I am Jack's smirking revenge
No matter how hard she rubbed at her eyes or scratched at her skin, the twitching shadows continued to follow her and her skin crawled. Even when the sky finally turned from dark to dusky blue with the sun on the horizon, she couldn't escape it.
Quinn had no idea how long she had been walking for, she had to stop and rest every once in a while on the curb when the reeling in her stomach became too much and random bursts of pain shot through her. Once or twice she stopped at a bus stop, contemplating taking one home, but she quickly vetoed that when she had seen one coming down the street and claustrophobia ran down her spine.
So she just kept moving her feet, one after the other, feeling it becoming more difficult when her two pathetic limbs called legs began to feel like deadweight and having to continuously spit blood out of her mouth, the strong taste and smell of blood making her dizzy. She felt absolutely destroyed. Her mouth and throat felt dry as sandpaper and her head still pounded along with the loud music that echoed in her ears. She grinded her teeth and pushed on, and on and on…
Stumbling for a moment with her heavy feet, it broke her out of her haze. She glanced around to find herself in her neighborhood, and stopped at the sight of her not-so-new house. For a moment, she had the urge to turn back around from where she came; for all its apparent new worth, the new house didn't exactly feel like home. It looked old and desolate on that small patch of green lawn and empty driveway.
Idly scratching her forearm, she contemplated the possibility of crashing at Sarah's place, but then she remembered their recent altercation and just the idea of burrowing under the covers of her bed -
She jumped at a sudden rumble of a lawnmower. Turning her gaze to a few houses down to the source of the sound, she met the eyes of some middle-aged man give her a blank passing glance over her state and turned back to his lawn before she could glare at him.
Well – she may never get that feeling of having a home to go to anymore, but at least this area didn't have any prying or judgmental neighbors like the last.
With a sigh, she continued her path to the quaint house and walked up the front porch whilst digging in her jean pocket for her keys. With her hands still twitching and shaking, she swung open the screen door and fiddled with the lock for a couple moments when it was giving her difficulty. Leaning a shoulder against the wood, she managed to open the door with a shove and fumbled inside. Quickly shutting the door, she leaned heavily against it with a slow exhale. Her eyes shut with a small frown she rested there for a few moments, gathering her bearings.
Her breathing faintly heavy, her body was aching to the bones, and she could feel the left side of face swelling. All she desperately wanted right now was a gallon of water to drink and to be buried in her bed and to never be bothered forever.
The first two sounded like a possibility, but the last -
Hey God, if you're listening…
With a low groan, she pushed off the door, pulled her jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack and used her feet to push her Chucks off, only to almost lose her balance and bump into the key table next to the door with a thud.
The loose floorboards on the second floor creaked in response, and Quinn silently cursed herself under her breath.
"Quinn?" She heard her mother call out, and made a beeline for the kitchen. "Quinn, is that you?"
Hearing her mother's footsteps as she thundered down the stairs, she could feel herself begin to cold sweat and her skin crawl in a panic, dreading her mother to see her condition. "Kitchen," she called out with a tremor and moved to stand in front of the sink with her back to the entrance, scratching at her welting forearm.
"Oh – there you are." She grinded her teeth and gripped the edge of the counter with white knuckled fists that were beginning to swell and colour. "I was wondering where you were."
"I told you, I went out with a couple of friends," she bit out, attempting to control the shakiness of her voice. Her nerves were still shot.
"Quinn, it's 8:23am – it's Sunday morning. You've been gone for nearly two days."
That was the time? That how long it's been? She swallowed with difficulty, her mouth was still dry. Grabbing a glass from the dishes rack, she opened the pipe and began to fill it with water.
"It's Sunday…"
"Yes."
"Where's the car?"
"I'm sorry?"
"The car, it isn't outside, I thought you'd be at church."
"I took it to the mechanic; it was making some strange sounds," her mother's wary voice said.
She frowned and focused her glare out the window above the sink, "You're wasting money on the car because it's making strange sounds?"
"Well, I don't want it to break down while I'm on the road."
"If you're so worried about the car, there's this thing called public transportation, you should try it mother." She brought the trembling glass to her lips and quickly gulped it down, it still wasn't enough. She began to refill it.
"Oh forget the car, Quinn. You had me worried, I was just about to call the police –"
Closing the pipe, she dropped the glass with a loud clang in the sink and gripped the counter once again to steady herself, she was shaking again.
"Quinn, are you okay?"
No, her deflection failed and the walls were closing in around her. She quickly diverted her gaze from the window, her breathing picking up and dropped her chin to her chest.
"Quinnie..."
"Stop."
"Pardon?"
"Stop – just stop," she said through gritted teeth.
"But Quinnie…please talk to me."
The confusion was evident in her mother's voice, but she didn't care. She didn't need this, this…placating. Not now.
She could feel her mother staring at her back, unmoving and felt a rush of anger. "Do you not realize we need that money? You're off gallivanting around town, spending the little money we have on your stupid County Club and on sounds a car naturally makes."
