Saving Quinton

by Jessica Sorensen

  I stare up at the sky as I lie beside Lexi, choking on my own tears as I hold her cold, lifeless hand. I focus on the stars, wanting to touch them until they begin to fade, one by one, my heartbeat fading with them. The sky gets darker, along with everything around me, until I can't see a thing. I can feel my breath leaving me, my chest becoming heavier, but my thoughts becoming lighter. Free.

  The ground below me softens, the sky dimming until I can only see blackness. It feels like I'm moving...sinking...or maybe I'm flying...I can't tell. I don't care. I just want to keep feeling this way, because it's taking the pain of Lexi's death with it. The agony...it's gone...my guilt...it doesn't exist. The fact that I ruined our future doesn't matter, because we're leaving this world together...

  "Quinton...wake up, man..."

  Go away...

  "Quinton..." Somebody shakes my shoulder. "Seriously, wake up, man...you're freaking the shit out of me."

  Leave me alone.

  "Wake up!" someone shouts.

  Just let me die...please...

  I just want to die.

  God, please just let me die.

  Chapter 5

  Nova

  I'm not sure what to do, what to think, how to process what I'm seeing. Deep down I think I knew, but I didn't prepare myself very well for it. I should have. I should have told myself that this was what I was going to walk into, so that I wouldn't be sitting here with my jaw hanging to my knees, feeling like I want to throw up, then curl up in a ball and cry until I run out of tears. My OCD is kicking in and the desire to count the windows on the buildings, the stars in the sky, the lines on the back of my hand, anything so I don't have to look at the horrible view in front of me, is overpowering.

  "You were right," I say to Lea, dumbstruck as I grip the edge of the seat, my palms damp against the upholstery.

  "I know." She frowns at the view in front of us. "I'm so sorry, Nova...I don't even know what to say."

  "It's not your fault," I tell her, opening and shutting my eyes, wishing the view would disappear, but it doesn't.

  "I know, but I'm still sorry," she replies, her hands gripping the steering wheel.

  When the GPS first led us to the two-story apartment building, I thought it'd given us the wrong directions, since the building looked more like a very large abandoned motel than a place where people would live, but after double-checking I painfully realized it was the right place. Half the windows are busted out, some are boarded up, and the rest have curtains hanging up to block the windows, probably to hide what's going on inside--drugs, prostitution, God knows what else. The building sits away from a road that's lined with secondhand stores, discount and smoke shops, run-down houses, some looking worse than the apartment building. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's the nicest place on the block.

  Lea parks a ways back in the gravel parking lot and then turns off the headlights, like she's scared someone is going to see us. We lock the doors and leave the engine running. There are hardly any vehicles around and the ones that are parked in the area look like they haven't moved in ages. There's a massive billboard near the entryway, but the paint is peeling off and I can't tell what it used to be an advertisement for. There are also a group of women loitering at the bottom of the stairway, smoking cigarettes, chatting and being really loud. I don't want to be judgmental, but they look like hookers, wearing tight dresses, bras for tops, and five-inch stilettos or knee-high boots.

  We have the air cranked up full blast and the sky is nearly black, the sunlight about to completely disappear behind the horizon. Behind us the city flashes in the distance, neon colors and sparkling sighs, and I can almost feel the electricity in the air.

  "What number did you say it was?" Lea asks as she pushes the emergency brake on.

  I check the screen of the GPS. "It says twenty-two, but..." I look back up at the building, squinting to see if the doors have numbers on them. Lights on above some of the doors and I can tell some have numbers, but not all of them.

  "Maybe we should come back in the morning," Lea suggests, biting her fingernails as she eyes the group of women near the stairway. Lea has never been part of the drug world and even though she's gone to parties, they've been mellow parties with kegs and wine coolers, where people hang out and dance, not get stoned and either pass out or trip out of their minds.

  I want to say yes to her suggestion and tell her we should go home, but at the same time I can't help but think of the what-ifs. Like what if I walk away right at this moment and something bad happens to Quinton tonight? Or what if he vanishes overnight? Plus, knowing he's probably right there, in one of the apartments just in front of me, makes it hard to walk away. What if I miss my chance like I did with Landon? What if I leave and never get the courage to come back? What if something bad happens?

