problem was and how she could possibly be of assist, then she might as well save herself the trouble and make her exit, Reggie's leverage on her be damned.

"I was just about to leave," she let the stranger know, no longer bewildered by his physique.

In fact, her irritation was coming back to her and it didn't help matters much that the music was just about to rupture her fucking eardrums. The stranger glowered at her more intensely. He didn't have time to say whatever insult he was about to hurl her way because, finally, Reggie was back, singing with his grating, high-pitched, and reedy voice. "Oh my loooove, a thousand kisses from you is nevaa' too muuuch, I just don't wanna' stop—"

Theresa scowled and climbed down the stairs as the unfamiliar man behind her gave a scoff filled with disdain, turning back to head into the bedroom. Before she could reach the last of the stairs, the music was sharply cut off and Theresa gave a sigh of relief. God. She had had enough of Luther Vandross for one day.

It was clear Reggie didn't share the same sentiment. "Hey!" He squawked, and Theresa sauntered over to the kitchen, only to come to the sight of him setting down Indian takeout on the steel countertop. When her good pal Reggie devilishly grinned at her, Theresa had to admit that it was difficult to keep from throttling him. She scrutinized the nineteen-year-old, eyes wandering over his scrawny build, to his bleached buzzcut that did nothing to soften the rigid, sharpness of his hawkish face and only further enhanced it. She finally met his narrow, hazel eyes and glared.

Even though Theresa was brimming with questions, she got to the subject at hand. She wanted to get this out of the way. "So, what did you want?"

"Well, if it isn't my good buddy, Tess. Great afternoon we're having, isn't it?"

"It could've been if you hadn't called me." She sneered at him, not keen on his use of her nickname, "stop beating around the bush, Reginald."

Reggie grimaced. "Can't a guy get in a bite before we get into all of that?"

Theresa's scalding look suggested that she wasn't going to entertain his bullshit. It was too early for her. Reggie just rolled his eyes and gave a huff of irritation, entirely unaffected, and this action further infuriated her. "Reginald—I'm not in the fucking mood—"

"I'm not keeping you here, Kincaid." He wore a bored expression. "You're free to leave whenever you wish."

With a snarl, she turned her heel. Say no more.

"But I'm sure daddy dearest would be quite interested in hearing all about how you didn't get that B minus in trig through plain old hard work."

Theresa grit her teeth, thinking that while it wasn't the worst information he had on her, the dread that coursed through her at the thought of Lionel finding out about this was enough to keep her rooted in place. She foolishly wanted to defend herself, say that she had always been shitty with anything at all to do with math, that it was a one-time thing—but alas, Reggie had her where he wanted her. Her excuses didn't matter.

"I think someone better call UC Berkeley," Reggie taunted.

Theresa turned back to face Reggie and absolutely loathed his fucking smug smile. She returned it, although not in good-faith, and condescendingly announced, "What kind of a friend would I be to refuse a favor from you?"

"I thought you might lend a helping hand," Reggie said wryly, "my sister's coming into town and I need help organizing her 'welcome home' party."

"And that concerns me, how?"

"Would you let me get to it?" Reggie rolled his eyes, already retrieving his food from the plastic bag.

"I'm just having a hard time believing I look like a fucking event planner."

He snorted in response, taking his food into the living room, with Theresa begrudgingly following him. "Well it's a good thing it doesn't matter, huh? You don't have much of a choice."

"You can't hold this over my head forever."

Reggie gave a noncommittal shrug as he plopped down on to his unbelievably spotless couch, with Theresa reluctantly taking a seat a couple of feet away from him. "Yeah, I know. If you do this one thing for me, I promise I won't hassle you anymore about you stealing Archibald's test answers. Cross my heart and all that."

She clenched her fists. "I'm gonna' need it in writing."

How long had it been since she met Reginald Cho? Two months? And already wedged into Theresa's life like a nuisance. Spending the next couple of hours in Reggie's presence. What a joke.