"Don't make assumptions, Quinn. It's unbecoming of you. The money I earn, I save it for you – "
"Don't pretend that you care," she said before she could stop herself.
"Quinnie…"
"No, don't you dare pretend that you all of a sudden care, because it's bullshit."
"Don't you dare speak to me like that, young lady. Why do you think you're still here? If it weren't for me, your father would have had full custody of you from the divorce proceedings."
She spun around on her heels, "And look how that turned out for you!"
Her mother gasped with her eyes wide, and she instantly swayed on the spot, dizzy with spots were once again in her eyes at her fast movements. She had to blink rapidly to rid them away only to see her mother rushing towards her.
"Don't touch me!" She snapped and her mother stopped just a few feet before her, hands outstretched as if to touch her.
She felt nauseas.
Her mother's arm went limp to her side and her eyes darted over Quinn, taking in her bruised and bloody form before meeting Quinn's angry gaze. "A-Are you ok?"
"I wouldn't be standing if I weren't." She was more or less fighting to stay on her feet.
Still, her mother's faint sniffing wasn't lost on her. "Have you been drinking?" She asked warily.
Quinn couldn't help the disdainful curve of her lips.
"Quinn –"
"Don't, I don't need to hear a lecture, especially coming from you."
"It's highly un-ladylike."
"That's a fair share of the pot calling the kettle black now, isn't it?"
Her eyes narrowed, "I have my reasons Quinn. You shouldn't. You're seventeen – you are not allowed to be drinking."
The words collided into her like a freight train, making her physically rear back when something heavy pressed into her chest until she could barely breathe. "Seventeen…" she breathed, staring at her mother with a frozen tortured gaze.
It took Judy a few moments, but soon her eyes widened in realization. "Oh…honey," she breathed and reached out for her again.
"No," she stepped back from her mother's grasp shaking her head and turned to face the counter again. "Just - no."
She licked her dry lips and her hands shook to scratch her crawling skin. To busy her trembling hands, she took the glass from the sink and drank the rest of the few sips of water left.
"I'm so sorry, Quinnie –"
"No!" The glass shattered on the kitchen floor, "Don't you dare! Don't you dare try redeem yourself!"
Unshed tears built up in her eyes, she held her breath and blinked them away. "Why am I even be surprised? I don't - you care more about the car than me."
She choked out a deprecating chuckle, and dug the heel of her palms into her eyes. She couldn't stop shaking, and she was beginning to wonder why her mother fought to keep her if she was such a burden to remember.
Feeling her chest clench at the thought, she dropped her hands to stare unblinkingly at the horribly decorated wallpaper, clenching her hands into fists and grinding her teeth.
"Quinnie, let me explain – "
"No, there's nothing to explain," she said in a clear flat voice. "I don't want to hear your excuses; I don't want to hear a thing. Do you understand?"
"Quinn – "
"Do you understand?"
She took her mother's silence as an answer and sighed.
"Right – we're done now," she cursed the quiver in her voice. "Leave me alone."
"Quinn –"
She turned her glare to her mother, and snapped. "This conversation is over."
Her mother turned silent, and for a brief moment, her mother looked wounded with shining eyes. With an unrelenting hard glare, she turned back to the sink and slowly expelled the air she held in her lungs.
"I'll be going out later; I won't have time to make any dinner, so I'll leave some money for you on the counter for you to order some food," her mother attempted with a small voice.
She held her breath, and didn't respond. The way her mother just finally stopped – it almost felt back to basics with the stilted conversations they had filled with uncomfortable silences – it was like being back to normal, if normal even existed between them.
"There is also a bag on the kitchen table for you," she continued. "That sweet boy Sam brought it over when you weren't home."
There was another short minute of uncomfortable silence when she didn't answer. She was waiting for her mother to suggest that she and Sam should start dating again, that his sweet Catholic charms and influence would help redeem her from her angry, Sinful ways.
Instead, what she got was–
"You're just like him, you know."
The tears were unexpected and automatic.
She brought hand to her mouth and her face crumbled when she heard footsteps leave the kitchen to head back upstairs. Cold and full of hurt they were spoken, yet they cut through her deep and spilled her guts to the floor.
She bit hard on her tongue until she could faintly taste more blood in her mouth and choked back a sob that threatened its way up her throat. Dropping her hand, she slowly breathed out once…twice…moved away from the counter and carefully stepped around broken shards of glass to the small table that sat against the wall in the small kitchen, grabbed the bag and made her way upstairs.
Walking past her mother's closed door, her heart picked up and she walked faster without a second glance, stumbled into her room at the end of the hall, shut her door and locked it with trembling fingers. For what seemed liked the thousandth time, she let out a sigh, this time with relief.
Sniffing, Quinn dropped the bag in her hands on her vanity dresser, and sat down heavily, slumping down in her seat, slipping her eyes shut. She sat there for a few moments in silence, forcing her heavy panting into controlled breaths.
