Saving Quinton

Chapter 11

Quinton

May 26, day eleven of summer break

I’m changing and I don’t like it. I’m feeling things and I don’t like it. My self-destruction plan is becoming complicated and I don’t like it. I don’t like anything at the moment, yet I keep doing the same things over and over again. Keep seeing Nova. Letting her affect me—change me.

But I can’t seem to help it.

Dancing with her was…well, it was amazing. Touching her like that—kissing her like that—it should be forbidden, especially after making her cry like I did. I made a silent vow to myself the second Nova dropped me off that day when we were on the roof and I showed her one of the ugliest sides of myself and made her cry. I vowed I’d never hurt her again and that I’d stay away from her, but I suck at the last part.

I don’t know how to shut it off—turn away from her—without feeling like I’m going insane. She’s taking me over, almost as potent as the drugs, but unlike with drugs, I’m very conflicted about my emotions. The last time I felt something was at that concert and I ultimately made a choice to shut myself down, not let myself have Nova, not drag her down. Not feel anything. Create my own prison. But Nova seems to know how to get through the bars and pull me out like she did last summer. And the emotions I tried to kill with drugs have burst to the surface again. Sometimes I think I should embrace them. Sometimes I think I should run from them. Sometimes it makes me angry and I worry I’ll fly off the handle one of these times and say something to hurt her again.

Fortunately that hasn’t happened yet. I’ve seen Nova every day for the last four days and managed not to flip out and make her cry, but that’s partially because I always make sure I’m at the perfect high whenever she comes around. Her visits are starting to become a routine. Like today. I wake up at around noon or one, get my morning boost, get dressed, and then wait around and draw until she shows up. I almost get excited knowing she’ll be here to see me. All of this stuff seems good, but there’s one huge problem. The more time I spend with her, the guiltier I feel about Lexi. Like I’m leaving her behind to rot in her grave, deciding that I should live instead of putting myself back into the grave I should have been put in with her.

I’m not sure what the hell is wrong with me. What kind of person would just move on from the girlfriend he killed? So I try to fight it—my feelings for Nova—but she consumes my thoughts, takes over my life, even my drawings. I’m actually drawing a picture of her when she shows up today. It’s one of her sitting on the edge of the roof where we chatted that day I yelled at her. The perfection I saw as she looked at me and I explained my love for the scene below. It’s an amazing drawing that makes me sad to see, that I’ve gotten to that place where I can put so much effort into drawing another girl.

The last thing I want is for Nova to see it, so when she enters my room I quickly shut my sketchbook. “Hey,” I say, tossing it aside onto the mattress.

She’s all smiles, two cups of coffee in her hands as she materializes in my doorway, wearing a blue dress that shows off her legs, her hair done up so I can see the freckles on her face and shoulders. “So I have a plan for today.” She sticks out her hand, offering me a cup of coffee, looking so happy even though there’s a mirror on my floor that’s coated in white residue, like she can see past all that stuff, like how I’ve treated her in the past, like the scar on my chest that marks the terrible thing I did.

I take the coffee from her. “Who let you into the apartment?” I ask, stretching my arms above my head and blinking a few times to hydrate my eyes. I did a line about a couple of hours ago, so I’m good right now, but not overflowing with adrenaline.

Her upbeat attitude sinks. “Dylan.”

My arms fall to my sides. “He didn’t say anything to you, did he?”

She shrugs, picking at the edge of the coffee lid. “It’s not really what he said, so much as how he stared at me for about a minute before he let me into the house…Delilah was passed out on the sofa and he made a smartass remark about liking her better that way. I think he likes getting to me…and I hate seeing Delilah like that.”

Of course she does, because she worries too much about everyone. “I’m sorry,” I say, wanting to wring Dylan’s neck. He’s been acting like a dick more and more every day, insisting we need to move out. Tristan and I actually sneaked into his room and searched it for the gun, but I think he keeps it on him all the time. I’m a little worried about where this all might be headed and the last thing I want is for Nova to get involved. “I don’t think you should come up here anymore.”

She quickly shakes her head, her eyes widening. “No, I can handle creepy Dylan…Just please don’t make me stop seeing you.”

“I didn’t mean stop coming to see me,” I correct her and take a small sip of the coffee. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the fancy Starbucks kind and it tastes better than I remember. “I just meant that maybe you shouldn’t come up to the house anymore. We can just meet in your car.”

“But how will you know when I show up?”

“We can set a time.”

“But you say you have a hard time keeping track of time.” She drinks her coffee as she waits for me to respond.

If I do, I’m pretty much making a commitment to see her—to keep seeing her. Go against everything I feel inside me, which I might be able to do if I can keep the right amount of drugs in my system, the balance that keeps me stable—functioning. “I’ll try my best to be out there every day by noon.” It’s the best that I can do.

“That sounds good to me.” Her perfect lips curve up into a small but portrait-worthy smile. “So do you want to hear my plans for the day?”

I rotate the cup in my hands. “Sure.”

Her smile brightens as she sits down on the mattress beside me and I tense as her body heat flows over me. “We’re going to have a fun day of not talking about our problems and not arguing,” she says.

I tense at the word “fun.” The night of the accident, Lexi wanted to have fun. Although Nova and Lexi aren’t alike at all. In fact, Nova’s probably talking about calm, carefree fun, while Lexi always loved impulsive and dangerous. “I don’t think I can have fun.”

