Quinn absentmindedly whipped at the same spot on the glass counter, until every scratched was polished away. Her hair hung limply in front of her face as she waited for customers for the next movie to file in, wanting their snacks, Quinn having to force a smile and courteousy because it was her job. The past 2 weeks have been frustrating and damn right depressing, the last place she wanted to be was at work. Yet, it was better to be doing something than drowning herself in loud music in her room, her tears now her only friends, always there when she needed them.
Benji went to the police that night uwillingly, Joel, Paul, and Billy rushing over with concern. Benji told them what happened, filed a report, but stubbornly refused to press charges, thinking it would just make things worse for Quinn. Paul was engrossed in every detail as he sipped on black coffee at the police station, the guys equally amazed by Matt’s actions, not believing how far this was escalating. Paul knew it was just a matter of time before something serious, even deathly happened.
Quinn has not spoken more than a few sentences the past 2 weeks, finding herself absolutely alienated at school, the “rumor” that Quinn called the police on Matt spreading the halls like wildfire. And who would believe what she said? No one, so it was common knowledge that Quinn called the police on Matt out of pure jealousy, the affair between Matt and Lorena coming public at the town park. It was indecent exposure, not assault. Even Natalie and Brittany avoided Quinn, sitting over with Matt and his crew at lunch, not returning her phone calls, not even catching her silent cries for help in Calculus. In the beginning, the whispers that swam over her ears in her classes made her want to bite down through her pencil and blow her stack. Now, it was like she didn’t even hear the brash words as her grades began to slip with her hold on life.
Surprisingly and oddly, Matt has made minimal contact with her, an odd glare here and there at school, a phone call or two, his voice ripe with pleasantness before she slammed down the receiver. Quinn still felt torn between her fiancé and her family and friends. How could love attack her family, her blood, she asked herself many times. Is this really love? Whatever it is, it’s all she knows, so she can’t just walk away from it into the cruel world alone. Love was as sweet as strawberries coated with sugar and as bitter as an over-ripened pear basking in the sizzling sunlight. Quinn didn’t know where her life was going, where this abuse would stop. Her inner turmoil began to pop onto her face in pimples and pale skin.
“Miss?” she heard a voice toll into her thoughts. She knocked over a bottle of Windex, it bouncing densely against the black tiled floor as a middle-aged women stood patiently in front of her with curly black hair, three kids tugging at her gray dress pants for this candy and that drink and those nachos.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn apologiesed, straightening her vest as the woman began to recite what she’d like to order. The snack stand stood in the middle of the small theatre, cash registers on all four sides of the square-shared concession stand, black tiles glued to the floor, black counters with glass cases inside holding candy, popcorn and soda displays and supplies. Quinn reached for a yellow jumbo popcorn tub and in the process, knocking the box of straws off the tan counter onto the floor. Quinn sighed exasperatedly, her peripheral vision catching a blue and yellow jacket flash in her view. Quinn spun dramatically, Matt’s icy eyes staring back at her from behind the popcorn and drinks display. She was frozen. He was going in for the kill.
“Hey,” he began in his smooth, caring voice, reaching gently for her chin, Quinn’s eyes trailing his hand intensely, not sure if his touch was the best thing for her now.
“I have to work, Matt,” Quinn brusquely responded, walking the opposite way to the silver popcorn popper, taking a silver scooper and beginning to shovel popcorn violently into the tub.
“Is working more important that us now, Quinn?” Matt shouted, sprinting to the other side of the concession stand, Matt leaning over the glass case to hear her, “Is it? It seems you have a lot of other important things in your life, us being put on the back burner.”
“I don’t know what’s important, Matt,” Quinn intensely whispered, not liking the stares she was getting from her boss, Jack, Jack watching her with his droopy brown eyes from the open door of his office. “Just leave, please.”
“Are you still mad for me beating up that guy?” Matt questioned, following her around the stand like he was a puppy. “It’s been weeks.”
Quinn blatantly rolled her eyes so he could see, her molars grinding with vexation, Matt’s casualness about Benji strumming dangerously hard on her nerves, her nerves ready to snap like twigs at any moment. “That guy was my cousin, you fucking jerk,” Quinn spatted at him, slamming her hand up and down on the popcorn butter dispensor, butter flying onto Matt’s jacket, hoping it would have stung him in the eye. “I can’t believe you’re being such a prick about everything.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed into tight slits like his laser vision could disembowel Quinn, his fists clenching as she turned the cold shoulder on him, taking a deep breath as she approached the front of the counter, the woman’s eyes wide with curiosity. “Will that be all, Maim?”
