Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(75)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“I don’t think that’ll work,” I tell her as we go into the living room. “I think they blame Quinton for Ryder’s death.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure they care about their son,” she says. “And maybe if they go looking for him, they’ll find Quinton, too.”

“And what if they won’t? Or what if they do and they find Quinton and make things worse?” I’m wary of her optimism, partly because of what I said and partly because I’m worried there’s no Tristan and Quinton to find.

“I don’t think they will,” she assures me, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “And it’s their son too that’s out there and as a mother, I know that despite any angry feelings I’d have, I’d want everyone to be safe.”

I start to cry because I have no hope at the moment and my mom hugs me while I cry, letting me feel the pain because she knows it’s better than keeping it trapped inside. Whether she realizes it or not, she helps. It’s so nice to have so many people in my life who do, and it hurts to think about Quinton who has no one, just wandering around waiting to die like he told me that night. I wish I could stay and search for him, but my mom loves me too much to let me stay and deep down I know that I’m not strong enough at the moment to take on such a huge task. I thought I was when I started this. Thought I could handle this. I’d been doing good, helping at the suicide hotline. But the problem is that I have huge, massive feelings for Quinton, ones that remind me of my feelings for Landon. They make this so much more personal and trigger too much instability inside me.

It’s one of the hardest things to do, getting into my car and driving away from that noisy city, knowing that he could be out there lost in a sea of people who barely acknowledge his existence, who don’t want to see the ugly, dark, messed-up part of life, so they pass by it without giving it a glance, like the lost part of the city Quinton showed me. Forgotten by the brighter side of town.

As my mom drives the Chevy Nova down the freeway, I watch the city behind us, turning on the song Quinton and I were listening to that night we danced in front of the car, the one good time when everything seemed like it was going to be okay—when I thought maybe, just maybe, I was helping him. I mutter the lyrics underneath my breath as the buildings and hazy sky slip farther and farther away until Vegas disappears completely and all that’s left to do is turn around in the seat and face the future.

Chapter 15

June 30, day forty-six of summer break

Quinton

Time is becoming nonexistent. Even major events, like the apartment building burning down a couple of weeks ago. Such a big thing, but I barely remember stumbling out of the apartment in the middle of the night, while flames engulfed the building.

No one really knew what happened. Someone said they’d heard gunshots coming from where Dylan and Delilah were living. I’d seen them a couple of times since the whole thing with Trace. Dylan and I even got into a fight. But he was too high to really do anything and so was I.

I wondered if maybe one of them started the fire, but I didn’t stick around to find out—I couldn’t. The cops and fire trucks showed up and that was Nancy’s and my cue, along with everyone else’s who was doing illegal shit there, to bail out and take to the streets.

And that’s where I’ve been living ever since. Sleeping behind Dumpsters, in vacant buildings when we come across them. We sometimes crash at people’s places when we have the opportunity, but that’s rare.

All we really have left is the clothes on our backs and a limited amount of drugs that we buy after stealing stuff when we can, and sometimes Nancy prostitutes herself out, when we’re running really low.

I’d hate my life at the moment, if I could feel hate, but I can’t feel anything except the hungry monster living inside me. He’s taken over every part of me and almost killed off the old Quinton entirely.

“Don’t shoot up right here,” I warn as I pace the alley between a strip club and a pawnshop. There’s a stack of crates at the back, concealed by a Dumpster, and it’s where Nancy I spent last night after the cops showed up at the vacant warehouse we’d been staying at for the past week.

“Why the hell not?” Nancy asks, glancing up at me with starvation in her eyes as she searches her backpack, looking for the one thing that can feed her hunger. Just seeing the look on her face—seeing the need—makes me salivate.

“Because first off, the last thing you need to do is pass out in an alley,” I tell her. “Then I’ll have to stay awake and keep an eye on you.”

She laughs at me from the ground, this hysterical laugh that she gets when she’s super sleep-deprived. “Is someone a little greedy?” she asks. “Afraid you’re going to have to watch instead of taste?”

I stop pacing and glare at her. “Can we please just go somewhere more private?” I glance nervously down at the end of the alley, at people walking by. Always looking over my shoulder, worried someone might show up. I’m not even sure who I think will show up or maybe deep down it’s that I want someone to—a blue-green-eyed girl I still think about no matter how much numbness I put into my veins. I don’t even know if she’s in Vegas anymore or if she went home. And that’s how it should be. I should know nothing about Nova Reed. “Somewhere we can just lie down and enjoy getting high?”

Nancy sighs and then zips her backpack up before getting to her feet. “Where the hell are we supposed to go?” she asks with irritation as she glances up and down the alley.

I rub my hand down my face as I start pacing again. It’s been too long since my last hit. I can feel emotions surfacing, sharper than the needle, more potent than heroin. I need to silence them. Now. Before I melt into the ground. I need somewhere quiet and away from all these people.

I lower my hand to my side, getting an idea. “I think I know a place.”

She nods as she puts her backpack on and doesn’t even ask questions. She just follows me, hoping that I’ll lead her to a place where she can pump her veins full of drugs in the hopes that she can escape whatever she’s running away from. Just like everyone else. Just like me.

Escape.

It takes us a while to travel across the city and toward the less populated side of town. Hours or maybe even an entire day. It’s hard to tell. I know it’s daylight when we leave and the sun has set when we arrive, but sometimes I lose track of time because I become so focused on getting to that one place where I can fly and soar through my past without having to feel it—without having to feel the guilt of everything that’s happened in my life. The guilt of death. The guilt of love. The guilt of existing.