Breaking Nova (13 page)

I arch my eyebrows, wondering where the abrupt subject change came from. “Huh?”

“What’s your favorite color?” she repeats without an explanation.

I search her eyes for a reason why she’s asking, but I don’t know her at all, so I can’t figure her out. “I don’t know… black onyx.”

Her lips curve upward. “That’s such an artist answer. Most people would say like purple or blue, but you… black onyx.” She laughs under her breath, and it seems a little more natural than the other couple of times I’ve heard her laugh. But she’s high, which means it’s not real. None of this is, which makes it easier.

“What about you?” I ask. “What’s yours?”

She mulls it over, pressing a smile back. “Indigo.”

“Is that really your favorite color?” I inch forward slightly on the bed to keep from falling off the edge. “Or are you just trying to impress me?”

She shrugs, rolling her tongue in her mouth, amused. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Chicken teriyaki,” I reply, wondering if we’re entering a game of twenty questions or something. “Nova, where are you going with this?”

She shrugs again. “I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“You don’t want to do that.” I roll to my side and straighten my arm out so I can reach my cigarettes on the dresser. I pull one out, grab my lighter, and then turn back over. “In fact, I should have never brought you back here.”

“Then why did you?” she asks, watching me intently, as I light up the cigarette and toss the lighter onto the foot of the bed.

I slant my head to the side to avoid blowing smoke in her face. “To get you away from those guys.”

She assesses me closely, like she’s trying to unravel what I’m thinking. “What’s your—”

I cover her mouth with my hand and shake my head. “No way. I get to ask one now.”

Her lips curve upward against my hand. “Okay.”

I lower my hand to my side. “First car.”

“Never had one,” she answers, her voice shaking and off pitch. “Well, besides the one my dad gave me.”

I want to ask her how he died, but that’d be bringing up the subject of death. “Favorite band?”

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t have a favorite band. It’s not possible.”

“Bullshit,” I argue, reaching behind me to ash the cigarette on the floor. “There’s always one that outweighs the others just a little bit.”

She points a finger at me. “Then you are not a true music lover, my friend.”

“I am, too,” I say, slightly offended but entertained at the same time. “I promise. But I do have a favorite band.”

“Who?”

“Pink Floyd.”

“Total guy copout answer.” She smiles and I love the sight of it. It makes me want to continue on in this little flirty state we’ve arrived at and keep going, move forward, at least until I sober up and life and reality return to me.

“I can prove it,” I insist and take a drag from the cigarette.

She looks me over with inquisitiveness. “How?”

“Name a random band—one you think I’ll never know—and see if I do.”

Her eyes briefly wander to the ceiling as she considers my challenge. “Okay, but if you lose then you owe me something.”

I smile amusedly. “Owe you what?”

“Something,” she says, and her blue eyes sparkle.

“Fine.” I sit up and put the cigarette out in an old soda can up on the dresser. “But if I win, then you owe me something.”

She sticks out her hand. “You have a deal, Quinton…” She trails off. “What is your last name anyway?”

I’ve never been a fan of telling my people my last name. That way if I decide to bail out of their lives, it makes things easier because it makes it harder for them to track me down. I’ve been going through the last year introducing myself to people as Quinton, giving them as little detail about me as I can. And no one ever asked me to offer more. “Carter,” I say. “My name is Quinton Carter.”

“All right, Quinton Carter.” She pushes her hand at me. “You have a deal.”

I place my hand in hers, noting how warm her skin is, and how long and thin her fingers are. “Okay, you have a deal, Nova Reed. Now give me a band.”

We’re still holding hands, but I don’t try to let go. I’ll give us this little moment until it’s over and then I’ll walk away from it forever, because that’s what I need to do, at least that’s what the good side of me—the old side of me—is telling me to do. Or maybe it’s the new side… I’m having a hard time distinguishing between the two at the moment.
Good. Bad. Right. Wrong.

“Brand New,” she finally says.

I stare at her stoically, so she can’t read my expression. I know the band, but I want to make her think I don’t. “Brand who?”

“New,” she enunciates, and I can tell by the pleased look on her face that she thinks she’s won.