The next thing Quinn knew, she saw popcorn fly like birds into the air, the empty tub soaring until it hit the maroon wall, gasps flooding the air as Matt slammed down his fists on the glass, his force cracking the glass as his fists began to trickle blood onto the counter and bags of nachos. “Don’t you ever talk like that to me again, Quinn,” Matt threatened her, seizing her right arm in his meaty hand, Quinn wincing with fear as she closed her eyes, a cold sweat making her skim slimy, prepared to take the abuse, feeling weak and helpless, like she was scum and not worth anything, not even Matt’s perverse attention. All her aggressions fell to the floor like when she was in his arms, feeling the fire spark between her legs, but now, the fire was deep in her chest, burning as Matt singed away her fragile heart swing by swing, punch by punch, word by word, “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life, you fucking cunt.”
“What’s going on?” Jack lumbered from his office, Matt looking up, then throwing her arm against the broken glass as he sprinted from the theatre, tears beginning to filch from her eyes, a soft moan rising from her enclosed throat as Jack called on his walkie-talkie for Sean, another employee, to come down from the bathroom checks to cover for Quinn. “Please, folks,” Jack told the customers, trying to back them away from Quinn, their interest as peaked as if they were watching a reality TV series live, his yellow dress shirt splotchy with sweat, “I will give you all free popcorn and soda later. Please, go on into the movies.” The crowd dispersed, Quinn sobbing against the popcorn popper, tears collecting in the rim of her glasses, her hand and wrist pricked with blood like she was crucified a dozen different way, Jack squeezing through the swinging door and grabbing some paper towels, leaning down on his brown dress pants and wrapping the towels gently over her hand, Quinn thoroughly embarrassed. “Apply pressure,” Jack instructed her, his doughy face worried, Quinn taking her hand and pressing it against the towel, holding both her hands to her chest shyly.
“Jack, I am so…” Quinn began sincerely, Jack interrupting her sentence.
“That was quite a scene, QT,” Jack replied morosely, helping her up from the cold floor. Sean hobbled down the stairs, his short brown hair glistening with sweat, and took his place behind the counter as Jack lead QT into his office. “What was that about, QT?” Jack asked hurriedly but politely, Quinn taking a seat on a blue rolling chair, Quinn’s tears evaporating from her cheeks.
“It’s a long story, Jack,” Quinn informed him, opening the towel to see Matt’s damage on her, feeling ashamed getting Jack involved in her personal problems, “Matt and I are just having problems.”
“Problems shouldn’t follow you to work, Quinn, you know that,” Jack sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his fatigued eyes with his sausage-like fingers. Quinn knew that sigh, the sigh of doing something you didn’t want to do. “Quinn…”
“Please, don’t fire me, Jack,” Quinn interrupted him, her face tight with fright, “I’m unbelievingly sorry about today.”
“It’s not just that, Quinn,” Jack assured her, plopping down in his leather rolling chair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, “You’ve been…sloppy lately. Not correctly up orders, forgetting duties, showing up late, miscounted cash register amounts. There’s no excuse for it, since you’ve been here so long. I think that’s it’s best…” Jack stopped himself and saw the upset, the dedication behind her glasses, her eyes shimmering with fresh tears. Jack figured the last thing she needed right now was to be fired. Jack felt sympathy for such a sweet, dedicated worker, girl, trying to make through her senior year without killing herself. “You should take some time off to get things together.”
“You’re not firing me?” Quinn asked a bit too cheerily, surprise relaxing her face, releasing her hand from the towel, scabs covering her small hand.
“You’re a good worker, Quinn,” Jack assured her, genially patting her on the shoulder just like a father would. “You’ve been here 1 and ½ years. I can’t let you go that easily. Go home, Quinn. Get some rest and call me when you’re ready to come back.”
“Thank you, Jack,” Quinn replied earnestly, offering him her right hand, then giggling slightly, and giving him her left hand. Jack always admired her professionalism and hope she would bounce back from whatever was going on.
“I ask you one thing, Quinn,” Jack began, walking over to the gray door and opening it for her, Quinn’s pacing slowing down with those words.
“What?” Quinn responded timidly, taking off her gold nametag and gazing up at Jack.
“Be careful,” Jack began, looking at the wrath Hurricane Matt left at his concession stand, Sean taking some masking tape and paper and covering the shattered counter for a quick fix until the right people could be called. “I don’t trust that boy.”