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“How do you know it will be okay? How would you know how I feel?” I cry, not caring that I’m causing a scene and have the attention of the entire diner.
Quinn grabs me firmly, drawing me into his chest, not allowing me to evade him as he whispers into my ear, “Because I know how it feels to have a mother abandon you, okay? I know how it feels to be treated like you’re nothing but trash. Like you don’t matter. I know…because my mother did it to me.”
As his bitter words sink in, I feel as if the floor has fallen out from under me, so I quickly steady myself by placing a hand on his taut bicep.
How could his mother do that to him? Are there no good parents out there?
Quinnisright; we are cut from the same cloth.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” I apologize, attempting to envelop him in my arms, wanting to comfort him.
But Quinn flinches.
“I don’t want your apologies,” he snaps, gently breaking our embrace.
“Talk to me.”
But Quinn turns away, looking over his shoulder, his chest rising and falling with harsh, heated breaths.
This is neither the time nor the place. But I guess this scene will surely draw my father’s attention if he is indeed watching me.
“Talk to me!” I demand, fisting his shirt in both hands. “Tell me what happened to you.”
But he bites his lip angrily and snarls, “So we can compare notes on how fucked up our moms are? I don’t think so. I’d much rather forget I have a mother because, in my eyes, my mother is dead.”
My eyes soften, and I can’t help but sympathize with Quinn, which is hypocritical, as I hated the same look reflected in his eyes only moments ago.
Quinn suddenly recoils, and I know why.
I hatethatlook. That “sucks to be you” look. It’s a look that makes you feel weak. It’s a look that makes you feel like a victim. And no one wants to be a victim, especially someone who knows firsthand how that feels.
And now I’ve gone and given that look to Quinn.But more importantly, I’ve made him feel like a victim, something he obviously refuses to be.
“Quinn,” I say, my voice coated in sympathy for someone who doesn’t want it.
“This is why I’ve never told you about my past. I don’t want or deserve your pity.”
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“You what?” he snaps, raising an eyebrow, waiting for me to explain, but words escape me.
My heart breaks in half as I watch him fall apart. I don’t want to worsen the situation by saying something stupid, so I don’t say anything at all.
Quinn reaches into his back pocket, throws a few bills onto the table, and storms off, shouldering open the door with a loud thud with his exit.
I stand frozen for a few seconds, attempting to gather my thoughts because I don’t know what the fuck just happened. However, I know this is my fault, and my feet pound on the floor before my foggy brain can catch up.
I can hear patrons whisper under their breath at the debacle they just witnessed, but they can all go to hell. There is only one thing that matters, and that is finding Quinn.
The cool breeze slaps at my cheeks, and I turn my head from left to right, desperately searching for Quinn. Thankfully, I see him not too far up the street, and my boots pound on the sidewalk as I chase after him.
“Quinn!”
I know he can hear me, but he doesn’t slow down. He pushes past a couple of window-shoppers, and he doesn’t look like he’ll stop as he quickens his pace.
“Quinn! Goddammit! Stop! I’m sorry!” I cry, pushing past people who have stopped and turned to see what the commotion is about.
But he doesn’t stop. He just keeps walking, making it clear he needs space. And I owe him that.
