Breathless
Page 8
Quinn just wanted to go to her room, throw her bag down, and crawl into bed.
Unfortunately, Jake was in there.
And he was entertaining. The door was locked. Quinn could hear female giggling and smell pot.
In her room.
Tears bit at her eyes. It was almost enough to make her turn on her heel and go after Nick.
On the opposite side of the hallway, her parents’ bedroom door clicked open. Her mother stood there in rumpled pajamas. She looked about as happy as Quinn felt, that is, not at all.
She’d also obviously been drinking. That scent, sickly sweet, was battling with the marijuana wafting under Quinn’s door.
“Do you know what time it is?” her mother hissed.
“I don’t know why you’re whispering,” Quinn said, sniffing back the tears. “Jake’s obviously not sleeping.”
“Well, at least he has the decency to be quiet about it.”
“I’m standing in the hallway! You’re the one who came out here to talk to me.”
Her mother threw her hands up. “I’m not starting this again.”
“Whatever.” Quinn turned away. “I guess I’ll just make up my bed on the couch.” She tossed a glare over her shoulder. “You know he’s smoking pot in there.”
Her mother’s lips pursed. “Your brother is home from college. I’m not an idiot, Quinn.”
It wasn’t worth getting her mom riled up when she was lit, but Quinn was already fired up from the argument in the stairway, and she just couldn’t keep the rage confined in her chest. “You’re the one allowing illegal activity in your home.”
“Oh, and I’m sure you were out late working the soup kitchen? Maybe you could cut the attitude.”
Her mother’s voice was devolving into mockery—with a bite. Her voice always gained this cruel edge, as if, when drunk, her sole mission in life was to eliminate any shred of dignity Quinn might be able to cling to.
Quinn wished she had somewhere she could storm off to. At least their house had a basement and a backyard; this itty-bitty condo wasn’t doing anyone any favors. “I wasn’t breaking the law,” she said.
“Oh, who knows what you’re doing anymore, Quinn?”
“I was dancing!”
Her mother rolled her eyes, like that was worse than illegal activity.
“You won’t let me take lessons,” Quinn snapped. “You should be happy I’m going somewhere free.”
“Why would I throw money at something like that? You’ve already gotten yourself kicked off the dance team at school. You mouth off to everyone. You’re ungrateful and nasty and no one can stand you.”
“Well, you’re just a bitch.”
Her mother’s eyes took on a furious gleam, until Quinn wondered if she’d come after her. Sometimes she did. Quinn would hit back. Her father usually dragged them apart.
But her mother just pointed. Her voice was a hoarse yell. “Get out of this house.”
“Where do you want me to go? I can’t walk to Becca’s now.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to act like such a spoiled little drama queen!”
Her mother was yelling full out, now. Those stupid tears were still biting at Quinn’s eyes. She didn’t know how the woman could do this every time, just say a few slurred words and cut Quinn to her knees. Effortlessly.
Then her bedroom door swung open and Jake came out. He was shirtless and barefoot, loose drawstring pants hanging from his hips.
He walked right between Quinn and their mother, ignoring the clear cord of tension connecting them. He grabbed a box of Ho Hos from the cabinet and then a bag of popcorn, too.
When he was walking back, he smacked Quinn on the ass. “I’d offer you some, little sis, but I know you’re working on that.”
Quinn grabbed the food and tore it out of his hands. “Fuck you, Jake!” she screamed, as the bag tore and popcorn went everywhere. “God, I hate you.”
“Get out!” her mother screamed. “Get out of here!”
Quinn couldn’t move fast enough. She slammed the door behind her so hard that the little old man on the second floor opened his front door to peer out curiously.
She didn’t even spare him a glance, just swiped tears from her eyes and kept running.
She had her phone, a sweatshirt, and about ten dollars.
It was freezing outside.
God, she hated everyone.
With nowhere else to go, she ducked into the 7-Eleven at the end of the street, the one that shared a building with a rundown old liquor store. There was no one in the convenience store except the bored cashier, but the Pakistani guy must have been used to half-hysterical girls coming in late at night because he barely gave her a glance.
I’d offer you some, but I know you’re working on that.
What an ass**le.
But the worst part was, she couldn’t stop thinking about those Ho Hos. How there was a box, right there on the shelf in front of her. How she just wanted to shove them all in her mouth and feel better.
Well, what else did she have to do?
Quinn took the box to the counter and paid. She’d eaten two before she made it out the door.
The chocolate, the filling, the sugar rush—Quinn felt better and worse immediately. Cold air caught the tears on her cheeks and set her face to stinging.
“Hey, baby. Time for a chocolate fix?”
Quinn paused before she could shove the third one into her mouth. Two guys sat straddling motorcycles in front of the bar. She didn’t recognize them, but they weren’t very old. Probably not high school, but not much beyond that. Dark clothes, heavy boots, cool gazes.
