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I tell myself to keep my eyes trained ahead, but for some stupid reason, my eyes gravitate toward that door as I hobble by. I glimpse Quinton and his family, and my stomach sinks to my feet.
He’s smiling, his sister is laughing at something, and his mother is looking at him like he means the world to her. Even Xander is smiling. I look away and try to ignore the bitter jealousy I’m feeling. His life might not be perfect, but he has more than I do. More joy, more love, more everything.
I swallow down my emotions, and Brittney helps me on the way to my room, and I’m more than thankful for her since I know for a fact, someone would’ve tripped me and been laughing at me trying to get up more than once by now.
We reach my room, and I take out the new room key that they had made for me. I scan it and turn the door handle before pushing the door open. The door isn’t even fully open, but I can’t miss the audible gasp that Brittney makes.
“How? How do you stay here? It’s small and bare. Jesus, Aspen. Why didn’t you tell me you were living like this?”
My defenses are up, and I’m too tired and moody to argue with her.
I shrug. “It’s fine. Plus, I don’t really care. I only use the room to sleep and study. Otherwise, I’m not here.” It’s a lie, but there’s nothing more for me to say. I know nothing will change, even if I tell her I hate this room and all its contents.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brittney frowning. “I don’t think that’s true, but you don’t seem like you want to talk about it.”
“I’m okay, Brittney.” The lie rolls so smoothly off my tongue, I’m wondering if it’s really a lie anymore.
“I don’t believe you,” she says.
I sit on the edge of the bed, tears forming behind my eyes. “Look, I’m exhausted from the medicine they gave me, and all I want to do is rest. I’m not lying to you. I’m okay, really, and if I wasn’t, I would tell you.”
Brittney doesn’t appear to believe me, but I’m thankful she doesn’t continue to press on. She gives the room one last pitiful look before walking toward the door.
“Remember, if you need anything, just let me know. I’ll come by to check on you in a couple days… actually, probably tomorrow would be better.”
I nod and force my lips into a smile. I’m smiling on the outside but splintering into a thousand pieces on the inside.
She leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her, and I curl up into a ball as best I can with my cast leg. I’m cold and tired, but worst of all, I’m alone.
I know I shouldn’t wish he was here, holding all my broken pieces together, but I do. I miss his comforting touch, the heat of his body, his presence. Most of all, his protection. When I’m with Quinton, I feel safe, like nothing can hurt me. At least out there, it was like that. Out there, he wasn’t my enemy. He was my protector. I wish we could have stayed that way forever.
Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s possible.
12
QUINTON
Although I don’t particularly like the circumstances, I didn’t mind having my family here for a visit. I love spending time with my mom and my sister, though there is still a big strain between my father and me, which is part of the reason I’m glad they left. The other part is that I haven’t been able to talk to Aspen yet. I have no idea exactly what I’m going to say, but I need to see her.
Exiting my room, I slip into the sneakers I left at the door. My hand is already wrapped around the metal doorknob when Ren appears behind me.
“Before you go, we need to talk. Aspen is playing you, Quinton.”
“This again? Why are you beating a dead horse?”
“I already told you, I’m just trying to protect you. She has you wrapped around her little finger, and you don’t even realize it. Maybe it’s better if I just show you.” Ren pulls out his phone and starts typing something into the screen.
Annoyed, I let go of the doorknob and walk back into our apartment. I’m not sure what he could show me that would prove his point, but he has my interest piqued now.
“Aspen didn’t show up to the trial herself, but evidence that she provided was used against your father,” he explains and presses a button on his phone.
Aspen’s father’s voice comes from the speaker.
“Xander, it’s good to see you, old friend.”
“Clyde, it’s been a few years. You remember my son, Quinton,” my father announces, and I slowly recognize the conversation from one of the fundraisers we attended together.