She bumps her shoulder against mine, smiling. “Of course you can.”

I suck in a slow breath through my nose, telling myself to be calm. “No, I can’t.”

Her forehead creases. “Why not?”

“Because I just can’t.”

“Quinton, please just tell me,” she pleads. “Otherwise I’ll go crazy trying to figure out why…like I always had to do with Landon.”

Shit, she’s making this hard. She played the dead boyfriend card. Plus, she’s staring at me and her eyes are so big and beautiful they nearly swallow me whole.

“My girlfriend…Lexi asked to have fun the last time…” Tears sting at my eyes and I tip my head back to stop them from falling out. The water stain is right above me, which used to annoy me all the time, but oddly, for the last few days it’s stopped dripping, although the stain itself has grown. “The night she died.” I lower my head when I get myself together and look at her.

She’s quiet as she chews her bottom lip, her hands on the tops of her legs, her fingers delving into her skin. At first I think she’s uncomfortable, but then I realize her eyes are watering and she’s fighting not to cry. “Landon never wanted to have fun.” Her voice is so soft when she says it but lacks so much emotion, like she feels hollow. It nearly kills me to hear the emptiness in her voice. It’s a weak spot—she’s a weak spot.

Tristan was right. She does change me. I’m just not sure if it’s for the better or the worse, because I have a hard time dealing with the emotions she summons out of me, the feelings she manages to pull out of me, even through the layers of drugs.

I cover her hand with mine and she stiffens. My heart leaps inside my chest and nearly strangles me as desire pours through me—the desire to make her happy. I blow out a breath as I realize where my thoughts are headed. “What kind of fun were you thinking of for today?”

She perks up, the tears in her eyes receding. “Go out to the city. Ride some roller coasters. Laugh. Have fun.” She says it like it’s the easiest thing to do in the world.

I scrunch up my nose. “I’m not sure I even remember how to do that, unless I’m tweaked out, but I don’t think that’s part of the fun you’re referring to.”

“No, it’s not.” She flinches as I say it, wounded by my words. “And I’m going to show you how to without being high,” she says, letting it go as she holds out her hand like she wants me to take it.

“You know I’m high right now, right?” I hate to say it, but it’s the truth and I don’t like lying to her.

“I know, but maybe you could try not to do anything while we’re out.” I can see the nervousness in her eyes, the fear of rejection. I picture her crying in the car and how I never want to be the cause of that again, so I take her hand.

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise you anything,” I tell her straightforwardly, not trying to hurt her, but she needs to know where I stand. That despite the fact that I’m changing in other ways, I have no intention of quitting. That I’m just toning it down while she’s here to visit me. That if I were sober, I probably couldn’t even be around her because the memories of Lexi would drown all the air out of me instead of part of it. That I’d have to feel every emotional sting, feel what it’s like to live, breathe, let my heart beat exactly how a normal heart should. Let go of Lexi and choose to live.

She nods and I let her lead me out to the car. Our fingers only leave each other’s when we get into the car and I’m sober enough that I can feel the connection leave me and also sober enough that it hurts a little when I realize I want the connection back.

Nova immediately starts up the engine and cranks up the air conditioning. “You know, I bet the amount of people that go to the hospital for heat exhaustion is pretty freaking high around here.” She wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I feel like I’m melting.”

“Well, you look pretty melt-free.” I pause as she looks a little confused and I feel a little confused. Maybe I’m not as sober as I thought.

“I’m not exactly sure what you mean.” She reaches for her iPod on the seat. “But I’ll take it as a compliment.” She scrolls through the songs, searching for the perfect one. I’ve noticed this is her routine and if I pay really close attention, I can get the feel of her mood based on the song choice.

Music clicks on and I have to glance at the screen when she sets the iPod down because I’m unfamiliar with the song. “‘One Line,’ by PJ Harvey…never heard of her.” But I swear to God Nova’s trying to send me a message with it, a positive one about the kiss we shared in the parking lot.

“That’s because you’re music-deprived,” she teases as she reaches for her sunglasses on the dashboard and puts them on. I wonder how she can do it. Sit here with me and pretend to be okay with everything. I think about what she told me in the car, about her boyfriend, how she wants to save me like she didn’t save him. Maybe that’s why.

“I’m not that music-deprived,” I say, buckling my seat belt as she presses on the gas and drives forward. “I’m just not as awesome as you.” And now I’m flirting. Great. It’s going to be a very interesting day that I’m sure I’ll suffer for later when it all seeps into me.

She bites back as smile as she pulls onto the road. “You know, I’ve been getting even more awesome at my own music,” she says, maneuvering into the right line and heading toward the city just in the distance. “I’ve even started to make up some of my own beats.”

“That’s really awesome.” I drum my fingers on the door to the beat of the song to let some of my energy out in the most discreet way possible.

“And I’ve even played up on stage a few times.”

“Really?” I remember that time we stood in the crowd at the concert and I got lost in her getting lost in the music.

She nods, looking a little bit proud. “Yeah. I mean, it was hard at first, considering Landon bought me my first set of drums. But I worked through the pain, made new memories, got my love back for it.” She grins at me as she pulls the visor down. “And now I rock at it.”

“I bet you do.”

“You know, I still owe you a show.”

My eyebrow crooks upward. “A show?” Too many dirty images flash through my mind and it pushes a rush of adrenaline through me, or maybe that’s from the drip in the back of my throat.

