Nova and Quinton: No Regrets

Chapter 9

Quinton

I’m feeling decent today after I get back from work. Tired, but tired can be a good thing. It helps me block out all the boxes in the house when I walk inside, and the fact that in about ten minutes I’ll be heading right back out the door isn’t too bad either.

“Hey, you’re home early,” my dad says, cutting me off in the foyer. He’s dressed in old jeans and a faded shirt and he’s wiping his hands on a towel.

“I could say the same thing to you,” I tell him, reaching for the phone in my pocket as it vibrates, but I get distracted by something. “Why are you home?”

He tosses the towel down on the back of the chair in the living room. “I actually have some news,” he says. “My boss wants me to go over to Virginia a little bit early. Next week, actually.”

“Are you kidding me?” I frown, pulling my hand out of my pocket without checking my phone. “Please tell me you’re kidding me.”

He shakes his head with an apologetic expression. “But don’t worry. It’s going to take me a few weeks to get a place set up there, so I figure you can stay here while I do.”

“Stay here for a few weeks and then what? I move to Virginia?” I shake my head, hurrying for the stairs. “I already told you I don’t want to do that.”

“I know what you said, but that’s just how things are,” he says, catching hold of my arm before I get too far. It’s weird that he’s touching me because he never does. In fact, when I really think about it he never has. I can even remember thinking how weird it was when he gave me a handshake at my middle school graduation.

“Well, I’m not moving.” I turn to face him and he swiftly lets go of me.

“Quinton, I understand how you feel.” He gives me a look of pity as he rolls up his sleeves. “But sometimes we just have to do things we don’t want to do.”

“I know that, but I just can’t move across the country,” I say, folding my arms. “I’m going to find somewhere else to live.”

“Do you have enough money saved up for that?” he wonders as he reaches for a folded-up box on the floor near the front door.

I unzip my coat. “No, but I’ll figure something out.” I think about what Nova said about getting a roommate. “I’ll get a roommate or something.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” He places the box on the floor beside his feet. “Because…” He massages the back of his neck tensely. “Because I was really looking forward to you coming to Virginia with me.”

I’m wondering if he really means it or not. It’s hard to tell with him, but I want to believe that he does, so that’s how I’m choosing to see things. “I want—need to stay here.”

“But I worry about you living alone and what might happen,” he says. “I worry that you might relapse.”

“If it’s going to happen, then it’s going to happen,” I say, rubbing some paint off the back of my hand. “But I don’t want it to happen and staying here and doing what I’m doing is going to make it more possible for me to stay out of trouble.” I hope. I’ve been doing good. Haven’t wandered in places I don’t belong. Haven’t lost control. I just hope nothing triggers me to do otherwise.

He unfolds the box. “Well, if you absolutely need to stay at the house, then you can until the new buyers move in, which I think is next month.” He backs into the living room and picks the packing tape up off of the sofa. “But Quinton, I just want to make sure that you stay in touch with me this time.”

I nod and then go up into my room to change out of my painting clothes and get my work clothes on. I put on holey jeans, an insulated coat, then some gloves, pulling a gray beanie onto my head. I’m glad my dad and I finally talked and everything, but I still have the huge problem of finding a place and saying good-bye to this home and all the memories it carries.

As I’m getting ready to head down the stairs, I glance around at the sketches and photos on the wall. I still haven’t taken them down. Still holding on. I stare at a picture of Lexi on the wall, the one where she’s smiling so brightly it makes me want to smile with her. I lift my hand and touch my finger to the photo, noting how badly my hand shakes.

“Will you forgive me?” I ask, my hands still shaking as I pull the photo off the wall, feeling something break in half inside me. “If I keep going forward this way… keep healing instead of dying?” I wish I could hear her say yes. I wish that for just one moment I could hear her voice and she would let me go.

But of course the only response I get is silence and I know that I’ll never hear her voice again. As I go to put the picture back on the wall, I draw back and decide that maybe this is the first step to moving forward. That this is it.

“I can do this,” I tell myself, then walk over to my nightstand and put the photo in the drawer. The moment I do, it feels like I’ve done something wrong. But I still walk away from the room. Step by step. Trying to move forward, even though I can feel an invisible pull drawing me back. To her. Begging me to put that picture on the wall and never let go. Never change anything. Just keep holding on until it kills me.

“Do you want to tell me what’s got you so upset?” Wilson asks me as I hammer a nail into a piece of wood. We’re inside the house, although it’s not really inside. Two-by-fours make up the walls, the floor is plywood and the roof isn’t even close to being finished. The air smells like sawdust and my hands feel like sandpaper. The sound of power tools encircles me and it just quit raining so everything’s wet and the temperature is low. But I like everything about it. It helps me somewhat forget that I took down one of Lexi’s photos today. And that I’m going to be homeless soon. And that through all of this I have to feel everything because I decided to become sober.