Even though she didn't know all that there was to know about the guy, and even if Reggie was all lanky limbs and awkward angles and crap, tasteless jokes, there were still plenty of reasons to tread lightly with him. Theresa was convinced there was nothing under the sun that Reggie didn't know—he was a human database who usually acquired his information through bargaining and blackmail. Theresa knew that Reggie used his set of manipulation tactics to try and get close to her—would have to be an idiot to not see it. There must've been a reason Reggie had bothered with her at all, and she resolved to get to the bottom of it.

Reggie set down his bowl and seriously looked into her eyes. "Theresa, I swear on my whole being that I won't leverage this over you anymore. Good enough?"

"It'll have to do," she reluctantly replied, rolling her eyes. She would've been skeptical had it been anyone else but Reggie saying this. She wasn't exactly implying that he was an honorable person—she knew well enough he was far from it—but Reggie was weird about these things. When shit would get real, Reggie tended to have an intention behind what he said, never speaking arbitrarily, and more often than not, Theresa found out, he doubled down on his words.

Reggie broke the silence when he was done swallowing his food. "So, this party is just this kind of welcoming thing I'm putting together for my sister. She's flying into Seattle in two weeks, and I thought it'd be nice to surprise her. I've got the venue, the appetizers—and of course, the booze—but I need—er, a feminine touch, you know? Evie goes crazy over these things."

Theresa didn't know if the guy loved his sister that much or if what he was saying was a big crock of shit. She was leaning toward the latter option. "And you want me to do what...? Make posters? Blow up some balloons? Write a card or something?"

"Why don't we go over there and scope out the scene? You'll know what to do then. Your fashion sense is almost as good as mine, so I don't think you'll be total failure," said Reggie, who wore a faint smirk, "I'm thinking I made the right choice."

Theresa glowered at her drug dealer who was too busy chowing down on his food to notice her ire. She had never liked him much. Never liked how he seemed to know more about her than she knew about him. It made her feel off-balance. She jutted her chin toward the direction of the stairs. "Who was that guy?"

"Who, Santiago?" A mischievous glint twinkled in Reggie's eyes as he stared at Theresa, and she regretted even asking, "just an old friend, I guess. Staying here for a couple of weeks. Why? Want me to set something up?"

She didn't rise to the bait. "Just curious." Giving a sidelong glare at his devious smile, she added, "If you try anything funny, I'll wipe the floor with your skinny ass."

"Hey, just a suggestion." Reggie threw up his hands, innocent and wide-eyed, "I'm just saying, it might do you some good. When was the last time you got laid, anyway?"

"Absolutely none of your business."

The unfamiliar man from before had climbed down the stairs while the two were talking, and made his way over to the kitchen, preparing food for himself. Reggie, with a mouthful of yellow rice and bright red Tandoori chicken, grumbled, "I see you two met."

The stranger—Santiago—grunted. "Didn't know you kept voyeurs for company, Reginald."

Reggie skeptically raised his eyebrows at Theresa who only rolled her eyes then contorted her expression to one of regret. The physics on how Santiago's abs were so vigorously well-placed had caught her off guard, he was practically naked, for fuck's sake. He was making it sound like she'd been lusting after the guy, which definitely wasn't the case. "If I've offended your precious dignity, then you have my deepest condolences."

Santiago made his way to the living room, sitting across from Reggie, which put Theresa right between the two males. He dismissively snorted, "Please. You don't have much ability to offend anything having to do with me, much less anyone else."

She gritted her teeth, barely keeping her irritation in check. Just what did this jackass mean by that statement? Was he inferring that she was incapable somehow? That she was a weakling? Theresa expected to see the smug grin on Reggie, but he looked to be upset by this snide comment. He glared at Santiago, apparently no longer in the mood to eat. Strange. Theresa chose to overlook this for now, but filed it in the back of her mind to think about later.

"Okay!" Reggie announced, regaining his earlier bravado, "since your time is oh so valuable, Kincaid, I suggest we get a move on. Santi, if your fat ass touches any more of my food then I'm leaving you to kick rocks. Got it?"

"Even after all this hard work I did?" Santiago lazily gestured around the living room, sardonic expression pointed at the other male. "I should honestly get a hazard pay—and that better not be included in the hospital bill after I get a checkup, what with all that radioactive trash I had to throw out."