  Shit.

  Nova, stop it.

  Stop thinking about the past.

  Focus on the future.

  "Okay." I pry my fingers off the edge of the seat, then reach over my shoulder to grab the seat belt. "I'll come back in the morning when the sun's up."

  "We'll come back." She pops the emergency brake. "I don't want you coming here alone and I promised your mom I'd take care of you."

  "I feel like a child," I admit, buckling the seat belt. "And you're my baby-sitter...I feel like my mom should be paying you or something."

  "She just loves you," Lea says as she starts to put the shifter forward. "And I'm happy to do it...it's not like I have anything better to do."

  I hesitate. "Lea, are you sure you don't want to talk about what happened with you and Jaxon?"

  She bites her bottom lip as she fights back the tears. "Not yet...I just can't yet, okay? Especially not here."

  "Okay...well, I'm here when you're ready." I sit back, fidgeting with the leather band on my wrist. I feel restless but attempt to hold still as she starts to back the Chevy Nova out of the parking lot, cranking the wheel to the side. I start to settle down as she gets the car turned around, but then I see a guy walking up beside the car, heading for the apartments with a large bag of ice in his hand.

  "Wait a minute..." I mutter, leaning toward the window. "I know him."

  "What do you mean you know him?" Lea asks, pressing on the gas.

  I don't respond, too fixated on an old memory walking just to the side of me, like a ghost. Even in the dark, I recognize Tristan's blond hair and facial features immediately, although his cheeks are a little sunken and either his pants are just really baggy or he's lost a lot of weight. Still, I know it's him.

  He looks like he's in a hurry, smoking a cigarette as he strides for the apartments, his lips moving like he's talking to himself.

  "Stop the car," I say, reaching for the door handle.

  "Nova, what the hell!" Lea exclaims as I crack the door open before she can even get the car stopped. She taps on the brakes and I push the door open all the way and swing one of my legs outside. But then I pause when the seat belt locks and jerks me back against the seat.

  "Shit," I curse and press back against the seat to unbuckle it.

  "What are you doing?" Lea asks with wide eyes as she holds her foot on the brake, keeping the car halted at a crooked angle.

  "I know that guy." I push the door open the rest of the way as Tristan starts to take notice of us--or the car, anyway. He pauses to admire it as I land just outside the car with an ungraceful stumble but regain my balance quickly.

  He grazes his thumb across the cigarette, sprinkling ash on the ground before putting it back between his lips. "Hey, what kind of car is that...?" He trails off as I step forward and the lights from the motel and the street give him just enough of a glow to see my face. "Holy shit, Nova," he says with a bit of a startled laugh, his lips parting and his cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth. He quickly plucks it from his lips and positions it between his fingers, continuing to gape at me. "Where the hell did you come from?"

  I point back at my car. "I drove here," I say, not ready to tell him the
real reason. Tristan, while nice for the most part, is also in as deep as Quinton is, and the last thing I want to do is declare to him why I wanted--needed to come down here.

  "I can tell that..." He looks at the car with appreciation. The lights around us fall across his face and I'm even more aware of how different he looks: tougher, rougher, harder, drowning in more darkness, and I wonder what exactly he's been doing to get to this place. "Is that your car?" he asks.

  "Yeah, it's mine." I wrap my arms around myself, even though it's not cold. It's almost like a defense mechanism as old feelings press up like shards of glass and vivid memories of the time I spent with Tristan swarm through my mind. "It was my dad's...or used to be, anyway."

  His brows knit. "You didn't drive that back in Maple Grove, did you?"

  I shake my head. "No, I always rode around in Delilah's truck."

  "Yeah...she actually got rid of that a few months ago," he says. "Sold it, you know, so she could have some cash."

  I don't say anything, because I can't think of anything to say. Things are awkward and uncomfortable because I know him, even kissed him, yet at the same time I don't know him. I've spent time with him, but the person I got to know doesn't look like he exists anymore. That Tristan is part of my past and I wonder how hard it's going to be with Quinton, seeing a different side of him.