I fake uncertainty for a few moments longer, and then let a grin spread at my lips. “Oh, Brand New.”

“I know you don’t know them.” She props up on her elbow and rests her head against her hand. “I checked your iPod and they weren’t on there.”

“That’s because you didn’t check the playlists.” I slip my fingers out of her hand, and her lips part as I climb off the bed and walk over to the dresser. I pick up the iPod, scroll to the Hidden playlist, compiled of songs I used to listen to when I was with Lexi. I hesitate, knowing that there’s a good chance that turning it on is going to fling me down memory lane. But I want to win, to prove that I know music, to prove to her that I listen to the same music as her, and honestly because I love the idea that she’ll owe me something, even if I probably won’t ever act on it. With an unsteady finger, I tap my finger on the Brand New section and hit Play on “Me vs. Maradona vs. Elvis.” The song clicks on, and I shut my eyes with my back to Nova as the soft lyrics and nearly soundless tune takes me to the last time I listened to it: a year and a half ago, when my life had direction and purpose.

“What would happen if I ran away?” Lexi had asked as we sat in my car, staring out at the town below the cliffs. We’d driven up to the turnout, a place where teenagers went to make out, which we had done plenty of, but then Lexi went into thinking mode, and suddenly we were talking about life.

“Well, I hope you won’t run away from me.” I laced my fingers through hers as I pulled the visor down to block out the piercing pink glow from the setting sun. The song was playing in the background, turned down quiet enough that we could talk without yelling, but loud enough that it was known it would be forever linked to that moment.

She’d stared at me for a moment, and then glanced down at our hands entwined together. “But what if I wanted to run away from my life? You’re a huge part of that, Quinton, so if you came, I really wouldn’t be running away.”

There’d been something about her, maybe the look in her eyes or the tone of her voice, but it seemed like she’d actually thought about this before.

I brought her hand up to my lips and grazed them across her knuckles. “Lexi Davis, if you run away, then I’d run away, because even though you don’t want to admit it, you and I belong together.”

Most girls would have melted, but Lexi had always been tough to win over and to read. It’d taken forever to get her to go on a date with me and even longer to make the commitment of being my girlfriend.

After a minute or two of pretending to be unaffected, she’d finally given in and leaned over the console to kiss me. That night we’d had sex for the first time. It was one of our greatest moments, full of meaning and connection, something I know I’ll never have again.

Forcing myself away from the realness of the memory, I return to the fakeness of my room. I turn back to Nova, surprised to find that she looks like she’s been crying. “I told you I knew them,” I say, kicking a shirt out of the way as I make my way back over to the bed.

She smiles, but it looks forced. “Yeah, you win.”

Instead of getting on the bed, I squat down beside it, so I’m at eye level with her. “Are you okay?” I ask, searching her eyes, which are still red, but a little more alert.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m feeling a little less foggy headed… but I’m getting tired.”

“Do you want me to go find Delilah?” I ask, but she instantly shakes her head, and then straightens her arm above her so her head falls to the pillow.

“I’m just going to shut my eyes for a few seconds.” Her eyes start to pool with tears and I have no fucking clue what to do or say to calm her down. She smashes her quivering lips together, sucking back the tears. “Can you stick the song on Repeat and then just lie down with me?”

There’s something in her expression that makes it impossible to say no, like she’ll crack if I do. So even though I don’t really want to, I backtrack to the dresser, hit the Repeat button, and then situate on the bed beside her, making sure to leave some space between our bodies.

She straightens her arms above her head, still staring at me like I’m a ghost, like I’m not real. She starts scratching below the bands on her wrist, and I notice a thin white scar that runs horizontally along her skin. It could be just a coincidence, a crazy accident that left her with it, but it also could be something else. It’s in the right area, just above the vein below the bottom of her hand. I could ask her about it, but then she might ask me stuff, like where the scar on my chest came from or what my tattoos mean. And I can’t give her those answers. So I keep my lips fastened, letting things remain uncomplicated between us, simple, like my favorite color, food, and band. That way when it’s all gone, it won’t hurt as bad.