“I’m not upset.” I toss the hammer aside and then reach for another board. “I’m just working through some stuff.”

“Well, maybe if you tell me what, then I can help you work through it?” He rolls up the sleeves of his worn plaid jacket, even though it’s cold, because we’ve been working hard so it feels hotter than it is. I align the board into place and he steps up with the nail gun. “Come on, Quinton,” he says, putting the tip of the nail gun up against the wood. “Just give it up and share what the hell’s got you looking so cranky.”

I hold the board in place while he shoots some nails into it, then he sets the nail gun down and picks up his water bottle. “Fine,” I say, stepping away from the now-sturdy board. There are rows around us and soon the Sheetrock and insulation will go up to make walls. It’s an amazing thing to be a part of—it really is. “My dad’s moving to Virginia in like a week and I have no place to stay because he’s selling our house.”

He takes a swig of his water while I sit down on the floor and retrieve my pack of cigarettes from my pocket. “Why don’t you just go with him?” he asks.

“Because of all this.” I remove a cigarette from the pack as I gesture around the partially built house. “I don’t just want to give it all up.”

He sits down on the floor beside me and stretches out his legs in front of him. “You know you can do this stuff anywhere, right? You can even do other stuff and still get the same experience.”

“Yeah, but.” I put the cigarette into my mouth and reach for my lighter in my pocket. “I’m comfortable here.” I cup my hand around the end of the cigarette. “And I like how things are going here.” I light the cigarette and inhale before blowing out smoke. Part of me wants to run and call Nova, because she’d try to cheer me up and figure out solutions, instead of telling me that I should probably go with my dad. And she probably could even help me deal with taking down the photos. Talk me down. Get me to see things in a different light—a brighter light. Because she always makes things seem ten times better.

Wilson takes another swig of his water before screwing the cap back on. “All right, I’m going to throw an idea out there and see where it goes.” He rises to his feet and sets the water down before picking up the nail gun again. “Why don’t you live with me for a little while? At least until you can get on your feet.”

I give him an unfathomable look. “Are you seriously offering me your place?”

He shrugs as he lifts the cord of the nail gun over a pile of wood it’s snagged on. “Sure, why not?”

“Because it would be weird,” I point out. “Having a twenty-year-old ex-junkie living with you.”

“Well, since I’m a thirty-five-year-old ex-junkie, I don’t think that’s too big of a deal,” he says. “Besides, I’m barely there anyway.”

I get to my feet, grazing my thumb across the bottom of the cigarette and scattering ash all over the floor. “Why?”

“Because I travel around a lot to do this.” He gestures around the construction site, where the sounds of hammers and power tools are going off all around us. “In fact, you could always do that, too. You’d have a place to live while we’re on the road and when you’re here you can stay at my place, until you’re ready to get a place of your own.” He points his finger at me. “Now there’s an idea.”

For a second I actually consider it. Just going. Leaving. Taking off and working the crap out of myself to help others. I’d have to say good-bye to a lot of things, though, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, since an hour ago I nearly cracked saying good-bye to a photo.

I put the cigarette into my mouth and take a slow drag before exhaling. “It seems too easy just to move in with you.”

“What? Things can’t be easy?” he asks as he puts the nail gun up to a board. “Life’s not right if it isn’t hard?”

“It’s not supposed to be easy for me,” I say. “It’s supposed to be difficult and a struggle to pay back for what I…” I stop talking, not wanting to go down that road right now. It’s weird, but the only person I’ve really talked to about this is Nova, which I think says a lot about her… a lot about how she makes me feel.

After putting a few nails into the board, he places the gun down on the floor. “You know, I get the whole self-punishment thing and wanting to pay back for what you did by slowly torturing yourself,” he says, “However, do you really want to be homeless again? Living outside in the fucking cold? Behind a Dumpster or in a crack house with a bunch of other crack addicts? Holes in the wall. Probably no plumbing. Doing God knows what? Snorting lines? Shooting up? Whatever your drug of choice was.”

I hate how direct he is sometimes and the images he’s vividly painting are crawling under my skin. “No, but if I did end up that way I’d probably deserve it… maybe that’s why this isn’t working out for me.” I drop my cigarette to the ground and put it out with the tip of my boot. “I’ll never be able to deserve much of anything, but I’m going to make sure I keep trying to pay everyone back until the day I die again.” I bend down to pick up my hammer, realizing I let something slip out that I’m not sure he knew yet.