“Yeah, I told you I’d play for you one of these times,” she says, tapping on the brake to stop at a stoplight. “And I haven’t yet.”

“One day, maybe,” I say, but I wonder just how far our future’s going to go, how long she can watch me like this. Even though I’m sitting here with her, I have no plan to change what I do. “How about today?” she suggests as the light turns green and she starts moving with the traffic again.

“You want to play the drums for me today?” I ask, glancing around at the sides of the streets and the tattoo parlors, souvenir shops, and secondhand stores that shift to casinos as we veer farther into the main area of the city.

She nods, flipping her blinker on to change lanes. “I mean, if you want to.” She moves the car over into the turning lane. “I have my drums stashed at the place where I’m staying.”

I make an excuse. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s going to be cool with a crackhead hanging out at their house.”

“The owner’s never home until after six,” she states, turning into a parking garage.

“What about your friend Lea?”

“What about her?”

“Won’t she be mad at you for showing up with me?” I ask, unbuckling my seat belt as she pulls into an empty parking space.

“She’ll be okay with it,” she tells me, pushing the shifter into park. “She knows how much I care about you.”

No matter how many times she says it, her words always strike me hard in the chest and knock the wind out of me. It’s like she senses it, too, because she quickly says, “Sorry, I’m being too meaningful already, aren’t I?”

I rub my hand over my head and then to the back of my neck, gradually exhale. “No…it’s okay…let’s just go try to have some fun.”

Sober fun.

Does that even freaking exist?

I’m not even sure I believe in fun anymore, but I’m about to attempt to find out. Thankfully, I still have enough crystal in my system not to crash completely, although the rush could fade before the day’s over, especially if I get worked up over something. I’m worried. Not just about myself, but about Nova.

Worried she’ll get to see the real monster that lies inside me and it’ll crush our fun day into a thousand unfixable pieces.

Nova

We walk up and down the Strip talking and laughing. Well, I do most of the laughing. Quinton rarely laughs, but I do manage to get him to smile a few times. We go to the New York, New York casino to ride the roller coaster that winds around the outside of the building. While we’re waiting in the fairly long line, he admits he’s a little scared of roller coasters.

“When I was about twelve or thirteen, I was sitting next to some kid when I was on one and he barfed his guts out,” Quinton admits. We’re standing across from each other, a bunch of people around us, but as we talk, making eye contract, it feels like it’s just him and me. I didn’t know eye contact could be so powerful until today, and I become highly aware that Landon didn’t make eye contact a lot, like he was always looking off somewhere else.

“Ew.” I pull a disgusted face. “Did any get on you?”

He nods, looking utterly disgusted. “Oh yeah, it was nasty.”

“My dad and I used to ride roller coasters together,” I tell him, moving forward with the line. “I haven’t gotten on one since he died, though, because it sort of makes me sad.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised.

“Yeah, this is me getting back in the saddle.”

“Are you sure you want to share that moment with me?” he wonders, uneasy as he hunches back against the railing that the line weaves around.

I nod and then daringly reach toward him and take his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. “I’m glad it’s you and no one else.”

He stares at the floor, muttering something that sounds an awful lot like “Meaningful.” But he doesn’t let go of my hand until we climb into our seats. We get buckled in and the guy comes around to check that we’re fastened securely. Then I hold my breath as the car inches forward and climbs the track to the outside. The sun is blinding, but I refuse to look away, wanting to feel this moment, knowing that when the car drops, I’ll feel a fleeting moment of freedom, something I’ve needed since I got here. And I hope that maybe the ride can do the same for Quinton.

Quinton tips his knee in when we reach the top, pressing it against mine. I’m not sure if he realizes he’s doing it or if he’s doing it on purpose to comfort me or himself, but I embrace the touching, holding my breath as we fall. Together. We twist and turn and hang on, people shouting all around us. My hair whips in the wind, air flows over my body, and I feel like I’m flying. It’s the most liberating feeling and I wish I could just stay on that damn roller coaster forever. Because it’s plain and simple fun. So effortless, like how I wish life could be.

By the time we get off, Quinton looks like he’s on the verge of laughing, but never does let it all the way out. Still, it’s good to see his eyes hued with a hint of happiness.

“Jesus, my heart’s racing,” he says with excitement as he presses his hand to his chest. He reaches over and takes my hand in his, then places it over his heart. “Do you feel it?”

I nod, forgetting to breathe. “So’s mine.”

Without really seeming like he realizes what he’s doing, he puts his hand over my heart, which is racing more from his touch than anything else. He doesn’t say anything, just feeling my heartbeat, while I feel his. Both alive. Both feeling the simple yet meaningful moment while people dodge around us, trying to leave the ride, giving us strange looks, because they don’t get what we’re doing. I feel sorry for them, that they can’t get how amazing it is to feel someone else’s heartbeat, to know they’re still alive.