Unfortunately, Jake was in there.
And he was entertaining. The door was locked. Quinn could hear female giggling and smell pot.
In her room.
Tears bit at her eyes. It was almost enough to make her turn on her heel and go after Nick.
On the opposite side of the hallway, her parents’ bedroom door clicked open. Her mother stood there in rumpled pajamas. She looked about as happy as Quinn felt, that is, not at all.
She’d also obviously been drinking. That scent, sickly sweet, was battling with the marijuana wafting under Quinn’s door.
“Do you know what time it is?” her mother hissed.
“I don’t know why you’re whispering,” Quinn said, sniffing back the tears. “Jake’s obviously not sleeping.”
“Well, at least he has the decency to be quiet about it.”
“I’m standing in the hallway! You’re the one who came out here to talk to me.”
Her mother threw her hands up. “I’m not starting this again.”
“Whatever.” Quinn turned away. “I guess I’ll just make up my bed on the couch.” She tossed a glare over her shoulder. “You know he’s smoking pot in there.”
Her mother’s lips pursed. “Your brother is home from college. I’m not an idiot, Quinn.”
It wasn’t worth getting her mom riled up when she was lit, but Quinn was already fired up from the argument in the stairway, and she just couldn’t keep the rage confined in her chest. “You’re the one allowing illegal activity in your home.”
“Oh, and I’m sure you were out late working the soup kitchen? Maybe you could cut the attitude.”
Her mother’s voice was devolving into mockery—with a bite. Her voice always gained this cruel edge, as if, when drunk, her sole mission in life was to eliminate any shred of dignity Quinn might be able to cling to.
Quinn wished she had somewhere she could storm off to. At least their house had a basement and a backyard; this itty-bitty condo wasn’t doing anyone any favors. “I wasn’t breaking the law,” she said.
“Oh, who knows what you’re doing anymore, Quinn?”
“I was dancing!”
Her mother rolled her eyes, like that was worse than illegal activity.
“You won’t let me take lessons,” Quinn snapped. “You should be happy I’m going somewhere free.”
“Why would I throw money at something like that? You’ve already gotten yourself kicked off the dance team at school. You mouth off to everyone. You’re ungrateful and nasty and no one can stand you.”
“Well, you’re just a bitch.”
Her mother’s eyes took on a furious gleam, until Quinn wondered if she’d come after her. Sometimes she did. Quinn would hit back. Her father usually dragged them apart.
But her mother just pointed. Her voice was a hoarse yell. “Get out of this house.”
“Where do you want me to go? I can’t walk to Becca’s now.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to act like such a spoiled little drama queen!”
Her mother was yelling full out, now. Those stupid tears were still biting at Quinn’s eyes. She didn’t know how the woman could do this every time, just say a few slurred words and cut Quinn to her knees. Effortlessly.
Then her bedroom door swung open and Jake came out. He was shirtless and barefoot, loose drawstring pants hanging from his hips.
He walked right between Quinn and their mother, ignoring the clear cord of tension connecting them. He grabbed a box of Ho Hos from the cabinet and then a bag of popcorn, too.
When he was walking back, he smacked Quinn on the ass. “I’d offer you some, little sis, but I know you’re working on that.”
Quinn grabbed the food and tore it out of his hands. “Fuck you, Jake!” she screamed, as the bag tore and popcorn went everywhere. “God, I hate you.”
“Get out!” her mother screamed. “Get out of here!”
Quinn couldn’t move fast enough. She slammed the door behind her so hard that the little old man on the second floor opened his front door to peer out curiously.
She didn’t even spare him a glance, just swiped tears from her eyes and kept running.
She had her phone, a sweatshirt, and about ten dollars.
It was freezing outside.
God, she hated everyone.
With nowhere else to go, she ducked into the 7-Eleven at the end of the street, the one that shared a building with a rundown old liquor store. There was no one in the convenience store except the bored cashier, but the Pakistani guy must have been used to half-hysterical girls coming in late at night because he barely gave her a glance.
I’d offer you some, but I know you’re working on that.
What an ass**le.
But the worst part was, she couldn’t stop thinking about those Ho Hos. How there was a box, right there on the shelf in front of her. How she just wanted to shove them all in her mouth and feel better.
Well, what else did she have to do?
Quinn took the box to the counter and paid. She’d eaten two before she made it out the door.
The chocolate, the filling, the sugar rush—Quinn felt better and worse immediately. Cold air caught the tears on her cheeks and set her face to stinging.
“Hey, baby. Time for a chocolate fix?”
Quinn paused before she could shove the third one into her mouth. Two guys sat straddling motorcycles in front of the bar. She didn’t recognize them, but they weren’t very old. Probably not high school, but not much beyond that. Dark clothes, heavy boots, cool gazes.
