“You okay?” Shutting the door behind me, I cautiously set my backpack on the floor of our now darkened room. Quinn is sprawled out on the bed in front of me, her face hidden in her pillow as her muffled cries escape into the down feathers. Not really experienced with how to handle sobbing people, or people in general for that matter, I move to sit quietly on the edge of her bed, giving her plenty of room to just let her cry. I remain there for a very long time, silently hoping my presence is comforting for her and not freaking her out.
Eventually, her shoulders stop trembling and she rolls over, hooking her arm over her eyes. Tears still stream along the sides of her face, but she seems more composed.
“I’m just…so embarrassed, Raven,” she whimpers softly. “I hate her. I really do. She said all of that shit in front of Josh because she knows…she knows I like him, and obviously, so does she.”
“She’s a f*cking a*shole, Quinn. Seriously, don’t waste your tears on her.” Anger once again resurfaces, but I manage to keep it contained safely inside my chest. Glancing over at the swear jar still sitting on the table between our beds, I thank God that we’ve finally retired it. That thing was bleeding us dry. It now serves only as a reminder of our first day here, together, when the friendships were formed between Quinn, Kaeleb, and myself. The pile of changes remains though—for laundry, of course.
“I know. It’s just she knows everything about me, and she loves to push my buttons to hurt me. And I can’t get rid of her.”
“Why the hell not?” I inquire. I’m so over that bitch. And I have a feeling we won’t be sharing any warm and fuzzies…ever.
“Because…” Quinn pauses to wipe her eyes, finally moving out from behind the safety of her arm. “Because she’s in the same pageants as me. We’ve been doing them since we were kids. I’ve been forced to put up with her shit for years by my mother because it’s a social thing for her. It’s never been an option for me to stand up for myself because it would knock her clear off that precious country club social ladder she’s been climbing for years.”
My right dimple sinks into my face as my lips scrunch to the same side, considering her statement, bringing back Sabrina’s words about the pageant circuit. I guess that explains the tiara/scepter combo.
So my new friend is an actual, bonafide pageant queen. Lovely.
As I eye her face cautiously, it becomes apparent to me how much I actually don’t know about her. I guess this friendship thing is supposed to be a two-way street and I’ve been traveling down one-way Raven Ave.
I really suck at this stuff.
That being said, I did just crown the new reigning Froot Loop Queen so that counts for something, right?
“Wellllll…I kinda took care of that for you.”
Quinn’s eyes almost fly out of their sockets as she snaps straight up in bed, catapulting her body only inches from mine and scaring the shit out of me. “WHAT?”
I spy a subtle grin on her lips before she quickly voids it and clears her throat. “What did you do?” she whispers, eyes still wide.
Once my heart rate settles—thanks for that, Quinn, as if I haven’t had enough adrenaline-fueled moments today—I wave my hand dismissively. “It was nothing, really. I just addressed the crowning comment… bypouringmycerealonherhead.” My words are quick in hopes that they fly right through her brain, not giving them ample time to sink in. Unfortunately, it’s a sad and futile effort.
“WHAAAAAT?” she screams, eyeballs bulging further than thought possible.
I glance at the floor before raising my guilty eyes to meet hers. Her mouth is wide open, and her skin is perhaps a bit ashen, but at least her eyes are still intact.
Phew.
Slowly, I reach over and press her jaw closed with the tips of my fingers before leaning back and shrugging my shoulders. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
Quinn dips her chin to her chest and peers at me from underneath her lashes, her shocked expression falling into a smirk that definitely rivals Linda’s when she knows I’m full of shit. I just lift my shoulders in innocence.
“Anyway,” I say on an exhale, “This isn’t about her. I want to talk about you.”
Aaaaaand now we’re back to being shocked.
“You…you want to talk about me?”
My face relaxes as I give her my best attempt at a comforting smile. “Yes. I do. If we’re going to be friends, I should know things about you, right?” I motion back and forth between us as I add, “Isn’t that how this works?” The question sounds rhetorical, but unfortunately, it’s not.