"Hey! No one said you had to go around playing maid, you prick. If I wanted a housekeeper I woulda' paid for one," Reggie snapped, somewhat annoyed, "I can't seem to find where the hell all my textbooks that were just on the couch went. Got any idea?"

"How 'bout you check where books are usually kept, moron?" Santiago shot back in a condescending tone, "still, it's nice to see you're grateful I upgraded your pathetic standards of living."

"Let's see this place you badly wanted to show me, Reginald," Theresa interrupted, all too impatient to get away from either of the men's company. She had a feeling that both of them together were too much for her to handle and was wondering how these bastards had even come to be friends. Reggie scoffed, pointing one last glare at Santiago, before making his getaway, with Theresa closely trailing behind him.

An hour later, no thanks to the traffic, they enter a lofty building, though it's no taller than six stories. It's a bit shabby, really, no one would think twice about this place being a nightclub. The interior was quite different, though, with modern touches here and there, a nice beam of gold lighting up the empty space before them. "What do you think?" Reggie asked Theresa.

She shrugged her indifference. "It's alright."

This answer neither pleased or dissatisfied him. He sauntered around, turning this way and that, before jumping behind the bar, pointing a grin at Theresa. "Drink?"

Still in the midst of surveying the place, she absentmindedly shook her head. "I'm good."

"Hey—don't think I don't know your birthday's next week. After all, you only turn seventeen once. One shot won't hurt."

Theresa was thinking that silver and gold would go together well for the party, not paying close attention to Reggie's pensive eyes, his suddenly serious look. If only she had been watching him—if she had any brains at all, she would've left right then and there. But as it was, she'd been too preoccupied with frivolously trying to decorate the motherfucker's club.

"Stop stalking me." She walked backward now, looking at the balcony that overlooked the dance floor. This place showed promise. "I mean, seriously. There's no reason for you to know my birthday."

"C'mon." Reggie taunted, "we're friends. We're supposed to know about these things, you know?"

"You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night, Reginald."

The unmistakable sound liquor pouring out from a bottle was heard from behind her, and Theresa turned to face him, giving the boy a disbelieving stare. "How'd you even get this place licensed anyway? You're underaged."

Reggie smirked, vodka in hand. "Dude, I don't know if you've figured it out, but like, I'm rich. Rich as fuck. There's nothing that money can't buy."

"Huh," Theresa mused, not at all impressed. She now had a good idea of what to do with the place, and the sooner she got this out of the way, the better, "how 'bout we get started?"

Reggie held out two shot glasses filled with clear liquid in answer.

In two weeks, Theresa Kincaid would regret ever letting Reggie give her that drink. In two weeks, Theresa would regret ever showing up to Reggie's flat. In two weeks, Theresa would regret—and not for the first time—ever meeting Reginald Cho.

But she didn't know this yet.

And because she didn't yet know this, she sighed. Took the drink from Reggie's hand. Looked at the tall shot cup filled with clear liquid and drank it all in one fluid motion.

It burned as it went down her throat, but soon after, a cooling sensation overtook it, making the hairs on her arm stand on end.

Theresa made a face. "What kinda' vodka is this? I've never tasted anything like it."

Reggie shrugged. "It was imported."

Theresa frowned, disbelieving. "No kidding."

The initial coolness of her body was veering toward icy. She set the glass down on the bar, but the motion rendered her lightheaded. "I need to take a seat."

Reggie said something unintelligible, and the sensations in Theresa's body worsened. She clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking, tightened her jaw when her teeth started clattering, eventually giving up from caring how she looked, after just one shot. She curled into herself when the cold became straight up unbearable, shutting her eyes to block out Reggie's unreadable expression.

"There something wrong, Theresa?" She heard him repeat—repeat 'cause it was what he said the first time. Her mind was too foggy, trying to tune out the sensations to connect the dots.

"I—" A convulsion racked her body and knocked her from the chair. Her muscles spasmed, arching her back off the floor and the pain took her breath away. She tried to call out for help, but all she could manage was the inarticulate shriek that emerged from her throat. Her arms and legs flailed independently, and it felt like her muscles were trying to rip her body apart.

The last thing she saw before the welcome relief of losing her consciousness was a pair of glowing white eyes peering at her from above.