Paul couldn’t stand to see Quinn so sad, her face so unfeeling and hard that he though it would set into stone, it almost made him wish he didn’t get involved in her life, considering how happy she was when he first met her. Then Paul’s mind travels back to the bruises, the tears, the beatings, Benji’s minor loss of pride, and Paul knew he was doing the right thing. Some people just need a friend. He was hoping the surprise trip to Busch Gardens would have cheered Quinn up a little, considering she hadn’t been there since she was 12 and hasn’t seen Paul in a few weeks, but she still wore that same downcast face, the same bloodhound eyes, her elbow leaning against the car window as she stared absentmindedly into the now murky day, her breathing rhythmic with the rolling in of the thunderous clouds. Paul sighed, drumming his fingers against the leather steering wheel as tunes from Green Day seeped from the CD player. Quinn glanced over at Paul, Paul looking almost as upset as she was, the corners of his lips hooked under as he slouched in the driver’s seat.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn whispered softly, feeling horrible for making Paul so unhappy, almost so inaudibly that Paul couldn’t hear her voice, Quinn clasping her hands together and staring down into the black floor mat like she was bring scolded.
“For what?” Paul asked curiously with an upbeat voice, trying to instill some life into the conversation, making a right onto Main St., people ducking into local stores and abandoning play at the park as fat rain drops began to pop against the ground, Paul flicking on the windshield wipers of his silver Durango.
“Just being fucked up,” Quinn replied solemnly, swallowing the ice that began to freeze in her throat as Paul shook his head, pulling hastily in front of her house, rain tapping against the car politely, Paul unbuckling his seat belt and turning towards her, Quinn still staring into the floor for punishment.
“You’re not fucked up, Quinn,” Paul told her firmly but sincerely, reaching over and lifting her chin up, Quinn looking hopelessly into his eyes, wishing Paul could soothe any beast with his beautiful, calm gaze. “Every one has troubles, yours worst than most peoples’. You just need to be strong, Quinn. If you don’t think you can be strong, I think you can.” Paul slid his hand underneath hers that rested on her thigh, Quinn glancing down at Paul’s gesture, his touch soothing, this revelation not seeping into her brain until now, Quinn not sure if it was friendly or something more.
“I don’t think I’m strong enough, Paul,” Quinn confessed with discomfort, tugging her hand away in defense and running both hands through her hair in frustration, her voice growing angry with every word. Quinn just wanted to lock herself in a closet and emerge back into the world when everything could be fixed with a smile or the push of a button. “It seems like the world hates me, you know? What have I done to deserve all this shit, Paul? Answer me that. All I did was love.”
Paul scratched his temple as Quinn shoved her hands into her pink zip-up hoodie and slouched down in her seat further, hoping she would just melt into a puddle and evaporate from this life. “Life has a funny way of showing us what’s good and bad, what’s right and wrong,” Paul began, turning off the CD player, watching rain drops slide like kids in a water park down the windshield. “As fucked up as the world seems to be, it always has a way of making sense, of fixing what’s broken. I’m not saying what’s going on is inconsequential, but life will fix everything. Or else what’s the point of living, if we don’t have faith in life and God and whatnot?”
Quinn pondered this, leaning her head back against the black headrest, noticing that her jaw was throbbing from chewing viciously on her Winterfresh gum. Maybe there was a reason that her Dad left her, that she’s going through this shit with Matt. Maybe it will make her stronger? Make her appreciate what she has? “You know, Paul,” Quinn replied, looking down at her pockets, and then over to Paul, a small smile diffusing on her face, “For a musician, a bass player, for God’s sake, you’re pretty smart.”
“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” Paul replied unsure, Quinn leaning over and giving him a quick hug and scooting from the car, needing to think about a lot of things. Quinn sprinted into the house, her hoodie sprinkled with rain drops. Quinn saw steam billowing from the kitchen, the shrill whistle of the tea kettle piercing her ears as she jogged into the kitchen, Chris making a futile attempt at hot chocolate.
