by Mae Doyle
“You’re not giving up yet? I have to admit, Abigail, I’m a little surprised. I thought that by now you’d turn tail and run. Anything I can do to help?” His voice is light and sounds innocent, but I squint at him from the corner of my eye. There’s nothing innocent about Quinn, and I don’t trust a single word that comes out of my mouth.
“You want to help me?” Spitting the question out at him, I stop and turn around, making him drop his arm from around my waist. “What’s the deal now, Quinn? What big bet do you have going on?”
He shrugs, looking casual, but his eyes are on fire as they look at me. “No bet this time, little cunt. I just thought that maybe you were tired of not having any friends, of being late to class because you can’t eat with everyone else, you know. That sort of thing.” He smiles at me, but when I don’t return it, the smile fades off of his face.
“Fine, little cunt. You don’t have to take me up on my friendship, but don’t you dare ever say that I didn’t do something to help you.” Turning, he starts to walk away from me, but my arm darts out before I can think and I grab his sleeve.
“Tell me the rules. I know that you have an ulterior motive, Quinn, so just let me know what it is.” I don’t care that I sound desperate. I have to get to the bottom of this game he’s playing. First he turns everyone in the school against me. Now he wants to be friends? It makes no sense.
“No ulterior motive. I’m just bored.” Quinn sighs and turns to face me, pulling his jacket so that my hand falls from his sleeve. “I honestly can’t believe that you’ve lasted this long, little cunt. But you look like shit, did you know that?”
I do know that.
I’ve known that for a few days now. My hair looks limp and lifeless and is even starting to fall out in the shower. It used to be bright and bouncy, and now I hate washing it, because long strands get stuck to my fingers and wash down the drain.
And I have circles under my eyes that no amount of makeup can hide.
My ribs are showing, and my skirts and jeans all sit lower on my hips than they did when I first came to Trinity Prep. I’m falling apart and everyone knows it, but nobody seems to give a shit.
Except Quinn, apparently, which makes no sense.
“I’ve lost a little weight since I came here,” I admit to him. “But that’s just because I’m not getting into the cafeteria at a decent time.”
“It’s probably also because you’re not sleeping,” he adds.
My gaze jerks back to him when he says that. How in the hell does he know about that? I can’t seem to get a full night’s sleep and it’s starting to wear on me. Each night I’m up until the wee hours of the morning, trying to paint with my left hand, but it’s not been working.
Seeing the look on my face, he continues. “I can see your light from the quad.”
“That means that you’re not sleeping either,” I point out. I’m not going to be the only one here who obviously has problems. There’s something wrong with Quinn, but I just haven’t figured out yet what it is or how I can use it against him.
He shrugs. “Been thinking of what it’ll be like to finally drive my dick into that tight little pussy of yours. You have no idea how fun it’s going to be, do you, little cunt? Or do you think about our time together in the art room like I do?”
I’m holding my breath, and I force myself to let it out as he walks up to me. “You’re a sick fuck, Quinn,” I tell him.
There’s no way that we could ever be friends.
There’s nothing good in Quinn, and for me to think that there may be is just because I’m desperate for someone to take care of me.
“Have it your way. Let me know when you want a real good meal, little cunt, and I’ll make sure that you get fed.” The bell chimes softly from the buildings around us and he turns from me, walking off to the art room.
I follow him, because what other choice do I have? Even though Mr. Stanfield isn’t letting me paint in class right now, if I don’t show up then it’s a clear sign that I’ve given up, and I’m sure as hell not going to do that.
Besides, I want to be there when Quinn sees my little gift for him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As usual, I’m the last person in class, but Mr. Stanfield doesn’t say anything about it this time. He seems to have given up on calling me out in class, but that’s probably because everyone else is happy to do it for him.
This morning, while the teacher drones on about techniques, I feel nervous, like I can’t sit still. As soon as everyone else goes to the stations to start to paint, I hang out in the front of the room. I want to see what’s going to happen to Quinn, but that doesn’t mean that I want to be anywhere near him when all hell breaks loose.
It takes thirty seconds.
Maybe. That might be generous.
“What the hell is this?” Quinn storms through the other students, cutting up past their art stations on his way to see Mr. Stanfield. I do my best to set my face so that I look calm and innocent, but really, I’m neither of those two things.
“What seems to be the problem?” Mr. Stanfield has his nose in a book and doesn’t even look up until Quinn waves his palette of paint under his nose. That gets his attention, however, and he reaches out and grabs it from Quinn.
“Do you smell that?” Quinn sounds like he’s gone off the rails, and he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “Do you smell that shit?!”
It’s not shit, but it might as well be. Trinity Prep doesn’t deep fry food very often, but they did a few weeks ago, and it was easy enough for me to get my hands on some of the rancid oil. Last night, late after everyone else had gone to bed, I snuck out of my room and mixed it into Quinn’s paints.
I know for a fact that he’d worked a long time to mix the perfect colors for his painting, and in under five minutes, I destroyed them all. They’re ruined, and if he accidentally painted with them at all, then his painting is ruined, too.
