It may be the Christmas season, tinsel hung everywhere in town, reds and greens adorning houses for decorations, lights twinkling against roofs like far-off stars, but for Quinn, this time is nothing short of unbearable, cooping herself up in the house for weeks now. Quinn sat lazily on the couch, leaning against the arm rest with her new best friend, her afghan, cuddled underneath her arms, Quinn watching the ferocious wind bang against tree limbs, waiting for her brother to get off the bus from school.
Quinn’s mom worked feverishly around the house, hoping to have a quasi-nice and normal Christmas, maybe inviting her parents up from Florida to visit. Sara has acquired Quinn’s trait of cleaning to release stress. Sara hasn’t heard anything from the police about the rape. She felt awful for dragging Quinn down to the station, Quinn dressed in scrapes and shame, and to have nothing come up of the trip is terrible. Sara had been breathing down the police’s neck for weeks now, but the police keep telling her that there is “insufficient evidence” and to basically stop wasting her time. Sara didn’t know how longer she could avoid her work duties and see Quinn walk around the house like a zombie all day. Sara already has taken Quinn out of school because of the harassment from other students and hired a tutor for Quinn so Quinn could try to get back into a normal routine after the Christmas break. Maybe there was something else she could do…
“Can I get you anything, Honey? Sara asked kindly, whipping her hands with a dishcloth, the back windows sparkling with shine.
“No, Mom,” Quinn replied, her eyes unwavering from the window, her hand twisting the afghan in an anxious fashion, Quinn’s appearance ghastly in the cloudy light, her skin pallid and chalky like a ghost’s, loosing its shine along with her dignity, her eyelids dark, her hair stringy with her lack of desire to shower. Maybe Sara would give her a day of beauty at a spa for Christmas. Quinn could definitely use it. “Has…” Quinn began, licking her dry, cracked lips…”Paul called me?”
“No, Honey,” Sara replied sadly with a frown, lowering the dishcloth, “Benji called yesterday, but you were sleeping…again.” Sara walked over to the couch and sat down, reaching for Quinn’s head and gently running her hand through Quinn’s oily locks, Quinn’s eyes beginning to tear again. “I really wish you’d talk to him. It’s been weeks. He’s very worried, Quinn. So is Joel and Paul.”
“I don’t feel like talking to anyone, Mom,” Quinn responded morosely, even though that was somewhat of a lie. She was embarrassed to talk to Benji again, having been such a wuss and not telling Benji about her rape. Joel was much more emotionally stable. Quinn was surprised that Paul hasn’t called, even though she understood that they were busy finishing the last few days of the tour. But, it always seemed Paul found a few spare minutes in his day to call and say hi. Maybe he was upset about Quinn’s reaction when he said he wanted to be with her. What could Quinn do?
“You really should, Quinn,” Sara disagreed, tucking her hair behind her ears, Quinn softly sniffing back salty tears, watching Chris hurriedly scampering down the street towards the house. “Talk to someone, you know? It would make you feel better.”
“How would you know what would make me feel better,” Quinn more stated that questioned, shrugging her mother’s hand off her shoulder, Chris swinging the door open and slamming it close, Sara raising her eyes to her son.
“What’s wrong, Chris?” Sara asked him with concern, noticing his panting and uncomfortable expression.
“I saw Matt,” Chris responded drearily, Sara’s eyes widening and Quinn’s face burrowing into the sleeve of her gray sweatshirt.
“Again?!” Sara asked annoyed, Matt always finding a way to make contact with her family.
“Uh huh,” Chris replied, taking out a white note with red lettering out of his navy coat pocket and strolling over to Quinn, stopping short, then hanging it to Sara. “He gave me another note to give to Quinn.”
Sara sighed, but Chris didn’t know better. It wasn’t like Matt was a stranger. It was the same story. Every few days, Matt would be waiting at the bus stops in his car, watching intensely as Chris jumped off the bus, Matt calling Chris over to the car, but Chris staying firmly on the sidewalk. Matt would throw him a note to give to Quinn, smile, and drive off, burning tire smell filtering into the air. This note stunned Sara; it was written in blood.
“This has got to stop,” Sara said firmly, throwing the note to the ground and getting down on one knee, holding Chris firmly but genially in her arms, “Did he hurt you? Did anything happen?”
“Just the same things every day I see him, Ma,” Chris told her honestly, stroking his little hand through her hair, “Honest.”
Tears jumped into Sara’s eyes, this whole situation emotionally draining for her. “Go do your homework, Chris, please,” Sara told her son, taking her fingers and brushing under her eyes. Chris obliged, scampering into the kitchen for a cookie, then down the hall into his bedroom.
“We need to talk, Quinn,” Sara told her daughter, retreating back to the couch, Quinn not budging from her hiding position. “Quinn,” Sara continued firmly, reaching for her shoulders.
“NO!” Quinn screamed, burying her head deeper into her arm, not wanting to talk, think, or even hear about this mess that she’s caught in.
“Quinn,” Sara replied with a deep sigh, rubbing her hand soothingly over her back, “We need to call your dad.”
That was the last thing Quinn expected to hear her mom say. Quinn rose her head slowly, turned and peered at her mother like she said something stupid. “Why do we need to call him?”
“He…” Sara began, trying to break to Quinn what she’d been thinking these past few days, “might be able to help us.”
Quinn looked betrayed as she slinked off the couch, pressing her hands against her hips. “I don’t want any help from him,” Quinn growled, her mother uprooting deep resentment Quinn had for her father that Quinn subsided years ago.
“Well, I need help from him,” Sara retorted sternly, rising from the couch and standing firmly in front of Quinn. “I can’t see you like this anymore.”
“I’m sorry if I’m such an inconvenience to you and your work, Mom,” Quinn spatted at her, hurt falling on Sara’s face, “I’ll remember that next time I fall in love.”
“That wasn’t love, Quinn,” Sara told her wholeheartedly, placing her hand lovingly on her shoulder, Quinn rolling her eyes and turning away, pinning her arms underneath her chest like she was ready for a temper tantrum, “I thought you’d realize that by now.”
Silence cloaked over the two as Sara went into the kitchen and picked up the black phone from the receiver, a bit hesitant, but this was her only hope. Quinn wondered to herself how her mother could be so ignorant, just ignore that she spent 3 years of her life with Matt. It wasn’t like she could get over him overnight like some pathetic crush. How could she think when her mom was on her back all the time? “I’m going to call your father and make arrangements for you to stay with him for a while.”
“WHAT?!” Quinn yelled, storming into the kitchen, her eyes ablaze with anger.
“You need to get out of here, Quinn,” Sara informed her, rummaging through her bulky purple phone book for his number, the phone steady in one hand, “It’s depressing you. You’re better than this.” She smiled triumphantly and laid the phone book across the wood counter, turning around to see Quinn sitting Indian style on the floor, rocking forward and back, the sleeves of her sweatshirt almost pushing back what she was saying.
“You just want to get back to work, to get back to not caring about Chris and me,” Quinn whispered hurtfully, tears collecting on her lashes.
Sara’s face softened as she coddled the phone to her chest, the way she used to hold Quinn close to her when she was a baby on stormy nights. “You know that’s not true, Quinn,” Sara dissuaded her, crouching down and touching her cheek gently, Quinn sniffing back her tears.
“You can do what you want,” Quinn began vehemently; swapping Sara’s hand away as she fumbled to her feet, ready to drown herself in music. “But I’m not going. I hate him.” Quinn ran down the hallway in her socks and slammed the door, Linkin Park surrounding the only world she knew.