Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(50)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

She pauses, sniffling. “That does sound fun, but I’m not really sure there’s a whole lot for twenty-year-olds to do in Vegas.”

“We’re going to karaoke,” I tell her, ignoring Lea’s withering stare as she sets the box of crackers aside and hops off the counter. “And to see the sights…it should be fun.”

My mom’s still undecided, but gives in. “Please just be careful. And call me if you need anything. And I’ll call you if I hear from his dad.” She pauses and I think she’s done until she adds, “And please, please take care of yourself.”

“I will do all those things,” I tell her; then we say our good-byes and hang up.

As I’m putting my phone into my pocket, Lea walks over to the foyer and starts putting her sandals on. “Where are you going?” I ask.

She pulls her hair up in a ponytail and secures it with an elastic on her wrist. “You told your mom we’re going into the city, so we’re going into the city,” she says, and I gape at her. “I’m not going to let you lie to her,” she adds. “And besides, we need to go out and do something. I’m going stir-crazy.”

Despite the fact that I’m not in the mood for crazy city stuff, I get her point and agree to go, hoping that maybe I can have fun, despite the fact that my thoughts are lost in Quinton and my mother now. I hate worrying her like that. She’s all I’ve got and the last thing I ever want to do is make her sad.

But I also can’t forget the sadness and pain in Quinton’s eyes that I’ve seen in someone else’s eyes before. Someone I cared about. Someone I didn’t try to save and in the end I lost him. And I refuse to lose anyone ever again, no matter what it takes.

Chapter 9

May 21, day six of summer break

Nova

After Lea and I had a somewhat fun night walking up and down the Strip, watching all the lights, listening to the music, and absorbing the atmosphere, I felt a lot better. We didn’t make it to karaoke, but made a deal to go out again in a few days and give it a try.

I’m feeling pretty good the next morning, knowing my mom’s trying to get ahold of Quinton’s dad, telling myself to be positive, but then I get to Quinton’s house to see him and no one answers the door. But I can hear people inside, ignoring my knocking. It reminds me of all the times I asked Landon if he was okay, he said yes, and that was that. I couldn’t change anything.

My hope starts to extinguish as I trudge back to my car, feeling so helpless because no matter what I do—whom I talk to—Quinton’s actually the one who has the power in this situation. He can shut me—anyone—out and there’s not a goddamned thing anyone can do about it. Plus, I’m worried. After seeing what that Trace guy did to Tristan, I fear that they might be in a lot of trouble. And I don’t know how to fix it or if I can fix it. How many things can one person fix?

God, I wish I could fix it all.

I turn to my videos for comfort, getting my camera phone out of my pocket, needing to vent.

“I keep having this dream where Quinton and I are back in the pond, kissing and touching, and I’m seriously thinking about letting him slip inside me, take me over, own me,” I say, staring at myself on the screen, the backseat my background; the black leather makes me look pasty. “And this time my head’s in the right place and when he’s about to, I embrace it, ready to give that part of me to him. But then suddenly he stops it, like he did the first time. But instead of pulling away and swimming to the shore, he starts to sink under the water. I want to help him, but I can’t seem to pry myself away from the rock and I just stay there in the water, watching him helplessly go under, his honey-brown eyes locked on me the entire time, until they disappear and I can no longer see him. Then the dream shifts to the roof and he’s standing there soaking wet with a noose in his hand and white powder on his nose. He keeps shouting at me to help him, but I just stand there and watch him as he walks over to the edge and gets ready to jump. When he starts to fall is when I start to scream and then I’m always jerked awake, gasping for air, and panting…”

I glance up when I notice movement by the stairway, hoping someone maybe came out of the house, but it’s just a woman walking around in her robe smoking and talking on her phone.

So I continue with my video diary entry, looking for something to keep me distracted while I wait. Always waiting, but nothing ever comes. “The dream’s been happening every night since I saw him sniff that powder up his nose and I just stood there and let him. It’s become one of those rewind moments where I want to go back, rip the powder out of his hand and tell him to stop it, even if it pisses him off. But I know way too well that life doesn’t come with a rewind button and sometimes you just have to admit your mistakes, learn, and do better the next time…if there is a next time…” I pause, choking back the images of Landon filling up my head. I can’t go there right now. “I’m trying to do better…my mom still hasn’t gotten ahold of Quinton’s dad, but she’s still trying. And trying is something, right?” I don’t sound too convincing as I say it. In fact I sound confused and lost.

My hope is starting to burn out and I keep having to relight it over and over again even though I don’t have a match.

I need a match, but I don’t know where to find one.

Quinton

May 22, day seven of summer break

I’ve been avoiding Nova, even when she comes over to my apartment and bangs on the door. It’s been two days in a row she’s done it, two days since she and Tristan wandered off together. I honestly thought she’d give up, especially after Tristan told me she saw Trace threaten him and hit him. I thought it’d scare her enough to stay away—I wish it had. But it didn’t.

I’m struggling with my worry for her, along with the fact that I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t bother me that she went off with Tristan, even though it does. And pretty f**king bad, too, since I can feel the annoyance through the meth. It makes me want to do more. But at the same time I want to maintain a balanced high and not go completely crazy and lose my temper like that because the last thing I need to do is hurt someone. But not overdoing it is complicated, since it’s a lot easier to overdo it than underdo it.

I’ve been leaving the apartment a little more lately and that seems to be helping a little, keep me distracted, moving, instead of staying still and staring at that stupid water stain on the ceiling. Ever since Tristan informed me that Trace demanded he get him paid back, we’ve been doing whatever we can to scrounge up money. We’ve been breaking into the neighbors’ houses and stealing whatever we can that has value, which usually isn’t a lot, since no one around here owns much of anything, besides drugs, and they don’t keep a lot of those around, since they devour them.