  Can I do this? Was I naive to believe that I could? Am I even strong enough to do this? You couldn't save Landon, but did you even try hard enough?

  "Nova, are you okay?" The sound of Lea's voice brings back some of my strength because I remember that I'm not alone.

  I glance over my shoulder at her. The engine's still running, the exhaust puffing out smoke, but she's gotten out of the car and is looking over the roof at me with concern on her face.

  "I'm fine," I assure her, but it's only partly true, because I'm fine yet I'm terrified. I wish I could say that I was braver, that I was walking into this with confidence and certainty that I was the right person to be helping Quinton. But I'm not. I want to be, though.

  I return my attention to Tristan, who's glancing back and forth between Lea and me with a quizzical look on his face. He starts to open his mouth, but I casually interrupt him.

  "Is Quinton around?" My voice comes out surprisingly evenly and I think maybe, just maybe, I'm going to be okay.

  "Yeah, he is, but..." Tristan glances down at the bag of ice in his hand and then slaps his forehead with his hand, the one holding the cigarette, and the cherry falls to the ground. "Shit, I forgot I was supposed to be bringing this to him." He rushes off toward the apartments, acting as though he didn't just burn himself.

  Just how numb is he? I hurry after him, across the gravel parking lot, even when Lea calls out for me to wait.

  "Can I talk to him?" I ask as I catch up with Tristan. "I really need to."

  He blinks and looks at me as we walk past a beat-up car that has four flat tires. "If you can get him to wake up, you can."

  I hear the sound of gravel crunching behind us as Lea rushes up, panting to catch her breath. "Jesus, Nova, thanks for leaving me."

  "Sorry," I apologize, but I'm distracted by what Tristan said. If I can get him to wake up, I can? My heart shrivels inside my chest, yet it still beats intensely. "Is he...what's he on?"

  "Nothing at the moment, really." He waves at the group of hookers/women as we approach them and one of them whistles back at him.

  Another one, with really long legs and bright blue hair, struts forward with a grin on her face. "Hey, can I get a taste?" she asks Tristan, tracing her neon-pink fingernails up his arm.

  "Maybe later." Tristan flashes her a smile as he keeps walking, seeming preoccupied as he clutches the bag of ice and mutters something under his breath. When we reach the bottom of the stairway, he unexpectedly stops and so do I, causing Lea to run straight into my back.

  "Look, Nova." He glances up at the balcony above us. "I'm not sure you want to go inside there...it's not really your thing."

  "I'll be fine." I grip the railing as my own voice echoes in my head. You won't be fine. What if what you see is bad? More than you can handle? "I just want to talk to Quinton."

  "And that's great, but like I said he's not awake right now." He shifts his weight, his blond hair falling into his eyes, which are blue, but look black because they're so dilated.

  "Well, can I wake him up?" I ask. "I really, really need to talk to him."

  As he assesses me, for the briefest of seconds I see the guy I used to know: the one who was a decent guy, who wouldn't hurt anyone, who talked to me, hung out with me. But the look quickly vanishes as he glances coldly at Lea. "Who's that?"

  "A friend of mine." I slant to the side to block Lea from his death stare.

  His eyes fasten on me. "Is she cool?"

  I understand his code meaning: Does she care that there are drugs around? "Yeah, she's fine."

  Lea steps forward and rolls her eyes as she gestures at herself. "Do I look like someone who's going to nark on your little drug nest? Seriously, paranoid much?" She sounds calm, but I can feel the tenseness flowing off her.

  Tristan scans her eyes framed with kohl liner, her black tank top and red-and-black shorts, the tattoos on her arms and the piercings in her ears. "I don't know...are you?"

  She crosses her arms and elevates her chin, radiating confidence. "No, I'm not."

  Tristan scratches his head, looking torn. I notice small dots on his arms, some ringed by tiny bruises. I know what they are and so does Lea and when Tristan glances up at the top floor again, Lea aims a pressing look at me.

