You wouldn't believe who was poised elegantly on her chair when Quentin came into the hall.
He was fully expecting to be greeted with handcuffs and led out in chains, yet here he was and there she was.
Yup, this was a trip to hell. It couldn't possibly get worse than this.
Apparently Andrew had been called up to replace him because the bastard sat at his table sipping his sparkling wine and nodding his head to the music.
"Wow! The runaway lover boy finally returns," he said with the most wicked smile ever.
"I so do not have time for your jokes Andrew… That girl is a demon. A spawn of hell," Quentin spat.
Andrew now was stifling his laughter; it was clear seeing Quentin in such a state brought him immense joy.
"Your hell isn't over, bro."
'Fuck off, I ain't your bro.'
"Major contacted me to come here. So he knows already; I hope you've got a better excuse than her being 'A demon from hell'."
Quentin was done, he wanted to sleep. There are literally no troubles when you are asleep. The Major problem would be an issue for his future self.
He cast one last glance at the table where the fat rich man was shooting him daggers with his eye.
'Fuck'.
He had never been so happy to see a door as he was when he finally got to the front of his room. Pushing it in and stepping inside, his heart dislodged from his chest and flew right up into his head.
There on his damn bed was Rose.
"WHAT THE ACTUAL F..."
"Hey! Watch your language, please. Respect for ladies, no?"
'Lady?' If he wasn't sure before, he was 100% certain this girl was sent from somewhere to mess with him.
Taking quick deep breaths to calm himself, he adjusted his collars and smiled.
"You know, I didn't think much about you knowing my name. Figured I had on a name tag of some sort; that was till I saw my colleague... There are no tags on the uniforms assigned for this job. How'd you know my name? How'd you know the room I was staying in? As a matter of fact, how'd you get in here before me?"
Rose looked at him with a mischievous little smile on her face. This girl was hella weird, and Quentin knew it.
"Wanna come in and shut the door first?"
"No… I think I'm comfortable right here."
A couple, engrossed in conversation, staggered past his room, carrying with them the lingering stench of alcohol and poor choices.
"Why? The big bad soldier scared of a little, wittle gworl?"
Quentin remained silent.
"You've caused me my job, you know that right? If your father could kill me with his eye, I'd probably be fish food by now."
Rose relaxed properly on his mattress, stretching her full posture with the comfort of one who had no reason to not be comfortable.
"That doesn't matter, Quent."
'Who tf was this young lady, and what tf even is Quent!'
Quentin was sure she was insane.
To be fair, she showed no signs of hostility, and since she was comfortable with him, he probably could be comfortable with her too.
"Nothing matters. You know? Everything's a lie; the world's a lie. Your job? Who the heck cares, haha?"
"I. I care. You might not understand the value of hard work because you look like you've always had it easy, and don't get me wrong—I don't even hold it against you. I'd swap your life for mine in a heartbeat. But still, you just might have ruined my life; we're going to go back upstairs, and you'll tell them I had no part in whatever this is."
Rose smiled. Her blue eyes twinkling under the dim light that decorated his little cosy room.
"Weren't you listening, Quent? Nothing matters anymore. This ship, for instance. It's done for... gone... vamoosed... finished."
"What the hell are you even talking about? You know something stupid? In the brief time I've spent with you, I've asked more questions than I did during my entire years in military training. Please follow up with me so I can clear my name with the Major. Please."
"This boat is going to sink. You're definitely going to die. Andrew's going to die. The Major's going to die; we're all going to die. So why worry? Sit, let's stare into each other's eyes while we await the sweet embrace of death," she finished hugging herself in a playful manner.
Quentin had to give her that. That's the thing about crazy people; what they lacked in brain cells, they more than made up for it in funny.
"Here's what's going to happen... You'll sit with me for a while, then I'll answer your questions."
"And then we'll go up to clear my name, right?"
"What? Oh yeah, for sure."
Quentin gingerly walked in, shutting the door behind him. He sat down on the one stool that came with the room.
She had on the most beautiful perfume he'd ever had the pleasure of inhaling. It reminded him of that one Sunday afternoon his mom came home with ice cream for him and his little brother.
That was his first time having ice cream, and he knew, in that instant, he had found the love of his life; nothing would ever remotely come close to his love for the desert.
The memory warmed his heart, and he felt even more relaxed with the strange, beautiful girl called Rose.
There was something about the way she looked at him. Not with the weary eyes that one would normally use to regard a stranger, but with the wishful eyes of a loved one.
A sense of familiarity filled the room.
He was sure he'd never met her before. With the kind of face she had, a face that left a lasting impression on the mind of anyone that came across her...
'What's wrong with you, man?? Snap out of it this very instant.'
Rose let out a cheeky laughter; she'd been addressing him with a keen eye too.
They were staring at each other now. The room cracked with unseen tensions as Quentin attempted to relax back in a cool gesture, oblivious to the fact that he was sitting on a stool without a backrest.
She watched as he stumbled and, with a nervous cough, he regained his posture.
"He's not my father, btw."
"The fat man?"
"Who else?" She said sarcasm chucked full in her voice.
"He was tasked with getting me across your world to some place; what's it called? Amarica? Aminrica?"
Quentin was laughing a light-hearted chuckle; he had always been one to appreciate good humour, and in his eye this lady was a well of it .
"Hold up? What do you mean by "your world"? You're not British? And its America. That's the final stop of this beautiful voyage. It's also going to be my first time there, so I suppose we have that in common.
"You don't say... No, I'm not British."
"Where are you from then?"
"Don't worry about that. You wouldn't understand anyway."
Quentin looked at her kindly. It was clear to him that she found it hard talking about this subject.
Tapping his knees dramatically, he said:
"So answer my questions. Where have we met before? How'd you know my name?"
She smiled, and he was delighted that he had managed to get her to smile again.
'That's weird; why does her smile make me feel fuzzy inside?'
"You're right. We've met before," she said.
"Really, not saying you've got an unforgettable face or anything like that, but I'm pretty sure I'd remember if we'd met before."
"Well, you looked like the most miserable welcome officer ever, so it's not surprising you didn't notice me when I passed."
"Wait a minute... You mean earlier while I was stationed at the boarding gates?"
Quentin asked her, still laughing.
He knew he was in big trouble and would have to face The Major and that dumb laughing Andrew, but he didn't care, and frankly, even if he did care and even if he didn't have the wonderful company of Rose to absorb his mind of their worries, he never would've noticed the ship creaks and groans.