“Wait. What do you mean again?” He waits for me to explain, but I don’t, instead going up and hammering a nail that doesn’t necessarily need to be hammered. “Did you die at the scene of the accident?” he asks and I pound the hammer harder against the wood. “Quinton, talk to me.”

My heart misses a beat as I ram the hammer into the nail repeatedly. “Yeah, so what if I did?” I shrug, like it’s no big deal, even though the urge to go find a bump is hitting me harder than it ever has. “Shit happens sometimes.”

“Shit happens sometimes?” He’s astounded, standing there with the nail gun loosely in his hand, about ready to drop it. “Quinton, you’re a walking miracle.”

Miracle? Miracle? Is he fucking kidding me? One pound. Two pound. Three pound. The nail is so far in that the wood is starting to split around it. But I can’t stop until he stops talking. “Yeah, try telling that to Lexi’s parents,” I say, wiping the sweat from my brow with my arm, and then move to another nail. “Or Ryder’s. They’ll tell you how delusional you are.”

He shakes his head and then snags hold of my arm as I swing back to hit the nail again. “Quinton, you can’t expect them to think any differently,” he says, looking me directly in the eye. “They lost their children and are probably never going to forgive you.” His words are sharp and jagged like the shrapnel that cut open my chest and nearly killed me.

I jerk my arm away from him. I’m not really mad at him; it’s more that there’s so much panic and anguish in me that I can’t figure out any other outlet than to yell at him. “I need to tell them I’m sorry at least… I never did that.”

“I don’t think you should, at least until you can deal with what’s probably going to come after you say it,” he explains as I drop the hammer on the ground. “I think what you need to do is work on forgiving yourself, because it’s all you can do and life will get easier when you do. It might even end up being good.”

I cross my arms, wishing I could curl up in a ball and erase the last few minutes, go back home and put that picture up on the wall. “I’m not sure I can do that. Forgive myself when they haven’t yet.”

“Sure you can,” he assures me, picking up my hammer and extending it in my direction for me to take. “It’ll just take some time.”

I don’t take the hammer from him and instead storm away, the knife in my chest digging deeper as I think about how I wanted to say sorry to Lexi’s mom one day, hoping that something might come out of it, but now he’s saying I shouldn’t because what I want—need—to happen probably isn’t going to. Then I think about how I just took down her photo and put it away and I start to regret it.

“Quinton, come back,” he shouts out after me.

I shake my head as I keep walking. “I need to take a walk and think,” I say to him, trotting down the stairs of the house and onto the bottom floor. There are a few guys at the site, but I barely pay attention to them even when they wave.

When I get outside, I dash across the parking area and to the sidewalk. Then I start walking toward the corner. I don’t look back, looking straight ahead as I wander toward the unknown, one foot in front of the other, focusing on that instead of how I feel. I’m not even exactly sure what I’m upset about. I think it might be a combination of everything that’s happened today and the difficulty that just comes with living life.

Life.

It’s so fucking hard.

One minute things are fine. The next they change into something painful. Every day just moving. Changing. And I’m left coping. Is that what I want? To go through day after day like this? So up and down? I’m not sure I can do that.

Not sober, anyway.

The last thought guides my feet to a place where I can start making everything easier. I don’t stop walking, going for at least an hour, passing blocks and blocks, until I’m standing in front of Marcus’s house, staring at the door with a flowery wreath on it like a fucking psychopath. I can’t seem to bring myself to walk away, yet at the same time, I can’t get my hand to knock on the door. I’m getting so furious with myself for even coming here. Why did I do it? I don’t want to be here.

What do I want?

What do I need?

Why do I feel this way?

Why can’t I bring myself to walk away?

Questions are racing through my head so quickly I’m hardly aware of anything around me. It’s like I and what’s on the other side of that door are the only things that exist. That’s it. I need to walk away. I need to knock. Go. Stay. Go. Stay.

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket and the sound brings me out of my daze. I don’t want this—I remember that. I’ve been to this place and even though it’s easy, I chose to leave it for a reason—I chose life.

I turn to walk away even though my body’s so stiff it feels like it’s going to crack apart. But when I’m in mid-turn the front door of the house suddenly swings open. Marcus looks a little startled as he stumbles back in the doorway. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, and no shoes. His black hair is thinner than the last time I saw him. Not from old age—he’s only twenty-two. But because he’s gotten into harder stuff since then. The scabs on his face and arms and his major decrease in weight are evidence of that. And also evidence that he has what my mind is craving at the moment.