I can only hope.
“It smells like rancid oil. How were you storing your paints, Quinn? I thought that you knew better than this.”
Quinn’s face is bright red and he sputters at Mr. Stanfield. Of course, I know better! You think that I did this to my paints? Oh, no, sir, it wasn’t me.” He spins around and I know that he’s looking for me. As soon as his eyes land on me, he levels his finger at me. “It was Abigail. The cunt.”
Time freezes and I feel my breath catch in my throat. Of course, I knew that Quinn would quickly figure out that I was the one to sabotage his paints, but I hadn’t really thought beyond that. I step back, pressing my back against the wall and try to look as innocent as possible.
It doesn’t matter. Quinn crosses the room to me in a matter of seconds and pins me up against the wall, using his forearm to press into my throat so that I can’t breathe. Reaching up, I claw at it with my good hand, but he doesn’t relax or give me any breathing room.
“You fucking cunt,” he breathes, quiet enough that we’re the only two that hear him talking. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Quinn!” Mr. Stanfield is just a few steps behind Quinn and grabs his shoulder, roughly yanking him off of me and spinning him around. “What the hell do you think that you’re doing? Abigail does not belong here, and we can both agree on that, but that doesn’t mean that you can attack her after you ruined your paints.”
“I ruined? You think that I ruined my paints?” Quinn has positively lost it and he throws his hands up in the air. “How in the hell can you think that I ruined my own paints after all the time you’ve known me?”
Mr. Stanfield crosses his arms and stares at Quinn. “You have made your fair share of fuck-ups since I started teaching you, Quinn, lest you forget. This is just another in a long time of them and one more that I’m going to have to cover you for, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” Quinn spits the words at his teacher and then spins back to face me, dropping his voice and leaning close.
My body longs for him to reach
out and touch me, but I know that any movement will only anger him, so I stand as still as I possibly can, ignoring the throbbing in my core.
I knew that it would feel amazing to bring him down a few notches, but something has happened that I didn’t count on.
I feel a tiny twinge of guilt.
“I don’t know why you thought that you could get away with this, little cunt, but I’m not going to let you. Why the hell did you think that it was okay to fuck up my art like this?” His voice sounds strangled, and his bright blue eyes search mine for help, but I have nothing to give him.
“You had it coming,” I tell him. His eyes grow wide at my words and he stumbles back, throwing out his arm like he’s trying to catch himself on something, but there’s nothing there to break his fall. At the last second, he catches himself and stands up, even though his legs are shaking.
“No. No…why did you do this?” He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it or shake out a bad thought. I think for a moment that I should feel bad, but I don’t. His voice sounds strangled, but I don’t care. I can’t feel bad for him.
Honestly, right now, I don’t feel anything.
I have to reach back to the wall behind me to steady myself. “Don’t you see, Quinn, that you had it coming? You didn’t think that you could just treat me like this and not expect me to fight back, did you?” Even though I try to keep my voice hard, I can’t help but notice that a hint of compassion slips in. I wonder if he’s going to notice, too, but he’s too busy shaking his head and staring at me.
“Don’t you see? It was all going to work out.” He sounds like he’s pleading now, which is exactly what I want from him. I want Quinn to plead me and then I want to leave him on the floor, crying for me.
But my curiosity gets the best of me, like it always does.
“What was going to work out?” I can’t possibly imagine what he could be talking about. There is no good in Quinn, especially when it comes to me. He won, he should be happy about it, but the fact that I hit upset him bothers him even more than I thought it would.
He acts like an angry god and his only goal is to ruin me. The best thing for me to do is stay as far away from him as possible to try to protect myself, but there’s something about him that sucks me in. I fee connected to him in a way I haven’t felt with other people before, certainly not with a boy before.
We’re planets, caught in orbit together. As long as we keep moving then we’re going to be okay, but as soon as one of us slows down or changes then we’re going to crash and burn.
I guess I didn’t realize this until just now, and the look on his face tells me that I royally fucked up.
Instead of answering, he just shakes his head. “I was going to fix it,” he pleads, his eyes cold and hollow. He’s always had a spark behind his eyes, but now he just looks tired. “I was going to fix it.”
***
There’s no way that I can believe him. That’s what I’m telling myself. I’m sprawled on my bed, listening to the radio and trying to ignore the way his face twisted when he looked at me. There’s just something about Quinn that’s managed to get under my skin, and I’m honestly not sure how I’m going to be able to get him back out.
He’s the last person I expected to feel anything for, but the look on his face and the way he pleaded with me, the words falling from his mouth like he was powerless to stop them gives me pause.
Maybe he was planning to do something to help me.
Or maybe, and this is a lot more likely, if I’m honest with myself, he just was trying to fuck with my head again and trying to make me think that he was on my side.
It’s not like Quinn has ever been really forthcoming with me, so for me to believe him is…well, it’s hard.
Impossible.
Unlikely.
Something I really, really want to do.
So what does that say about me? I’m attracted to the person who calls me little cunt and made a bet with me on my virginity?