Her body sagging heavily, she sat there for a bit longer until temptation grew and she eyed the bag on her dresser through hooded eyelids. She hadn't noticed it earlier in the kitchen, in the midst of her panic. It was curious, even at the considerate thought of Sam dropping something off for her, she couldn't get rid of the heaviness that settled in her chest. Sam couldn't have waited until the next time they saw each other to give it to her?
With her eyes feeling swollen, she sat up and gently removed her contacts, putting them away in a plastic container and wiped at her tender eyes before moving her attention to the small plastic bag. Opening it, she glanced inside, and paused. A small frown creased her forehead at the pink and black box of hair dye she pulled out; she held it up and stared at it, the pink design against the black background popping out at her. Was this a joke? Sam knew she quietly objected to anything to do with the colour. Grinding her teeth, she placed the box on her dresser and pulled out a slightly thick envelope that had pencil crayon decorations bordering around it.
The heaviness was expanding in her chest as she eyed the colourful decorations and her name spelt out in different colours. When they began to twitch and twirl, she ripped the envelope open and pulled out two different sets of letters, and her eyes rapidly moved over them. She read and she read, her throat constricting and her chest heaving. The tears that she had been fighting to keep back filled her eyes once again, and spilled down her cheeks.
She read those letters over and over and over again. Why did this always happen? Why did have to happen to her? Was it karma getting back at her? She thought she already had enough of that with Junior Year and her failed attempt at getting everything back to the way it was.
When she couldn't look at them anymore, she had to put them down, and press a hand to her eyes, she couldn't deal with this. Everything was beginning to pain. Her entire head was throbbing, her lungs and throat burned.
White noise –
No.
Dragging her hand down her face to clamp over her mouth, her gaze landed on her mirror and finally took notice of her reflection. Tears glistening in wide blood shot eyes that were blown out stared back at her, and she dropped her hand, taking in her hell of appearance. Red blood that had dried to brown was all around her mouth and nose, and had dripped down her throat and splattered all over her white t-shirt. A dark bruise had formed and swelled over her left cheek, and her lip was cut.
She looked down at her shaking hands, holding the crimpling cards in a tight grip to see just how swollen and dark they had gotten. She dropped them in her lap in fear of wrinkling them, and brought her hands closer to her face. She flexed and pulled her fingers, her knuckles throbbing. She turned her palms over and they caught her tears that refused to stop. She glared at them, cursed them as they twitched and shadows crept towards them.
Why did she destroy everything she touched?
Her face crumbled and she lost it. Sobs that had been pushed down suddenly bubbled up again and she didn't fight it in the solitary of her room. They echoed aloud, reverberated around her room and through her body, shaking her violently. With the walls closing in on her, and the shadows that always seemed to be there, lurking and creeping over her vision, her hand flew out and swept everything off her dresser.
She became manic, jumping up from her chair causing it and the letters to fall to the ground, and tore around her room. Her hands blindly grabbed for whatever was in reach and flung it across the room, tears streaming down her cheeks and inhumane sounds erupting from her throat.
She had no idea how long she went on for, but she finally stopped when she became dizzy and stood in the middle of her room with her eyes shut, ignoring the mess she had created. Breathing hard, she opened her eyes and her gaze landed on her cell phone that she had left home, lying on her bed. She instantly lunged for it and began to dial the number that had been lodged in the back of her head.
Putting it to her ear, she paced around the pile of mess, her fingers tapping against her thigh, and listened to the phone ring. Her anger and pain was feeding her adrenaline, her body felt exhausted but her mind felt restless. She grinded her teeth harder together until –
"Hello?" Her breath hitched at the sound of his voice, she stopped her pacing, and held her breath listening to him breathe on the other line.
"Hello?" He asked again, his voice wary.
Tears blurred her vision, she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
"…Quinn?"
She clamped her mouth shut, and gripped the cell tighter. "Fuck you," she hissed and hung up.
Quinn tossed the phone on her dresser, forcing that ever present lump down her throat with a swallow, and buried her face in her hands, rubbing it fiercely until she hissed in pain. God was she thirsty, her mouth felt like sandpaper and her throat was raw. She needed more water.
Rushing to the door, she unlocked and swung it open. Marching with intent down the hallway, her feet froze in front of her mother's door. She stared at the white wood, the sounds of muffled crying coming from behind the door. She felt her chest clench, but she pushed on and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. Ignoring the shards of glass, she got a new one and filled it with water. Gulping it down, she filled it again, and marched back up stairs, disregarding her mother's door and entered her own, locking it.
She gulped from the glass, and glanced around the room until her gaze found the pink and black box, and letters. Setting the glass on the dresser, she picked up the fallen items, and carefully placed the letters down, flattening them down neat before looking to the box with a quirked eyebrow.
Her decision was instantaneous. With the box in hand, she walked to the bathroom and began opening it with a trembling hand.
A/N: Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.