“Wow, where the fuck did you come from?” Marcus says, scratching his arm as he glances around at the front yard behind me, which is decorated with a giant inflatable Santa. “Quinton, my man, how the hell have you been?”

To him it’s probably such a casual question, but to me the answer is more complicated than living. “I’ve been good,” I lie, and then exchange a handshake with him. “How’s things going with you?”

He shrugs, glancing over his shoulder into the house. “Not too bad. Just been living life.”

I nod with uneasiness. “That’s good.” I’m about to say good-bye and walk away because things feel really awkward.

But then he looks back at me and says, “You want to come inside for a bit? Dan’s here chillin’.”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. What am I doing? “Maybe… I mean, yeah. Sure.” Walk away.

Marcus steps back to let me in and I stare down at the threshold, watching in slow motion as I lift my foot over it and step inside. Just like that I enter the world that nearly killed me.

I’m trying to decide how I feel about that as I follow Marcus down the hallway and toward the basement where I used to spend a lot of time getting high. Marcus is chatting about something, but I barely hear him because I’m too distracted by the way my mind and body are reacting to the pungent scent flowing up the stairway. I’m sure a lot of people probably wouldn’t notice the increase in moisture in the air, but having craved the sensation before, my senses heighten.

I know what I’m walking into before I walk into it, which means I should turn away. But I don’t. I walk right into it. Part of me wanting it. Needing it. Seeking the quiet.

Dan’s sitting on the leather sofa when I enter the room at the bottom of the stairs. He looks about the same as the last time I saw him, maybe a little scragglier and his hair a little shorter. He has a light bulb up to his mouth and he’s heating the glass with a lighter. He glances up when I walk in and then lowers the light bulb.

“Quinton, what the fuck,” he says with a surprised laugh. Smoke leaves his lips and enters the air around me and I helplessly feel myself crave it. He gets to his feet and sets the light bulb and lighter down on the table. “Where the hell have you been for the last year or two?”

“Around,” I tell him, being purposely vague. That was always the thing with hanging out with people who were high. Nothing mattered. The future. The past. If you wanted to dodge questions, they’d let you, because they were too fixated on getting the next hit. So different from spending time with Nova. Or even Wilson.

He nods, like I’ve said something that actually means something. “Cool. Cool.”

“I heard you were in Vegas,” Marcus says as he winds around me and plops down into the sofa, reaching for the light bulb.

“Who’d you hear that from?”

He shrugs as he collects the lighter. “I heard my mom talking. I guess she heard it from your dad or something.”

My dad’s been talking to people about me? That pisses me off a little.

I go over and sit on the couch beside Dan, knowing I’m probably about to ruin the last few months of getting clean, and desperately searching for the will to get up and walk the hell out of here. “Yeah, I was there for a few months,” I say, blinking as Marcus blows some smoke out.

“I heard that city was pretty crazy.” Dan is fixed on tracing the cracks in the leather with his finger, spun out of his mind I’m sure.

“Yeah, it was pretty fucking crazy, I guess,” I tell him vaguely as I watch Marcus take another hit, my mouth starting to salivate for a taste myself. But there’s also conflict within me. I want it, but I don’t want it. Do. Don’t. What do I do? Why am I here?

Marcus must notice me staring, because he holds up the light bulb and says, “You want a hit?”

Four words. One question. But my answer is going to be huge. Life-changing. God dammit. Why did I come here? I don’t even want to be here at the moment. Yet now that I am, it feels nearly impossible to walk away.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m about to nod. I’m not even going to lie. I have every intention of taking that fucking light bulb out of his hand, putting it up to my mouth, and messing up everything for myself. But then the damn phone rings inside my pocket. Over and over again. I hit silence without checking who it is and then reach over to take the light bulb from Marcus. But then the stupid phone rings again.

“Dude, someone wants to get ahold of you bad,” Dan remarks as he starts drumming his fingers on his knee.

I take the light bulb from Marcus, set it on my lap, then reach for my phone. I’m pissed off and totally ready to give whoever it is a mouthful. But then a text message flashes across the screen.

Nova: I know I’m probably bugging the crap out of you right now, but I really, really need to talk, so if you can call me, please do. And sorry for bothering u.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter because the moment I see her name on the screen, I know I have to get up and walk out. I can’t be here. If not for myself or anyone else, for her. Nova. The girl who brought me back the first time, despite how hard it was on her own life. The girl I look forward to talking to every day. Jesus, she’s become more important to me than drugs. More important than maybe anything else.

Marcus looks confused as I get up, terrified by my thoughts. “I have to go,” I say, and then I hand him back the light bulb, despite how much I don’t want to.