It says that I’m pretty damn fucked up.
***
Sighing, I roll over and click off my radio. The rest of the dorm is silent since everyone’s asleep. And well they should be – it’s 2 am and I can’t still my thoughts enough to shut down for the night. All I know is that this is getting really, really old and that something has got to give if I’m going to make it through the rest of the year.
Just as my eyes are starting to feel heavy, there’s a soft rap on my door. My eyes spring back open and my heart starts to pound in my chest. Whoever is visiting my room at this time in the morning can’t be up to anything good, and I roll over, propping myself up on my elbow to stare at the door.
Nothing else happens.
Cursing to myself, I slide off of my bed and walk to the door. I have the security chain engaged, but Trinity Prep didn’t put peepholes in the doors, so I can’t look out to see if there’s anyone out there. Taking a deep breath, I count to 5, and then unlock the door.
I haven’t even opened it yet, but my ears are straining to hear any sound from in the hall.
Nothing.
My palm is sweaty as I turn the handle and open the door a few inches. I’m not sure that the tiny chain across the opening could protect me if someone decided to try to knock my door down, but I’m counting on it.
Even though I can’t see all the way down the hall, I don’t think that there’s anyone there. Everything is silent, and I reach up to disengage my chain, praying the entire time. Just as I slip the chain from its holder, though, I look down and see something sitting on the floor.
There’s a box with a lid tightly on top.
It could be anything. It could be from anyone.
Moving quickly now, I slip the chain and grab the box, pulling it into my room before slamming my door shut and locking it again. The box was heavier than I thought it would be, and I turn to stare at it, trying to work up the nerve to open it.
Finally, I do, and I lift the lid, holding my breath.
It’s food.
The box is absolutely packed with food. It’s not just fresh food from the cafeteria, like apples and bananas, but also boxes of crackers, chips, and even some cookies.
My mouth waters, and before I can stop myself, I grab a bag of chips and rip it open, stuffing them into my mouth. I’m so hungry that I could easily finish the box, but I stop myself after one bag and look for a note.
The thought that this was an elaborate trick to make me sick runs through my mind, but I push it away. I can’t believe that. I need this food.
I just wish that I knew who it was from. My best guess is Madeline, and I smile to myself before crawling back to bed. There’s got to be a way for me to thank her tomorrow without getting her in trouble. If she could just keep the food coming like this then I know that I can make it through the rest of the year just fine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Hey,” I whisper, leaning over to Madeline’s desk. Accounting is almost over and Professor Thiel has popped down to the teacher’s lounge for a short break. We all know that this means that he’s going to smoke a pipe in peace, but nobody at Trinity Prep is going to stop him.
She glances over at me, her face dark. “What do you want, bitch?” Even if she is pretending, which I still hope that she is, her voice is biting and it hurts to hear it come from her mouth.
“I just wanted to thank you.” I wink at her, feeling a little silly, but at the same time enjoying trying to make a connection with my friend again. I’ve missed her terribly, and knowing that she cares enough to put together a care package for me makes me feel giddy.
She rolls her eyes and looks back down at her work, but I think that I see a spark of interest in her expression. “I promise you, Abigail, that I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, so please go fuck off and leave me alone.”
Fine. That’s enough for me. I saw the little smile on her face, and that’s enough for me to make it through the rest of the day.
But i
n the hall, Quinn catches up to me. He grabs my upper arm, his fingers digging into my skin. Even though I know that I can’t pull away, I tug my arm from him, which only makes him tighten his grip.
We have a dance, the two of us, and as fucked up as it is, it’s getting more and more familiar to me. I know how to play my part, and as long as he doesn’t change the music or the steps, I’m going to be just fine.
“I saw you trying to buddy up with Madeline back there.” His voice is low, like he’s afraid that someone is going to listen in on us, but nobody’s paying us any attention. I could probably get away with murder because nobody ever looks at me.
Even though I want to turn and fall into his blue eyes, I keep my gaze straight ahead. “I promise you, Quinn, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The box.” That’s all he says, but it’s also all it takes for me to turn to him. How in the world does he know about the box?
He sees the question on my face and grins at me. “Don’t go thinking that that was from your little friend, Madeline. I don’t think that she’d care if you went the same way as Javier, but other people would.”
I scoff at him. “Sure, I’m totally sure that everyone else in the senior class is secretly rooting for me, Quinn. And I bet that you’re the one in charge of making sure that everyone starts to treat me nicer, am I right?”
He blinks like I slapped him and lets go of my arm. “Listen, Abigail, there are things at work here that you still don’t understand. I know that you think you did the right thing by fucking up my painting, but – ”
I cut him off. “No, Quinn, I know that I did the right thing by fucking up your painting. You’re an asshole and a bully and the only reason you have a chance at the scholarship is because of whatever fucked up deal you have with Mr. Stanfield. You two think that you run the school just because…what? Because he owes your family something? I don’t want any part of whatever shit you’re in, Quinn, I just want to make it through the year alive, get my scholarship, and leave Trinity Prep behind me.”