“I was tired of using the microwave to heat water, Quinn,” Chris apologiesed as Quinn switched off the burner, Quinn’s heart relaxing as the adrenaline dissolved from her veins. “I wanted to be a big kid.”
“It’s alright, Chris,” Quinn assured him tiredly, taking the tea kettle gently in her hand and walking over to the wooden counter, pouring the steamy liquid into the Christmas mug, Chris’s eyes widening with anticipation of this treat. Quinn’s hand shuttered as she heard a knock at the door. Hastily, she put the kettle back on the stove as Chris began to stir his hot chocolate. Quinn swung opened the door, thinking it was her mom who forgot her keys like she did yesterday but there was Matt standing in front of her, only the screen door caging the beast, his gray Darmouth sweatshirt soaked with water, his eyes bloodshot and ringed with black fatigue. Matt hunched over, like he was too old to hold up his own weight, his hand holding onto something long and skinny. Quinn stood there stoically, not knowing what to do, what to say. Chris hobbled into the living room, hot chocolate in hand, a brown mustache growing on top of his lips as he walked up next to her.
“Quinn, do you…” he stopped, noticing the lumbering figure in the doorway, Chris also frozen as he looked up at his sister.
“Go in Mom’s room and watch TV, Chris,” Quinn told Chris sternly without breaking eye contact with Matt, his eyes droning but electric, the only thing vibrant about his new appearance. “I’ll be in soon.” Chris obediently obeyed, scampering off with Freckles at his heels.
“Matt…” Quinn began cautiously, afraid the wrong choice of words would sent him on a rampage, holding onto the white front door as if it was a shield, not as scared as she was curious to the big man’s downfall.
“I’m going to make this short, Quinn,” Matt’s voice droned, as if he was a computer program, revealing what he was holding in his hand, piano wire. Quinn’s heart jumped from her chest into her throat, fear building up in her eyes, her lashes batting them back. Matt began to wrap the wire slowly around his neck like a tie as his voice softly talked to her, as if he was sorry, “If you won’t take me back, I’ll slit my throat right here and bleed on you so you will never forget…forget what we have…” Veins mounted up from his meaty hands as the wire grew taunt around his thick neck, tears sliding down Quinn’s cheek, not believing what Matt was doing, willing to end it all because of her. Did he love her that much, to die for her? Every second that passed by felt like a clamp was squeezing tighter and tighter against her heart until it popped and she gave in. If she didn’t do something, it would be like she killed him, and how could she live with that? His neck began to tint purple, blood pressing against his thin skin, as if it was paper thin.
“NO!” Quinn cried, plowing through the screen door and reaching up for his hands, his hand immediately falling from his neck, the wire loosening and revealing a thick laceration, Matt staring down at Quinn almost lovingly, as if he just went to battle for her. Quinn’s tears continued to stream down the slopes of her cheeks, Matt taking his thumb and whipping her cheek dry as he sobbed into his chest, Quinn wanting to punch and kick and scream at him for making her fall again. Clashes of lightning and thunder whipped above them, forcasting another one of Quinn’s downfalls. Matt slung his arm around her shuddering shoulders and led her down the lawn to his mustang, opening the door gentlemanly for her, Quinn still in hysterics, plopping in the passanger’s seat and clawing at her eyes with her hands. How could all this be happening to her? How come she couldn’t believe Paul? Matt strolled to the driver’s door and hastily got in, inhaling a deep, arrogant breath of victory as a secret smile slid on his face, locking the doors with a swift motion of his powerful fingers.
The click of the lock stopped Quinn dead in her tracks, her mascara raining down her face, Matt the conniving actor fooling her again, playing with her heart, Quinn staring at Matt as Matt scooted next to her, his juicy lips making contact with the sweet skin of her neck, Quinn squeezing her eyes close and biting her lip, the pounding of the rain drowning out her shrieks for help.
“No, Matt, No,” Quinn cried helplessly, Matt’s hand exploring her stomach and the outline of her bra, Quinn trying to crunch up in a ball and make herself disappear, not knowing how to escape this nightmare, but Matt’s power over her fettered her back into his arms whether she liked it or not…