Marcus’s brows furrow as he takes the light bulb from me. “You sure?”

I nod, putting my phone into my pocket. “Yeah, I have to call someone.”

He gives me a baffled look, which is completely understandable—walking away is hard. Everyone in this world knows that and yet here I am doing it, even though it’s almost physically painful to leave.

He gets to his feet, sticking his hand into his pocket as he walks around the coffee table. “I’ll walk you out.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m baffled. Stunned. Shocked beyond reason, as my feet guide me toward the door, away from the need, the craving, the want, all because Nova texted me and reminded me that unlike the first time I did drugs, I’d be messing something of a life up this time by making the choice.

When we get to the front door, Marcus finally takes his hand out of his pocket and I notice he’s got a plastic bag in it. “So here’s the down low. Since you were such a good friend of mine before you took off, I’m going to give you a freebie.” He sticks his hand toward me. “I don’t usually do that for clients, but I’m gonna for you because I know once you get a taste, you’re gonna be back.” He grins like he’s got everything all figured out.

I stare down at the bag filled with tiny white crystals. “I don’t…” Give it back to him.

“You don’t what?” His forehead creases. “Shit. Did I read you wrong?” His fingers close around the bag with panic in his eyes. “I heard you were into this shit, but I guess I heard wrong.”

I shake my head. “No, I was… am… it’s just…” I don’t even know what I’m saying, so instead I stick out my hand, my fingers trembling, and I wonder if he notices or if he’s too high.

He drops the bag into my hand. “It’s the best in town,” he says, like it matters. It doesn’t. Not to most crackheads, anyway. “And it can be an early Christmas present.” He says it like he’s doing me a favor giving it to me. But he’s not. I know it. He knows it. Because we both know that if I do the line, I’ll more than likely be back for more.

“Thanks,” I mumble, putting it into my pocket and then reaching for the doorknob, both relieved that I have it and at the same time angry with myself. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Definitely.” He backs away toward the hallway. “In fact, I’m betting you’re going to be back really soon for more.”

I force a smile and then open the door and step out of the house. The cold air hits my lungs like bricks and my legs feel like lead as I trudge down the stairs and head for my house a few blocks down. I feel like I’m dragging weights behind me and the bag of crystal in my pocket starts to take over my thoughts. Finally I take the phone out of my damn pocket and dial Nova’s phone number, just so I can stop thinking about what I almost did. What I still may do.

“Hey,” she answers after two rings, and it’s clear she’s been waiting for my call, which makes me feel bad, especially because of what I was just doing.

“Hey,” I reply, rounding the corner. “What’s up? Your text message sounded sort of panicky.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” she says with a sigh. “I’m just having a rough day and needed to talk so I don’t have to think.”

Sometimes she sounds so much like me it freaks me out. Although my reasons are different, we still both like to avoid thinking sometimes.

“Why was your day rough?” I shove my hand into my coat pocket and grab my cigarettes, hoping a little nicotine will calm me the fuck down and maybe give me the strength to throw away the crystal in my pocket.

“I don’t know…” She wavers. “A lot of things, but one is that Lea wants me to cheat on my band.”

“Cheat on your band?” I take a cigarette out of the pack and put it between my lips. “How exactly does that work?”

She sighs. “By playing for her band, which is going to upset my band members.”

I cup my hand around the end of my cigarette and flick the lighter. “So why didn’t you just tell her no?” I blow out smoke as I take the lit cigarette out of my mouth.

“Because I owe her,” she explains to me. “For being there for me.”

“Oh, I get it.” I head up the sidewalk toward my house, the porch light’s on because it’s nearly sunset. “So why don’t you just explain that to your band? Maybe they’ll understand.”

“Because it’d be weird,” she says. “One of them is really serious and then the singer… well, he used to date Lea and any sort of mention of her makes things awkward.” She blows out a deafening breath as I enter my house. “But anyway, can we talk about something else?”

I glance around at my empty house, pulling a face at the boxes. In most houses there’s probably Christmas presents and I get packing boxes, reminding me that I’m going to have to make a huge decision soon. “Yeah, like what?” I trot up the stairs, slipping off my coat.

“I don’t know.” She hesitates. “Actually, I do have something to tell you, but I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”

I kick my bedroom door open with my foot and toss my coat onto my bed. “Should I be worried?” I stuff my hand into the pocket of my jeans, take out the bag, and stare at it with a familiar needy burn inside my chest. What do I do with this? Throw it away? Keep it? Devour it?

“Well, I’d say no,” she says as I clasp my hand around the bag, my palms coated with sweat. “But I might be wrong.”