Maybe it’s because I get that that I do what I do next. Or maybe it’s just that I simply want to kiss him. Who knows. But for whatever reason, I find myself standing on my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his. He hesitates at first, his lips not moving against mine for a fleeting moment. But then he sucks in a sharp breath and suddenly he’s kissing me back. Our tongues tangle, our bodies press together, our hands squished between us because we still have our palms over each other’s hearts. His free hand finds the small of my back and he pulls me closer, devouring me with his tongue, stealing the breath right out of me. Everything I felt last summer for him crashes through me and spills over my soul. The rush of emotion is so compelling my heart accelerates and my legs buckle. I nearly start to fall, but Quinton holds me up, gripping my waist as he backs me up against the railing. The bar presses into my back as his hands wander all over my body, fingers delving into my skin. With every breath I take, my chest crashes into his and the heat of his body mixes with mine and the heat of the desert air, making my skin damp with sweat. I’m breathless. Lost. Consumed. The people and the dings of slot machines around us start to fade away. It’s like we’ve flown off somewhere else. I wish we could stay that way forever, but eventually he pulls away, nipping at my bottom lip. Gasping for air, he rests his forehead against mine and doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. We’re both confused over what happened. At least I know I am. As much as I feel for him, the fact that he’s on crystal right now makes my feelings conflicted. Is it wrong to be with him when he’s like this? Can he even understand his true feelings? Can I understand my true feelings? Because they’re getting intense. More than I think I realized.

“So now what?” he finally asks, breathless and wide-eyed, his hand on my chest trembling.

It takes me a moment to gather myself before I can lean back to glance up at the clock on the wall. “How about we grab a bite to eat and then go back to where I’m staying so you can see me play?” It seems like such a mundane thing to do after that kiss, but it’s all I can come up with through the emotional fogginess created by his touch.

He gives me a half-smile, seeming a little dazed. “That sounds good.” He’s being so cooperative, and between that, this entire day, and that kiss, hope flashes inside me as bright as the sun. And for a stupid moment, I actually believe this is all going to turn out good. That having fun and hanging out can help someone want to get better.

But there are clouds in the distance that match the ones in his eyes, the ones that belong to the thing he wants the most—his addiction. Telling me that hope is about to fade completely and it does about thirty minutes after we leave the city. We’re about halfway to Lea’s uncle’s house when Quinton starts to get squirmy and agitated. Finally he reaches into his pocket and when he does, he flips out.

“Shit,” he curses, balling his hands into fists.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, turning down the music.

He shakes his head, his jaw set tight. “I forgot to bring something with me.”

I smash my lips together with my eyes on the road, focused on getting us through traffic. “Drugs? I thought you weren’t going to do any while we were out?”

He gets testy, scowling at me. “I said I would try, but I can’t do it.” His tone gets clipped. “I never thought I could.”

I grip the steering wheel tightly as the simplicity of the day dissipates. “So you lied to me?”

“I said I would try,” he snaps, the monster inside starting to take him over. “And I went without it for a few hours, but I can’t do it anymore…I need to go home now.” He takes his cigarettes out and starts smoking.

“I can’t turn around right here.” We’re on the freeway so that’s not even possible. And even if it were, I’d still try to get out of it.

His hands are quivering as he holds the cigarette between his fingers. “Nova, I’m trying not to lose it here, but things are going to get really ugly really fast if you don’t turn around this fucking car.”

“Quinton, I—”

He pounds his fist against the door. “Take. Me. Home. Now.” His voice is low and carries a warning.

I want to cry. I want to scream at him. But I can see the ugliness—the hunger—rising in his eyes and it frightens me. So I do something I’ll always hate myself for. I take the next exit and turn the car around, heading back toward the house, feeling our happy day dwindle, like the sunlight in the sky.

Quinton

I messed up badly. Not just with that damn kiss. In fact, I’m confused right now over the kiss and whether I regret it or not. And that confusion is causing a stir inside me and I forgot to bring a few lines with me, so I can’t calm the stir down. I’ve never done that before. Always remembered the thing that keeps me thriving. But Nova distracted me with the promise of a good day, smiling at me, making me get lost in her again. Kissing me like I’m the air she needs to breathe. It’s so fucking wrong, yet it feels so right at the same time.

And now I’m crashing. Hard. And ruining that beautiful day Nova tried to create.

By the time we arrive at my place, I’m sweating, panting, my hands split open where I stabbed my nails into them, and I can’t feel my mouth from grinding my jaw. I feel like shit but there’s only one thing that’s going to make it go away and I concentrate on that: the small plastic bag hidden under my mattress. The single thing that makes life bearable, makes the confusion bearable.

But the tension coiling inside me tightens when I notice a black Cadillac in the parking lot and a large man standing outside it, leaning against the door, smoking a cigarette. It looks like the car that pulled up when I got jumped and the man smoking looks like Donny, the guy who beat the shit out of me. It’s only been six days since Trace made a threat, but for some reason I’m not surprised they’re early.

Shit, Tristan.

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” I say quickly, grabbing the door handle. My thoughts are going haywire as a bunch of thoughts surface at once. I hope it’s not Trace that’s here. I hope Tristan’s not in trouble. I hope no one’s found my stash. The last thought is so selfish, yet I can’t control it. My addiction controls me at the moment.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” Nova asks, noticing my sudden jumpiness. She tracks my gaze to the car and Donny, her forehead creasing. “Who is that guy?”

“No one,” I say, my fingers fumbling to get the seat belt undone.

“But you seem nervous,” she replies, looking at me concernedly. “Does this have anything to do with that Trace guy?”

I hate that she knows enough about my drug life that she knows who Trace is. “Everything’s fine, Nova. You just need to go.” I don’t make eye contact with her as I climb out of the car. When I go to shut the door, she calls out my name, making me pause, briefly pulling me back to her.

“Quinton, wait, I can tell something’s wrong,” she says with a plea in her tone. “So just tell me.”