  I'm sorry, I mouth and give her hand a squeeze. The dampness of her skin gives off just how nervous she is and it makes me feel even worse. I look over at the Chevy Nova parked crookedly at the back of the parking lot, about to tell her to go back and wait in it--or go back home--but Tristan interrupts my thoughts.

  "Yeah, you can go in and see if you can get him to wake up," he says, looking back at me and lowering his arm to the side. "But I'm warning you, it's pretty bad."

  "What's pretty bad?" I wonder as I follow him up the stairs. I quickly whisper over my shoulder to Lea, "You can go back in and wait in the car."

  "Hell no," she hisses, glancing over her shoulder at two loud guys who have appeared at the bottom of the stairway. "I feel less safe in there. Just go...I want to get this over with anyway."

  "I owe you big-time," I whisper.

  "Yeah, you do," she agrees quietly.

  Tristan pauses at the top of the steps and moves aside so we can step by him. "He got his ass beat a couple of hours ago and he's been passed out ever since."

  "Quinton got beat up?" I'm stunned as fear pulsates through me.

  Tristan nods. "Yeah, it happens sometimes."

  He says it so casually, like it doesn't matter, but it does. Quinton matters. And suddenly nothing else matters but getting to Quinton. I rush up the last few steps, urging Tristan to get a move on with a motion of my hand. "I need to see him." I know it's sort of a demanding thing to do, but I don't really care. He's just walking around with a damn bag of ice in his hand while Quinton could be seriously hurt and he doesn't even seem coherent enough to fully grasp how absurd it is. And the fact that he doesn't seem coherent makes me worry even more, because what if Quinton's dying or something--I doubt Tristan would even be able to tell.

  "All right," Tristan says, as calm as can be, and then signals for me to follow him as he heads to the left. "I'll lead the way."

  Shaking my head, I follow him across the balcony and past the apartment doors. The entire place reeks like cigarette smoke mixed with weed and it throws me back to a place I don't necessarily want to forget, but that I don't like to remember either.

  There's a ton of beer bottles and buckets of cigarette butts around the fronts of the doors, old shoes, shirts, plates of rotting food, and one door is surrounded by a lot of trash bags that smell awful. There's even a plastic chair and table in front of one of the doors with a guy slum
ped over it, passed out with what looks like a joint still burning in his hand.

  "Is that guy going to be okay?" I nod at the guy as the smoke burns at the back of my throat and nose.

  I remember.

  God, I do.

  It smells and tastes just the same.

  Feels the same.

  The numbness...the way it momentarily takes everything away.

  Stop remembering.

  Forget.

  Remember who you are now.

  As much as I fight it, I remember everything. The feelings of being lost, drifting, numb, yet content at the same time. Detached, floating, flying, running away from my problems. I was sinking, in mud, in drugs, in life. And Quinton was there, sinking right beside me, holding my hand as we went down together, but he told me I was too good for it--that I was better than the things I was doing. He did what he could to get me to stop sinking, even though he wanted to sink himself. That day he left me in the pond, he showed me that aside from the drugs, he was a good guy. He didn't take advantage of my drifting, my confusion, my mourning.

  Tristan pauses near the table and follows my gaze to the guy with the joint. "Oh, that's Bernie, and yeah, he'll be fine. He does that sometimes." He plucks the joint out of Bernie's hands and I think he's going to smoke it, but instead he puts it out in the ashtray. When he catches me staring at him funny, he shrugs. "What? It's not my thing anymore." He starts down the balcony again, glancing over his shoulder at me. "Not really, anyway."

  It takes a lot not to stare at the track marks on his arms and keep my eyes focused ahead. Lea mutters something under her breath, staying just behind me with her arms wrapped around herself. Tristan starts humming some song as he strolls past door after door and I don't recognize it, but I wish I did for no other reason than that it would be a distraction. I could sing the lyrics in my head, find solitude in music, like I've done many times.

  When I check on Lea, she has her eyes fixed on pretty much everything, taking in a world she's never been in. Hell, I've never even been in it, not like this, anyway. This is so different from the trailer park--much more dangerous-looking. Its own dark place hidden from the world and the light and I'm not sure what it'll take to get Quinton out of here, but I need to find that out.