“Okay, well, tell me. I think I can handle it.” Such a lie, especially since I have a bag of crystal in my hand, waiting to soothe me if I need it. But I don’t want to need it. I just want to be free, yet I can’t let it go.

“I have some of your sketches,” she blurts out.

“What? How?” My hand tightens around the bag as I try to focus on Nova and not it.

“Because when I went back to look for you after you’d disappeared in Vegas… I picked some up off of your bedroom floor.”

“Why would you do that?” I wonder, not upset, but a little puzzled.

“Because I was worried they’d be lost if I didn’t,” she explains. “And I know they’re important to you.”

I sink down on my bed, staring at the empty spot on the wall where the photo I took down used to be. “What were they of?”

“Um… you… me…” She catches her breath. “Lexi.”

Elongated silence follows. I’m not sure how to react to hearing her say Lexi’s name. It feels warped and wrong, but at the same time I can’t get mad at her. In fact, the idea of yelling at her is impossible.

As I sift through my emotions, trying to figure out what I feel, I distractedly put the bag of meth underneath my mattress beside Nova’s unopened letter. “I don’t know what to say,” I tell her as I get up from the bed. “I mean, I’m sort of glad you have them, because they’re my sketches and everything, but still… I drew them when I was high.” High on the same thing I just hid under my mattress. Jesus, I just need to find a way to throw it away. I never should have taken it to begin with.

“That’s okay. I just wanted you to know that I have them in case you want them back,” she says. “I could mail them to you if you want me to.”

“No, hold on to them.” I grab a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and head for the shower, needing to get space from the crystal. Plus, the walk home was freezing and I need to thaw out, wash the crappy day off me.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I push open the bathroom door and shut it behind me, releasing a breath of relief at the distance. I didn’t even realize what it was doing to my body and mind just having it on me. So heavy and weighted. Such a burden.

I turn on the faucet water, letting it warm up, then unbutton my pants. I decide to get rid of the crystal when I get out of the shower. Then I won’t choose the empty path.

“What’s that noise?” Nova asks.

“I turned the shower on,” I tell her, even though I don’t really want to get off the phone with her. Just talking to her… well, I’ve calmed down a lot. “I was outside working and I’m frozen to the bone and filthy.”

“Oh.” She pauses, then asks, “Are you going to talk to me while you take a shower?”

I’m unzipping my pants but pause, trying to decipher if there’s a hidden meaning to her words. If she’s just asking a simple question or trying to be dirty with me. She never usually is, so I don’t have a clue how to read her. “Do you want me to keep talking to you?”

She wavers with uncertainty. “Well, I don’t want to stop talking to you, so…”

I still can’t read her at all. “But the phone will get wet.”

“Put it on speakerphone and set it close to the shower,” she suggests, and I can detect the slightest bit of nervousness in her voice, which makes me wonder what she’s thinking. “And turn the volume all the way up.”

“But won’t it be weird?”

“Why would it be weird?”

“Because I’d be… taking a shower while we were talking.”

“Yeah, so?” The nervousness in her voice is more attractive to me than it should be.

I’m definitely starting to get the impression that she’s not just being naïve about the situation. That she knows exactly what she’s doing and is enjoying herself. I hesitate. I know I’m being a fucking pussy about it, which is weird because I’ve slept with a lot of women over the last couple of years. But I barely knew any of them and there was no emotional connection. Plus, I was always either drunk or high. Being sober is different because I can feel. Everything. And the whole point to having sex, at least in the past, was to numb myself. Plus, I just brought drugs home with me, which makes me feel like a dick because she doesn’t know that.

“But I can let you go if you want me to,” she says, almost saddened.

It’s her sadness that makes me say what I say next. “No, it’s fine… we can keep talking.” I start to get undressed. “Tell me more about your band,” I say, hoping to sidetrack myself from how unsteady I feel at the moment, wobbling on the tightrope, about to fall.

“There’s not much to tell, really,” she replies. “It’s just three guys and myself hanging out in a garage most of the time.”

“It sounds like I should be jealous.” I shuck off my shirt while holding the phone, which is difficult, but I manage to get it done.

“Of the band? Nah, they’re harmless. Besides, I think they think of me as one of the guys.”

“I doubt that.” I set the phone down on the countertop beside the shower, then turn up the volume.

“If you say so,” she says with uncertainty. “But anyway. There is something pretty cool happening.”

“And what’s that?” I raise my voice as I pull the shower curtain back.

“We got our very first gig,” she tells me as I step into the shower. Her voice fades a little but I can still hear her, even when I step under the stream of water. “And I’m not talking about playing at some club because it’s open band night. I’m talking about opening for another band because we were chosen to. How cool is that?” She sounds so happy.

