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 do
or 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.
Saving Quinton Page 22