“Nova, let it go,” I say, lowering my head to look into the car at her. “You can’t be here right now. It’s too dangerous.”

“It is about that Trace guy, isn’t it? Tristan didn’t pay him back in time?” She worriedly flicks a glance over at Donny. “Jesus, Quinton, this is bad.”

“I know it is,” I say, looking at Donny, who’s taken notice of us and turned in our direction. He has his weapon of choice in his hand. A tire iron, and my body aches as I remember what it felt like to be beat by it.

“Do you need to borrow money?” she asks as I look back at her. “Because I have like fifty dollars on me if you need it.”

God dammit, Nova and her sweetness. It’s killing me because she just needs to stop caring and leave. “Fifty dollars isn’t going to do any good and I already said I don’t want you involved in this.” I shut the door, hoping it’ll end there.

But she gets out of the car and shouts over the roof, “But I want to help you.”

“God dammit, Nova!” I shout as Donny starts to stroll toward us with a smirk on his face. I panic. Not because I’m worried anything’s going to happen to me. It’s all about Nova. “Get back in the fucking car!” I yell at her from over the roof.

Donny pats the tire iron against the palm of his hand like he did the first time he beat the shit out of me, but he’s not looking at me, but at Nova. This is so fucking bad. And all my fault.

“Trace wants to see you,” he calls out as he approaches us, his black boots scraping the dirt.

My muscles wind into painful, guilty knots, connected to Nova. I think of Roy and what Trace did to his girlfriend, how he raped her. I have to get her out of here. Now. She should never have been here to begin with. I should never have let her into my life like this. What the hell was I thinking?

I hurry around the front of the car, startling Nova by how quickly I arrive on the other side, right in front of her. I grab her arms roughly and yank her to me, our bodies crashing together. “Please, if you care about me at all, you’ll get in the car and drive away. Right now,” I whisper in her ear.

She clutches my arm and I can hear how fast her heart is beating. “What’s that guy going to do you?”

“Nothing,” I say, lying to her and myself. “He’s just here to get Trace’s money.”

“But do you have it?”

“Part of it,” I say, which is the truth. Tristan and I have managed to collect half of what we owe Trace.

“Is that enough for him to leave you alone?”

“Yeah, for a little while,” I lie, but it’s the right thing to do, because if I don’t lie she’s not going to leave. I hear the sound of Donny’s boots crunching close behind us and I know he’s getting closer. “Just get in the car.” I kiss her cheek, pleading. “And go home.”

She holds her breath for a moment and then nods. I relax as she pulls away and turns for the door, but then I feel the presence of Donny behind me and I immediately tense. Just having someone like him so close to Nova is enough to make me feel like I’m going to lose it.

“You need to go inside,” Donny says from right behind me. “Trace wants to talk to you. He’s up in your apartment with your lovely little friend that got you into this mess.”

Nova’s eyes dart over my shoulder and widen. I quickly turn around and step in front of her, blocking her from his view. “I’m headed up there now.” I glance over my shoulder and tell Nova, “Go.”

“No, you should bring the girl,” Donny says. He purposefully moves the bottom of his shirt up a little and I see something tucked in the front of his pants, sparkling silver. A gun. He’s got a fucking gun and he wants Nova to come with us.

It hits me all at once. Hard. The entire situation—how much bigger this is than I realized. And Nova is here to witness it. Just the idea of something happening to her nearly crushes the air out of my chest. I don’t even want to think about it—can’t think about it. Yet images press their way into my head, like shrapnel. I can picture myself back on the side of the road, lying beside Lexi, covered in her blood, only it’s not Lexi’s eyes staring up at me, but Nova’s bluish-green ones. And again I’m the one who hurt the girl I love…shit, it that what this means? Does this fear of losing Nova mean that I love her? The revelation makes me hate myself more than I already did. Hate myself for being here. For allowing myself to feel this way toward another girl. God dammit, why did I let myself keep breathing, keep living, feeling, loving? Lexi’s dead and I might be falling in love with someone? This is how I repay her for crashing the car that night and killing her? I break my promise to her and forget her enough that I let myself feel love for Nova? I let Nova take her place?

I’m so angry at myself that I almost forget the situation until Trace’s guy rams the tire iron against Nova’s beautiful car, scraping the cherry-red paint.

“Get in the fucking house!” he shouts, his calm demeanor suddenly gone, uncontrollable rage in his eyes.

I shove all my feelings aside and sober right up. I’m very aware of Nova’s presence. Very aware that everything I do for the next few minutes is going to matter, unlike the last few years of my life. But once I fix this—get her out of here—everything can be over and nothing can matter again.

“I’m going in the house,” I tell him calmly, folding my fingers inward and digging my fingernails into my palms as I glance down at the gun. If I have to, I’ll go for him, if it means she’ll have time to get away. “But she’s going to leave.”

He laughs at me. “Like hell she is.” He steps forward and reaches to my side, trying to get to Nova, and I don’t even think. I just smack his hand out of the way. His eyes flicker with fury and his hand starts to lift, not in my direction, but in Nova’s. He’s going to hit Nova and it’s going to be all my fucking fault. I’m going to destroy the girl I love again. I’m such a fucking screw-up again.

I need to do something to get her away from this. I rack my brain, looking for an answer. I remember how he took the drugs out of my pocket and I see the rings of red around his nostrils that are rings of gold at the moment. I could bribe this guy with drugs, but I doubt what I have in my room’s going to make him happy.

