Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(20)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

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 naïve 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.