Quinn answers with a nod of her head. “What do you want to know?”
“Hmmm…” I drawl. “I guess I’m trying to understand this lack of eating issue we’ve got going on here. I mean, you have to eat, Quinn. You run every day like you’re training for a marathon, and some days you eat nothing more than an apple. That can’t be good for your body.” It’s true. An apple a day may keep the doctor away, but tack five miles onto that with nothing else to eat and I’m pretty sure it negates the whole idea.
The resulting look on Quinn’s face is an equal mixture of guilt and sadness. The pain in her features is blatantly evident as I watch her expression fall with her tears. No words are spoken between us until she’s ready.
“I’m just so…tired, Raven. So, so tired. Tired of Sabrina picking at everything I do. Tired of letting her do it. But most of all, I’m tired of thinking.”
Her eyes fill with unshed tears as she speaks. “My mind runs nonstop, all day long. I shouldn’t have eaten that. If I eat this, then I can’t eat this. These jeans are tighter than they used to be. I’m getting a pouch on my stomach. I can definitely pinch more than I could yesterday. I just can’t take it anymore!” she finally shouts, bolting off the bed.
Her feet on a mission, she walks over to our shared table, fists the pile of change in the palm of her hand and then screws open the lid of the retired swear jar, throwing every last bit of our money inside. Well, with the exception of the dime that just hit the floor. I listen to it roll while thinking that I’m not really sure why she’s dumping change into the jar, because we don’t use it anymore.
Maybe it’s a metaphorical statement she feels she needs to make.
She slams the jar back down onto the table and turns back to me, her eyes blazing with anger and frustration. “I AM SO F*ckING EXHAUSTED!” Her head falls into her hands, and her shoulders tremble with her sobs.
Tears pool on my lower lashes and my chin begins to quiver, her torment slicing my heart wide open as I watch her break right in front of my eyes. Rising from the bed, I step toward her, knowing the sight of her own walls being shattered right in front of me has temporarily obliterated my need for self-preservation. I feel every ounce of her hopelessness as I travel the short distance between us, not stopping until I’m standing right in front of her. Awkwardly my arms rise, the hesitation in my movements causing them to jerkily bob up and down before I take in a deep breath, calming the anxiety building in my chest, and finally circle them around her tiny upper body. Uncertainty still pounds within my ears as I tighten my grip on her, hoping like hell this is what I’m supposed to do when comforting a friend.
Quinn stills immediately, her cries ceasing for the briefest of moments before she wraps her arms around my waist and buries her head into my shoulder, letting her pain flow. The moisture from her tears drains onto the collar of my favorite Pink Floyd T-shirt as I hold onto my friend, trying to absorb her despair into my already polluted existence. She’s too good, too pure, to have to hold this much anguish in her heart. I already have plenty; what’s a little more on top of it if it helps her?
My arms continue to envelop her until her sobs soften into light whimpers. Once I feel she’s finally found the release she’s been looking for, I lessen my hold, careful not to let go until she’s ready. Slowly she unwraps her arms and takes a step back, self-consciously tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear before clearing the moisture from her face with both hands. Sucking in a breath, she finally brings her eyes to mine.
“I’m sorry,” she says on a ragged breath. “It’s just…I’ve been holding in a lot. I didn’t mean to explode like that in front of you.”
I give her a small, but genuine smile. “It’s fine, Quinn. Really.”
An unfamiliar ache spreads throughout my chest, because as I speak those words of comfort to my friend, I’m forced to acknowledge the longing buried somewhere deep within my soul that wants to yell and scream and tear the room apart for all the loss I’ve had to endure.
That I’ve caused.
Quinn praises my strength, the ability to look and act like a freak without the fear of judgment rendered, but in all actuality, she’s the only one in this room with true courage. Mine is a mere fa?ade.