I need something bigger.

Something that will make him forget about everything, even if it’s for a minute or two, enough time for Nova to get away.

“I know where Dylan keeps his stash and he has a couple of ounces and if you let her go, I’ll show you where it is,” I blurt out, which is a total lie, but it’s all I can think of at the moment. It’s a viable lie, too. Dylan’s a dealer and he has a large stash—somewhere. But I have no clue where he keeps it, whether it’s even in the house or how much he has. It doesn’t matter, though. All I’m looking for is getting him away from Nova and then letting whatever’s going to happen happen. Let him beat me. Hurt me. Kill me. I don’t care, just as long as I know she’s safe.

The guy pauses, the tire iron still lifted. “How do I know you’re not full of shit?”

I shrug, pretending to be calm, despite the panic inside me. “You’ll just have to come with me and see. If I’m lying, then you’ll still get to kick my ass, like you were planning on anyway.” Just let her go. Please just let her go. “But if I’m not, then you could have the stash for yourself. No one would have to know.” It’s like tempting a dog with a bone. As a drug addict, I understand that the need—want—is more powerful than anything else.

The guy seems wary, but then gives in, lowering the tire iron. “Let’s go then,” he says and starts toward the house, all the anger leaving his body. Part of me thinks he was only going after Nova to fuck with my head. Still, she’s free to go and that’s all that matters.

I start to follow him, but Nova grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Quinton, don’t go,” she says. I don’t even look at her, shaking her hand off me and moving forward. But she relentlessly enfolds my arm again.

I shoot her a cold look from over my shoulder, knowing that the only thing that matters at the moment is getting her into the car. “Get in your car and go.” My voice is low.

Her eyes are filled with horror. “Quinton, I—”

“Get in your fucking car and go, Nova!” I shout venomously. “Leave, like I’ve been telling you to do from the start!”

She starts to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks, and I want to comfort her, but I know it’ll make things worse if I do.

“I’ll be fine,” I say in a low voice. “I’m going to go pay this guy back and then everything’s going to be fine.” I feel like such a dick for lying to her, but I’m doing what I have to to get her away from this.

“But how will I know if you’re okay?” she asks, glancing at the guy.

“I still have your number and I’ll call you later,” I tell her, touching my back pocket, where the piece of paper with the phone number on it rests inside my wallet. “I promise.” Another lie, but I don’t feel bad because I can see in her eyes that it works.

She leans forward and gives me a kiss on the mouth. I barely kiss her back, even though I desperately want to. But I make myself hold on to the image of Lexi, like I should have been doing the entire time—make myself suffer for loving Nova and putting her into this mess.

Everything is all my fault.

“This is all your fault,” Ryder’s dad says to me while her mother sobs in the background. “Dammit, you shouldn’t have been driving that car so damn fast.”

My dad stands in the background, watching him yell at me, letting him vent, because everything he says is right. It is my fault. I was driving too fast. “Why couldn’t you have just driven slower?” he asks, and then he starts to cry, sorrow haunting his face, and even though I want to cry, I don’t because I don’t deserve to. I don’t get to hurt like they’re hurting, because I put the hurt there.

I caused this.

As Nova drives away, I feel strangely calm, sedated, dead inside. I turn to Donny, who’s waiting for me just a few strides away. I could run, out into the desert or down the street. But then I’d be bailing out on Tristan. I’ve already fucked up on paying Lexi back for killing her, the last thing I need to do is fuck up on paying Ryder back.

So I follow Donny upstairs, listening to him ramble about what he’ll do if I mess this up. Maybe if I weren’t crashing so badly, I’d feel the pain of what lies ahead for me a little bit more. I’m only half focused on it, the need to get a hit or two taking up the other part of my mind. But when I step inside the apartment, reality sort of just crashes over me, like a violent waterfall. The entire place is trashed, even more than it normally is. There’s broken glass all over the floor, holes in the walls, the table in the kitchen has been tipped over, along with the sofas, like someone went on a rampage.

I can also hear loud crying in one of the back rooms and a lot of banging. It sounds like someone is being tortured.

I glance at Donny, who’s still got his tire iron out. “Where’s Tristan?”

A sly grin curves up on his face. “I’ll tell you just as soon as you show me where the drugs are.”

More violent water crashes over me because I think they’ve already done something to Tristan. The water’s about to push me down, bury me alive. Yet I somehow keep walking, keep breathing, keep living this piece-of-shit life.

Donny follows me down the hallway and toward my room. I pause beside Delilah’s door, the crying and banging coming from the other side.

“Your friend Dylan gave up his girlfriend pretty easy to get himself out of this mess,” Donny says, nodding toward the door. “Something you maybe should have considered.”

I force back the vomit in my throat as the crying gets louder and louder, then suddenly stops. How did I get to this place? How did I think living this life would be better than being dead?

Donny nudges me along and I go into my room, feeling this strange numbness wash over me, like my mind’s trying to shut down. As I’m getting the crystal out from under my mattress, I notice that a small area of my roof has caved in, right where the water stain used to be, and now there’s a giant hole in its place. Everything’s falling apart and I don’t want to fix it anymore.

I get what crystal I have left and toss it to Donny. “Here you go.”

He catches it and then stares down at the small quantity in his hand. “Are you fucking kidding me? You said you had a few ounces.” He holds up the bag. “This is barely a fucking line.”

I shrug. “I guess I miscalculated how much I had.”

