I smile to myself because he didn’t used to know how to dance—he still does. And as we rock to the rhythm I stay silent, telling myself that if he can still dance then the old Quinton’s still burning somewhere inside him and now that I’ve seen a glimpse of it, I don’t want to ever let it go.
So I hold on to him tightly as we sway to the song. I shut my eyes and feel every aspect of the moment, the heat in the air, the warmth of his body, the way my body seems in tune with his. No regrets. This is one moment I will never regret. I don’t care that we’re in a shitty gas station parking lot and that we both smell like cigarette smoke. I want it. Want this. Want him. Right now. I know it’s not the right time at all, that there are so many things wrong, things hidden deep beneath the surface, but I just need to touch him a little bit more. So without opening my eyes, I kiss my way up his neck and across his scruffy jaw, and find his lips. I’m not sure what I expect him to do, but he opens his mouth and kisses me back deeply, with passion and heat. He manages to keep us moving and at the same time presses our bodies closer, until we’re almost one person. I can feel everything about him. His heat. His breath. The slight gasps he makes every time our lips barely part. And with my eyes shut I can pretend that I’m with the old Quinton, the one I’m trying to save.
And part of me wishes I never had to open my eyes again. Part of me wishes I could stay just like this. Forever. Just he and I. Just contentment. The easiness. It makes me want to create more moments like this. I just need to find a way for him to let me.
After we’re done dancing, we climb back on the hood and chat a little more. He seems to unwind as time goes by and I’m guessing that he’s reached a sort of peaceful balance in his high, one I remember well because it’s what drew me to drugs in the first place. Then it starts to get late, the noise dying down so severely it seems like the city has gone to sleep.
I yawn, stretching out my arms as I stare up at the stars. “It’s so late.”
“I know. We should probably get back,” he says, sitting up and hopping off the hood. “It’s late and I hate the thought of you being around here at night and driving back to wherever you’re staying.”
I slide toward the edge of the hood and he helps me down by taking my hand. “I’ll be okay. Lea’s uncle lives in a pretty good area.”
“Still, I worry about you.” He seems uncomfortable saying it.
“All right, I’ll drop you off and get home then.”
He nods and lets go of my hand. Then I take him home and give him a kiss on the cheek before he gets out of the car.
“Nova,” he says before he climbs out, his back turned to me, his feet out of the car and on the ground. “I wish you’d stop coming here.”
My heart sinks in my chest. For a moment I thought I saw promise that things might change between us—that he’d stop fighting me so much. “You really want me to stop.”
It takes him a few seconds to answer. “What I want doesn’t matter…what’s right does.”
“It’s not wrong for me to see you.” I nervously fiddle with the keychain dangling from the ignition. “And I’m not ready to stop seeing you…are you ready to stop seeing me?”
His head lowers, but he still doesn’t look at me. “I can’t answer that right now.”
“Well, then, let’s stop talking about it until you do,” I say, and he starts to get out of the car without saying a word. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He pauses as he’s closing the door. “Yeah…I guess so.”
It’s not much, but it’s enough to lift me a little bit out of my slump. “Bye, Quinton. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He doesn’t say anything and shuts the door. Then he goes back up to his place and I wait until he’s inside before I take out my phone and angle it at my face.
There’s very little light, but I can still make out my outline on the screen, which is enough. “So I got this idea tonight,” I tell the camera. “It might be stupid, but it’s all I got. It’s called fun. And I’m not talking about getting-drunk-and-partying type of fun. That’s the last thing Quinton and I need. I’m talking about the plain, easy kind of fun. The dancing, music, laughing, playful, peaceful kind of fun…the kind we shared tonight. It seemed to help him relax, not putting pressure on him, pretending that we were just two people hanging out…and I can pretend as long as it can get me somewhere…I just hope I can keep getting to him…keep learning about him…understand him.” I pause, biting my lip as a guy walks out of Quinton’s apartment, strolls up to the railing, and stares down at my car. He flicks his cigarette over the edge and then rests his arms on top of the railing. The light over the door hits his back, making it hard to see his face, but it sort of looks like Dylan. If that’s the case then it’s time for me to go, before he ruins my vaguely decent night.
I shut the recording off and toss my phone aside, feeling a little bit lighter as I drive away. I just pray to God that when I return tomorrow morning, the Quinton I had toward the end of tonight is still thriving.
Chapter 11
Quinton
May 26, day eleven of summer break
I’m changing and I don’t like it. I’m feeling things and I don’t like it. My self-destruction plan is becoming complicated and I don’t like it. I don’t like anything at the moment, yet I keep doing the same things over and over again. Keep seeing Nova. Letting her affect me—change me.
But I can’t seem to help it.
Dancing with her was…well, it was amazing. Touching her like that—kissing her like that—it should be forbidden, especially after making her cry like I did. I made a silent vow to myself the second Nova dropped me off that day when we were on the roof and I showed her one of the ugliest sides of myself and made her cry. I vowed I’d never hurt her again and that I’d stay away from her, but I suck at the last part.
I don’t know how to shut it off—turn away from her—without feeling like I’m going insane. She’s taking me over, almost as potent as the drugs, but unlike with drugs, I’m very conflicted about my emotions. The last time I felt something was at that concert and I ultimately made a choice to shut myself down, not let myself have Nova, not drag her down. Not feel anything. Create my own prison. But Nova seems to know how to get through the bars and pull me out like she did last summer. And the emotions I tried to kill with drugs have burst to the surface again. Sometimes I think I should embrace them. Sometimes I think I should run from them. Sometimes it makes me angry and I worry I’ll fly off the handle one of these times and say something to hurt her again.