But she continues to keep her eyes on me, with her hands under her head, and the longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to keep my hands and thoughts to myself. She looks like she’s going to start crying again, and I feel like I’m on the verge of joining her.

“Quinton,” she whispers as a few stray tears escape her eyes. “Can you do something for me?”

The heart-wrenching sadness in her voice makes me want to do anything for her at the moment, if it’ll get her to smile again. “Sure. What?”

“Will you…” She sucks her lip up into her teeth as more tears stream down her cheeks. “Will you kiss me?”

That wasn’t what I was expecting her to say at all. My mind starts racing, flooded with disturbing thoughts. “I don’t think that’s a good idea… not like this.”
Not ever.

Tears cascade out of her eyes as she nods and release her lip from her teeth. “Okay.”

My heart is thumping and each of her sobs triggers it to thud faster. I bring my hand forward and wipe some of her tears off her cheek with my thumb. “It’s not that I don’t want to.” It’s a partial lie because I do and I don’t at the same time. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, considering we’re both a little out of it.”

She nods again and doesn’t say a word, her eyelashes fluttering against the tears as she struggles to get them to stop. The look on her face is rupturing my heart, and as she rolls over to turn away from me, my willpower fractures. I grab her arm, and without saying a word, I draw her back to me. I can feel my own tears forcing their way up into my eyes as I realize that I’m going to kiss her and it’s going to actually mean something, not just to Nova but to me.

Grappling to breathe, I secure a finger underneath her chin, tip her face up, and press my lips to hers. She sucks in a sharp, stammering breath, then kisses me back like she’s been trapping her breath for ages and suddenly I’m supplying her with oxygen. I know I should pull back, but it’s been a long time since the emptiness inside me hasn’t been so hollow, and I find myself slipping my tongue into her mouth and kissing her back with way too much passion behind the kiss.

Things only get more intense when she traces her hand up the nape of my neck, then runs her fingers through my hair, drawing me closer, and the voice that’s haunted my head—the one telling me to stop—abruptly shuts up. I roll to my side, positioning my body over hers, lining us together, as I explore her mouth with my tongue. A few tears drip from my eyes and fall onto her cheeks, which are soaked with her own tears. She keeps gasping, pulling me closer, pressing her body against mine, like she needs me near her or she’ll die. Her legs circle my waist, and the dress she’s wearing slips up and her bare legs graze the outside of my jeans. My hands start to wander downward toward the bottom of her dress, wanting to feel the softness of her skin. But when I reach the bottom of the fabric, I can’t seem to go through with it, and at the same time her hands leave my hair. Just as quickly as it started, we stop it. Together. Both of us pulling away, panting, our eyes glossy with tears and regret as we roll onto our backs.

She cries soundlessly, with her arm draped over her head, and her chest wrenching as she cries. But I stop crying, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, letting myself die all over again.

Letting the hollowness take back over.

I’m bawling my eyes out and I can’t seem to stop. I kissed Quinton and touched him while he touched me. He’s so much like Landon, and kissing and being with Quinton momentarily gave me a twisted sense of peace. It almost felt like I was with Landon again, and for a moment I think about just letting myself go, allowing things to heat up as much as they want to without holding back. I’d never done that with Landon. Every time we’d reach the point of having sex, I’d always backed out. I let my fear own me and take away my chance of ever being with Landon completely. I’ll never get that chance again. And I don’t want to feel that kind of regret again. Ever.

But eventually I had to accept the excruciatingly painful reality that Quinton isn’t Landon. They smell and taste so much different because they
are
different. I
kissed
Quinton. I kissed someone else besides Landon. Oh my God… And for a moment I actually liked it. I actually wanted to be on the bed with him, letting his tongue slide into my mouth while I ran my fingers through his hair.

Guilt and confusion take me over. I feel sick to my stomach, like I’m going to throw up, and tears continue to pour out of my eyes. I cry for what seems like an eternity while Quinton stares silently at the ceiling beside me. Somehow I fall asleep and then next thing I know I’m being shaken awake. Moving past the grogginess, the headache, and the hunger rumbling in my stomach, I open my eyes to Delilah kneeling on the bed beside me. Quinton is gone and his bedroom door is agape.