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And I walk to the room.
When I wake up the next morning, a random stranger, a nurse, is there, she’s like in her seventies at least, in her pink nursing uniform and smiling at me with a breakfast tray. “Are you hungry?”
“Who are you?”
“Sam.” She grins, her teeth are white just like her hair, she’s tiny, and she seems sweet. “Mr. Quinn said to feed you some fruit.”
“And um,” I run my hands through my tousled hair. “Where is Quinn?”
Her face freezes a bit. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Her smile falls a bit. “He went home.”
“Home?” I repeat.
“Back to Seattle or LA… I’m not sure, he’d previously applied for both.” She nods slowly. “He’s enrolling at UW for the Spring Semester and wants to get his apartment settled and meet up with his friends. “
“He’s gone?”
She nods slowly. “He hired me until your parents get back, he also left a card for you to use, I think he said to cut it up when you’re done, it’s a black AMEX, it will pay for everything.”
“Can I see it?”
Maybe he left a note.
“Oh! Sure.”
She sets down the tray and walks out of the room, only to return a few seconds later. “Here.”
There’s a sticky note folded up on it.
I open it and gasp.
“How does it feel to be a prostitute? Get better. Cut up the card. Stay as long as you need to. I can’t look at you without seeing her and without knowing what you did. I’m sorry. I truly hope you do get better. See you in the waves one day.—P.S. I loved you, Quinn.”
I start bawling when I see a bracelet taped to the same stupid AMEX card, it has whales and turtles on it, it’s the ocean, my obsession, my freedom, and I’m assuming he bought it just for me. I don’t have the heart to even put it on, so I lay it gently on the nightstand.
The tears won’t stop flowing down my face and I know I’m freaking out, Sam, but I can’t stop.
He was my forever, I knew it in my soul and I messed it all up just because I was afraid.
I can’t even blame Sophie, though she was a huge part of the problem. I never stood up for myself and I lost him because of my silence.
I crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.
“I’m”—my voice shakes—“not feeling well. I’ll eat in a bit, can you turn the lights off?”
The lights go off.
I stay in bed for two days.
I cry for three.
And on day four, I wonder if it’s even worth it.
This life.