My throat narrows, making it increasingly difficult to swallow, so I break eye contact from her, directing my glance at a flash of silver that catches my eye. Bending at the waist, I pinch the dime between my fingers and rise, extending my arm to hand it to Quinn. My somber features are replaced with a subtle grin as I drop it into her palm. “This one’s mine. You don’t get the monopoly on breakdowns around here.” A sheepish smile appears before she turns and places the dime in its rightful place next to the jar.
Twisting back in my direction, she reaches for my arm and gives it a slight squeeze. “Thank you, Raven. I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long time.” After she releases me, she steps back and jerks her chin toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower before our next class.”
I nod and watch as she walks away, and then sit on the edge of my bed to take in a much needed breath, suddenly exhausted.
It’s been a rather emotional day for me.
Just before the bathroom door shuts, it whips back open and Quinn’s head pops out from behind it. “And you are going to tell me the full, unedited version of what exactly happened with Sabrina after I left as soon as I step out of this shower!” She smiles widely, and once again begins to close the door, but not before jutting her hand out of the small crack she left open. “Oh! Can you get my brush? It’s somewhere around my desk I think!”
“Sure,” I respond, pressing myself off the bed. My eyes rake over the surface of the desk, no brush in sight. I open her top drawer with no success, but upon flinging open the second drawer an envelope slides across the slick bottom before hitting the side wall, the impact spilling out the contents.
An inaudible gasp passes through my throat at what is strewn out right in front of me. Tears once again prick my eyes as I stare open mouthed at a picture of a girl—her haunting, desolate expression glaring back at me. Quinn. A much younger version, and about one-hundred pounds heavier, but it’s definitely her. I’m transfixed on the picture, her vacant eyes nothing like the cheerful ones I’ve come to know. My fingers tremble as I reach into the drawer and slowly fan out the pile of photos so I can see what’s underneath. What I find chills me to the core.
Every single one of the underlying pictures has been annihilated. In some, gaping holes replace where the eyes are supposed to be, leaving nothing but jagged edges in their place. In others, the face has been scratched beyond recognition—dull, angry white marks embedded deeply into the glossy finish. Words like pig, repulsive, heifer, disgusting and ugly are carved into the paper, her revulsion permanently engraved across her body. Muffin top catches my eye, and a jolt courses through my veins, Sabrina’s words so painfully fresh in my mind. I sift through a few more, horrified at the inscriptions of hatred and loathing in front of me.
As I finally reach the bottom of the pile, a single tear releases from the corner of my eye, flowing freely down my face while I read the etching displayed on the last picture.
I want to die.
“Raven! Brush?” The bathroom door creaks open and I quickly shove everything back into the envelope before softly pressing the drawer closed. Just as I turn and take a small step, the tip of my shoe sends the brush sliding across the floor until it dead ends against Quinn’s bare foot. Her eyes flit quickly over the desk before landing on the brush in front of her as she slowly and deliberately bends her terrycloth covered body to retrieve it, before rising and meeting my gaze.
“Found it,” I offer meekly, worried that if I say anything more my guilt will proclaim itself. Quinn’s eyes tighten for a brief moment, watching me with caution. “I see that. Find anything else?”
“Nope,” I reply as though the words can’t get off my tongue fast enough.
The seconds tick by until finally Quinn’s face begins to soften and she offers me a smile. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna take a quick one and then we can head to class.”
I manage a small nod before she spins around and heads to the bathroom, finally shutting the door behind her. Robotically, my steps take me to my bed and as I fall backwards, my eyes find the ceiling and my brain reels.
I know I should say something, talk to her, but as Quinn’s mutilated pictures flip repeatedly in my mind, one after another, I’m painfully reminded that she seems to have just as many protective layers as I do. Layers that can’t be forcefully ripped away in haste; the damage would be irreparable.
I want to die.
Staring upwards, I say a silent prayer that I’m doing the right thing…
Because I know better than anyone how consuming the idea of death can be.