He clutches the bag in one hand and the tire iron in the other. “You said you knew where Dylan’s stash was.”

“I lied.” I’m surprisingly composed.

He stares at me for a moment, baffled that I’d screw him over, although I have no idea why, since that’s what everyone seems to do to everyone else around here. His bafflement shifts to anger, his face tinting red as he raises the tire iron to hit me. I’m disappointed that he doesn’t grab the gun, because it’d be over more quickly. But instead he hammers his fist into my face. I don’t even flinch as he collides with my jaw. When I fall to the floor, I don’t get up, even when he kicks me in the rib cage repeatedly, steps on my hand, stomps on my face, asking me why I seem to enjoy getting my ass kicked. I keep waiting for him to pull the gun out, but he never does. I wonder if he knows just how much I want this to all be over, that that’s why I don’t run. Maybe he can see it in my eyes that I want to die and that by not killing me he’s making this even more painful. I don’t know, but what I do know is that when he walks away without killing me, I feel disappointed. I lie there for a while on the floor before I finally sit up, my lip bleeding, my whole body feeling exactly how it did the first time Donny beat me up.

After a while Delilah appears in my doorway. Her shirt ripped and her shorts unbuttoned. Her face is smeared with mascara, her lip is split open, and large welts cover her arms and thighs.

“You should go,” she says numbly. “Dylan’s not going to let you walk out of here breathing, if you’re here when he gets back.”

I put one of my hands down on the floor and ungracefully push myself to my feet, my body aching in protest. “Where is he?” I ask, hunching over.

She shrugs, her face emotionless. “He took off after he offered me up, but I’m sure he’ll be back.”

I brace my hand on the wall for support, feeling sorry for her. “Do you need any help with anything?” It sounds so lame when she looks so broken and I can barely stand.

She laughs, but it sounds hollow. “You’ve got other problems to fix,” she says, turning her back to me. “Before you showed up, Trace and a few guys took Tristan out back. And he was barely coherent, since he just shot up.”

“Shit!” I hobble out the door, pushing her out of the way as I stumble down the hall. The pain in my body is blinding, but I know it’s going to be minimal compared to the internal pain I’m going to feel if anything happened to Tristan. If I’m too late again, like I have been in the past. Always too late.

I limp across the balcony for the stairs, past memories swarming through my head like bees as I run into the unknown again, not knowing what waits for me ahead.

“Lexi, God no!” I cry out to the stars. “Please don’t leave me.”

I drag my ass down the stairs, my heart knocking in my chest, my skin coated with sweat. My legs are so sore it feels like they’re going to give out on me and my hand might be broken, but physical pain is nothing. I’ve felt a lot of it over the last few years and it’s the most bearable part of life.

Her body goes limp in my arms, her head slumping against my chest, which is split open, spilling out blood—life.

I look into Lexi’s eyes, but there’s nothing left inside them, and I know that pretty soon nothing will be left inside me, so I lie down on the ground with her and take her hand, allowing myself to bleed out.

The Cadillac is gone, but I’m not sure if I’m relieved or not, since it means that whatever they were going to do to Tristan, they’ve probably already done to him. I limp off toward the back of the apartment building, my arms and legs sore and stiff, my movements lethargic.

Everything is stilling inside me—I can feel it. Darkness sets in as my life slips away. I can feel myself being pulled somewhere and I swear I can feel Lexi with me, so close, yet at the same time so far away. Don’t leave me. But she is, or maybe I’m leaving her. I feel myself being pulled back, people calling out my name. I hear the beeping of machines, feel needles sinking into my skin, giving me life, and I hate them for it. I want them to take it away…

I round the corner and see someone lying on the ground, arms and legs sprawled out, unmoving. Hang on. I rush up to Tristan and I shudder at the sight of his face, slit open and bleeding onto the rocks below his head. His eye is so engorged it blends in with his face and his arm is scraped raw. The only good thing about the sight is that he’s breathing, and when I check his pulse, it’s erratic and unsteady, but I’m not sure if it’s because he’s on smack or because he’s been beaten up.

“God dammit, Tristan,” I say as he rolls over, groaning about needing it to go away while his body trembles. “Why did you have to screw Trace over?”

“I…don’t…know,” he mutters, pain straining his voice, and his syllables are all messed up so it’s hard to understand. “I…fucked up. And I tried to fix it—give them money. But it wasn’t enough.”

I’m not sure what to do, but I know I’ve got to get him out of here, in case the guys come back or Dylan shows up with his stupid gun. I’m not even sure where the hell they went, if they’re planning on returning, or if they’re done here. The entire situation is a mess and I need to get Tristan up and out of here, because from the look of him, if there’s a next time, he won’t make it out alive.

I drag my fingers roughly through my hair, looking around at the desert behind me and then at the stores and old houses to the side of our building. I need to find somewhere we can hide out for a little while, someone who might let us stay with them. I need a lot of things at the moment, like a line or two because I feel like I’m melting under the pressure, heat, and emotions inside me. If I’m going to handle this—keep it together enough to help Tristan—I can’t be crashing.

Blowing out a breath, I lower my hand and reach down and grab hold of Tristan’s arms. “All right, we got to get you out of here,” I say, then lift him as best I can and try to get him to his feet, grunting and cursing as he puts most of his weight against me.