I smile as I let the water run over my body. “Pretty fucking cool.” I rub the water away from my eyes. “Who’s the band?”

“Peaceful Injustice.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Yeah, they’re not that well known, but I love them. In fact, I have a huge band crush on them.”

I reach for the soap, her comment deflating my mood. “Sounds like I should be worried.”

“Nah. I promise you have nothing to worry about.” Silence takes over the line, but I can hear her softly breathing if I strain my ears and listen. “What are you doing right now?”

I pause, so many dirty responses racing through my mind I can’t even think straight. “Taking a shower.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” She trails off, breathing profusely. “But what exactly are you doing at this very moment?” She sounds really fascinated, which makes me wonder what she’s thinking.

I think about telling her that I’m touching myself and thinking about her. Starting something up because it’s been a while since I’ve gotten any. God, just thinking about it turns me on, but at the same time, do I want to go there yet? “I’m not sure…”

“You’re not sure what you’re doing?’ She sounds lost.

After some more internal conflict, I decide to just spit out what’s floating around in my head. “Nova, I’m picking up this vibe from you and I’m not sure but… it sounds like…” I swipe my hand across my face, wiping the water away. “It sounds like you’re trying to have phone sex.” And just like that I’ve changed everything and I have no idea how it even happened. One minute I’m freaking out, and the next I’m calmed down and all I can think about is her.

She doesn’t respond right away and I worry I’ve read her wrong.

“Jesus, I didn’t mean that,” I say, feeling like a moron. “Please, just forget about it. Please.”

“I don’t want to forget about it.” Her voice is uneven. Scared. Nervous. All of her insecurities are showing. “I just don’t know what to say… I’m not an expert at this.”

“At phone sex?” There’s a hint of amusement in my voice that accidentally slips out.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me.” She tries to sound offended, but I can tell she’s on the verge of laughing. “I’m in no way an expert at this… any of this, actually. The last time I came close to even doing anything with a guy was… well, with you, at the lake.”

She’s being so honest it shocks me. But what really shocks me is that she hasn’t been with anyone else since then, which would also mean she’s still a virgin. That no guy has touched her the way I did since we made out in the lake. It makes me feel twistedly happy, but at the same time sad, because that isn’t the best memory in the world. For her or for me.

“I’m not sure what to say,” I tell her as I rinse my face off in the water.

“Do you think I’m a freak?” she asks. “Because I haven’t done anything.”

“Not at all. I don’t even think I could ever think of you as a freak, no matter how goofy you got.”

“Then what do you think of me?” The nervousness in her voice reemerges and I think it’s a signal that she wants to head down that road, which makes me both wary and eager. Makes me want to hang up, but at the same time push the conversation further. This is Nova. If there’s anyone in the world I’d want to be doing stuff with sober, it’s her. Yeah, I probably don’t deserve her, but I want her. So fucking badly.

I shut my eyes and picture the many things she could be doing right now. “You want to know what I think of you?”

“Yes, please.”

I take a deep breath. “That you’re the most amazing person that I’ve ever met.” My voice cracks and I cough to cover it up. “That you’re nice, caring, way too perfect to be with me.” I put my hands up on the wall and lower my head, letting the water run over my body. “That you’re sexy as hell, from your freckles to your long legs… I can still remember how fucking amazing it was to have those legs wrapped around me.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and I can tell she likes what I’m saying, so I keep going, despite how unfamiliar it is.

“Absolutely,” I assure her, with a hint of nervousness in my voice. “Even though I haven’t really touched you in a year—not the way that I want to, anyway—I can still remember how perfect it felt to run my hands all over your body… kiss you…” I shut my eyes tightly as my heart pounds deafeningly inside my chest. “Slip my fingers inside you.” I grip the tile wall for support, because it feels like I’m falling into a unknown place, one where I’ve never been, but one I want to keep falling into despite where I might end up.

“Would you do it to me if you were here?” she asks timidly. “Touch me like that, I mean.”

“Yes,” I say in a low, husky tone that surprises me. “God, I would do more than that if you were here.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Her voice is a little off pitch, but in the most adorable way ever.

Jesus, she’s killing me. “Like kiss you while… I slip inside of you,” I say and she starts to breathe heavily. I want to keep going, but at the same time, there’s a voice in the back of my head telling me it’s wrong. Not like this. Not over the phone. Not when I just hid a bag of crystal underneath my mattress.

Right and wrong. Which one is right? Which one is wrong? How much do I care for her? A lot. More than a lot. I care for her so much that I want everything to be perfect when we finally do get together, so even though I’ve got the hugest hard-on, I force myself to step away and wait for the perfect moment to continue this.

“Nova, I… I think we should slow things down a little.” I’m one step away from touching myself and it’s almost physically impossible to pull my hand away, but I still manage to.

“Oh, okay.” Her voice falters and I feel like the biggest ass that’s ever existed.

I push back from the wall and turn the shower off, gradually turning the knob so that for a brief moment I get sprayed by icy-cold water to help cool me off and settle me down. “Hey, I’m getting out and I wanted to talk to you about something.” I pull the shower curtain back and step out, reaching for a towel. “Something pretty important.”

“Sure. What’s up?” She’s working hard to hide her disappointment, which makes it harder to dry off and start getting dressed.

“It’s actually about something I did,” I say, tugging a T-shirt over my head. “But give me a second because I want to tell you when I’m in my room.” As I slip into my jeans, I think about which thing I’m going to tell her. That I managed to take one photo of Lexi down or about what I have underneath my mattress. If I can confess that to her, I know I’ll be able to get rid of it. I just have to decide if I want to.

I go into my room, barefoot, my hair damp, and shut the door behind me. I turn and look at the spot on the wall where the photo of Lexi was, so lonely, surrounded by sketches and photos. Then I look down at my unmade bed, deciding. Which path do I want to go down here?

“I took down something from my wall today.” I sink down onto my bed and lower my head, pressing my fingertips to the bridge of my nose as I squeeze my eyes shut. “A picture of Lexi.” It’s excruciating to say it, blinding pain within my skull and heart, but at the same time I feel lighter.

“Oh my God, Quinton,” she says with empathy in her voice. “Are you okay? Jesus, if I would have known I wouldn’t have…” She trails off, feeling guilty.

“It’s okay, Nova. I’m okay.” I look back up and skim around the four walls of my bedroom. “I’ve still got a ways to go, too… there are still a lot of photos and pictures up.”

“But that’s a step in the right direction and each time it’ll get easier. I promise.”

“I hope so,” I tell her, then slide to the floor and kneel down at the side of my bed. “I have to tell you something else, but it’s not good—it’s bad.” Before I can chicken out, I hurry and sputter, “Someone gave me a bag of meth today and I have it underneath my mattress.” As soon as I say it, I wonder why the hell I thought this was a good idea, throwing this on her. I need to stop relying on her so much—need to stand on my own two feet.

I’m about to hang up, because really it’s the only choice, but then she says, “Did you do any of it?”

“No.” My voice shakes as I grip the side of the mattress and battle to breathe evenly.

“Do you want to?” she asks calmly.

“Yes.” My voice is full of desperation.

“Are you… are you going to?” There’s a hint of worry in her tone.

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I want to, but I also want to throw it away.”

“Then throw it away,” she says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to do.

“I don’t think I can.” My hands quiver just at the thought of it and I rest my forehead on the mattress, still on my knees “It feels fucking impossible.”

“Yes, you can.” She sounds so certain and I have no idea how she’s doing it—managing to sound so calm when I know she can’t be. “Just take it and dump it down the toilet. You can do this. I know you can.”

“You have too much faith in me,” I say, slipping my fingers between the bed and the mattress, fighting the urge to hang up on her and turn to what’s only inches away from my fingertips.

“No, I have the right amount,” she replies. “Now let me know when you have it and you’re headed to the bathroom. And don’t hang up on me.” It’s like she can read my mind.

I sit there forever, going back and forth with what I want and need to do. At one point I grab the bag of crystal and put it back. Then pull it out again and open it, staring at the white crystals so close I can almost taste them. But I can also hear Nova breathing on the other end. Soft and full of concern. Acting calm, when I’m sure she’s freaking out. I want to throw them away just for her, but I have to wonder if it’s possible to care for someone so much that I’d give this up. Do I care for her that much?

After a lot of deliberating, I come to one simple answer.

Yes. I care about her that much.

I get to my feet and make my way to the bathroom, not speaking. Then I lift up the toilet seat and, shutting my eyes, I tip the bag over, pour the contents into the water, and flush them down.

“Did you do it?” Nova asks at the sound of the flushing.

I press my lips together, resting back against the bathroom wall, realizing how sweaty I am and how much I’m gasping for air. “I did.”

“See, I knew you could do it,” she says with relief in her voice. “I knew you’d do the right thing.”

The right thing? Is that what I just did? Sometimes it feels like it is, but there are other times when it feels like what I’m doing is so wrong and disrespectful to Lexi. But through the right and wrong, there’s always one thing that gives me hope and that’s Nova. She’s what keeps me going.