I manage to get him standing, but I’m not sure if he’s even aware of it—if he’s aware of anything going on right now or if he’s got too much smack in his system, or whatever he was on when they showed up. I get his arm around my neck and then support most of his weight as he drags his feet and struggles to walk back toward the front of the building.

I can barely walk myself and I end up going to Nancy’s, since it’s close and she’s a somewhat decent person and I know she’ll probably let us crash at her place, although I’m sure we’ll owe her for it. But I’ll figure out that part later. Right now I just need to get Tristan inside and a few lines into my body because it’s screaming at me to feed this, otherwise I’m going to break. And I can’t break yet.

Tristan leans against me as I knock on Nancy’s door. She doesn’t even look surprised when she answers it. She’s wearing a robe, her hair pulled up, and she easily lets us in.

“I knew he was going to get into trouble one of these days,” she says as she shuts the door behind us and I help Tristan sit down on the torn sofa in the living room. When I move my arm away from him, he collapses to his side and presses his puffy cheek to the cushion. It’s actually oozing out blood on her plaid seventies-themed couch, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Do you have something to clean his cuts up with?” I ask Nancy as she stands near the back of the couch, watching Tristan with fascination. Her pupils are dilated and ringed with red and she keeps sniffing. I know she’s on what I want and I wonder if she has any she’ll share, but then again, if she does, it probably won’t be without a price. But I don’t really care. I just want it. Need to breathe again. Forget everything that’s happened over the last couple of minutes. Hours. Days. Forget who I am and what I’m feeling. Things are so much easier that way.

She tightens the tie around the silk robe she’s wearing. “Let me get some towels,” she says, then strolls off to the bathroom at the back of the house. I wait for her in the small living room that’s dark because she has curtains hanging up and no lights on. There’s a pot steaming on the stove in the kitchen and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink and it reminds me a lot of our place. As soon as I think it, another problem smacks me in the face.

Shit, where are we going to live?

When Nancy returns she has a wet rag in her hand and a plastic bag with a small amount of crystal in it. Tiny crystals my body yearns for, and my thoughts and worries drift from my head as my senses instantly heighten. Wanting. Wanting. Needing. Wanting.

Now.

I almost snatch the bag from her hand, but resist the urge with all the control I have left in me, worried that if I do, she’ll kick us out. She sets the wet rag gently down on Tristan’s forehead and Tristan groans as he presses his hand to it, taking sharp, raspy breaths. Then she sits down on the floor in front of the coffee table that’s scratched up and has old magazines stacked in the middle of it. She looks at me and I can see the want in her eyes, but I’m not sure exactly what it is she wants—the drugs or me. Still, when she pats the spot on the floor, I more than eagerly sit down, then watch with hunger as she pours the crystal onto the coffee table and picks up a razor.

“You look like you could use this,” she says, eyeing me as she chops up the clumps and forms two lines that are small enough they’ll barely give me a boost. I need more and I can’t help but think of the stash up in my room. Gone. No more. What am I going to do?

I fight to keep my hands to myself. “I could.”

She stops chopping up the clumps and swipes her finger across the edge of the table, cleaning off the remnants of crystal and then licking her finger clean. My heart thrashes inside my chest as I watch her, wanting to taste it myself. When she leans in, I sit perfectly still, knowing what she wants—knowing I can taste it on her if I let her kiss me. She touches her lips to mine and for a moment I tense, thinking of Nova and the revelation in the car. How I realized that I love her. But something bigger overtakes me, the hungry beast inside me stirring awake and wanting to kill every emotion out of me. Everything’s moving so fast as my body and mind crash and spin out of control. I need to pull myself back together so I slip my tongue inside her, kissing her back, hating myself for it, but self-hatred is all I am anymore.

When she pulls away, she lets me have a line, and then she sniffs the last one herself before taking my hand. She pulls me to my feet and leads me back toward her room.

“I need to keep an eye on Tristan,” I tell her, looking back at him on the sofa with the rag draped over his face, his chest rising and sinking. “Trace and his guys beat him up pretty bad.”

“He’ll be okay for a few minutes,” she assures me, her eyes fixed on mine as she walks backward, guiding me with her. “I have more back in my room. If you’ll come with me, I’ll share it.”

I hesitate, glancing back and forth between Tristan and her. Tristan or her. Tristan or drugs. My feet follow her as I tell myself that Tristan will be okay for a few minutes and that once I get a few more lines in me I’ll be able to focus on helping him, instead of needing a hit. When we get back to her room, she gently pushes me down on the bed, then takes my shirt off and runs her fingers up my chest and along my scar.

“You never did tell me where you got that scar,” she says, pressing her hand over my heart, just like Nova did at the roller coaster.

I gently shove her hand away, not able to stand her touch being connected to thoughts of Nova. “I put it there myself,” I lie, wishing she’d just get the damn drugs.

Her brows furrow as confusion masks her expression, but the look evaporates as she leans in and kisses me again. I move robotically, letting her kiss me, letting her fingers wander all over my body as she gasps and moans, wanting more. Guilt consumes me. Devours me. And I almost yell at her to stop. But she pulls away on her own and removes her robe. She only has a bra and panties on and she smiles at me as she goes over to her dresser to get more from her stash and I know that when she comes back, I’ll have to pay for each line I take. And I know I’ll take more than a few, even though I don’t want to pay for any of them.

I lower my head into my hands and wait, feeling my pulse throb, my lips quivering, my mind aching as I feel myself sink further to the bottom, feeling any life left inside me dissipate.