Chapter 41
“LAUGHING ON THE OUTSIDE” BY BERNADETTE CARROLL
Quinntessa Dawson was an interesting creature. Human, yet she made me feel things someone with spells and potions could only create.
I sat on the perfectly mowed grass of the back lawn and watched her swing on the old tire Dominik put up for my sister and me. Her hair flowed through the air with each gentle push of her legs, her head tilting back to feel the breeze as we listened to the music coming from my cassette.
“You’re staring at me.” Quinntessa leaned her head on the rope and smiled shyly. “Any reason why, Quincy?”
“Besides you being so beautiful?” I licked my lips and trailed my eyes down her legs.
Her cheeks bloomed with heat. I sat up and waited for her to approach me as she slipped off the tire. Quinntessa moved in slow motion, her hips swaying as she eventually kneeled over my legs.
I swallowed as she straddled my thighs, her wrists laying loose over my shoulders.
“Tell me.” Quinntessa smiled, her eyes teasing me. “Tell me how you feel.”
“Fe-feel?” I stuttered.
She made me so nervous. I always felt like I’d mess up and she’d take off running.
“For me.” Quinntessa tilted her head and made my heart melt with her pouty lip. “What do you feel for me?”
The sun fell over us and awarded me a darling view of her eyes.
The gold specks, the depth of her darkness, the glitter on her lashes; it gave me a headache.
All I wanted to do was kiss every freckle on her face.
Oh, how much I wanted to taste her lip gloss and show her what it felt like to be loved.
Loved?
No, no, I didn’t . . .
“Do you love me?” she whispered, leaning down, our lips close.
My heart thumped in my chest as she teased my lips with hers.
“Do you love me?” her voice echoed in my head.
I’d committed murder. I’d shot an arrow through someone’s head and tasted his blood in my mouth. I’d welcomed death and built a life. I’d dated and slept with men—which was worse than murder—and faced the world as an out and proud lesbian.
What I couldn’t do was accept I might love her, that I wanted to . . . needed to . . .
My lips smashed to hers in seconds. I wanted to cry when it didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would. I felt her fingers in my hair, tangling in deep as she moaned into my mouth.
I grabbed her hips and shoved her over until her back was against the grass and I was on top. Her legs pulled me closer, my hand grabbing her neck, keeping her still as our tongues danced.
Her moans. Holy fuck.
I want a mixtape of that to listen to on repeat.
I was touching her. My heart felt like it was going to implode any second now. My hands explored under her shirt and my teeth nipped at her neck. My hips rocked down onto hers. She tugged me closer, whimpering and gasping into my mouth when we finally kissed again.
And then, something changed.
I felt her nails on my wrists, scratching my face. The unexpected burning caused me to pull back and freeze in deep fear.
“Q-Quincy,” she choked, holding my wrists as her lips turned blue. I stared down at her in shock, unable to stop the strong grip I had on her throat. “Pl-Please.”
Why aren’t I letting go? Why can’t I stop?
“No.” I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I tried to pull back, but my arms locked up. “No! No!”
My hands shook with how hard I was gripping her throat. She weakly kicked at me, little gasps of air escaping her. Her bright eyes were turning dull, a vacant window with no one inside.
“Sal, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I cried.
I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it!
Tears fell from my eyes onto her face. I didn’t have the strength to pull away. Her lips were blue, and all the glitter looked like salt, dull and lifeless.
Her hand reached up and grabbed the cross necklace hanging from my neck.
I looked down and wanted to vomit at the sight of my inverted crucifix, correctly welded the way it was intended.
Upside-down. The hand gripping my wrist loosened and slowly dropped to the grass beside us.
Her kicking stopped before her eyes fluttered and rolled.
She released my necklace, her blue lips parting as a final push of air escaped.
Seconds.
It took seconds for her to stop fighting and stare up at me without any more fear in her eyes.
Everything was gone. She lost that bright look I loved.
Her eyes weren’t honey-colored any longer.
They weren’t layered with stories I wanted her to tell me.
They only reflected the scratched, bloody face of the beastly human that murdered her.
I’m a monster.
I thought she was supposed to look peaceful, like everyone says about the dead, but Quinntessa looked dead.
She just looked fucking dead.
“Quincy?”
I looked up and felt my stomach curdle. My father stood a few feet away with a shovel in hand, a smirk on his face.
“Quincy!”
I released her neck and sobbed at the clear handprints bruising her neck. Stumbling back away from her, I covered my mouth and tried my hardest not to vomit.
“I-I killed her,” I sobbed. “Papa, sh-she . . . We were just hanging out. She didn’t do anything wrong, and I killed her. I killed Quinntessa.”
“I told you,” Papa hissed, striking the dark dirt under him with the bottom of the shovel. “It’s in your blood. You’re a star, Eleanor. Stars burn until they’re the brightest.”
“No, no, I-I don’t want to hurt her! I don’t want to—” I crawled over her and collapsed, laying my head on her stomach. My arms wrapped around her thigh, and I hid my face in her shirt. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want! It’s in your blood. You are a killer!” I felt Papa grab me by the back of my shirt.
He tossed me off Quinntessa’s limp body into a deep hole, and I yelped as Papa chucked the shovel down at me. It hit me in square in the shoulder, his gritted teeth the first thing I noticed as I looked up.
“Dig,” he hissed.
“Papa,” I whimpered, picking up the shovel. “I don’t want this!”
“Want this? You think this is about what you want?” He placed his foot on Quinntessa’s neck, adding pressure as he smiled sadistically down at me. “You’re a Harrekson. They kill. They are raised to kill. It’s in your blood.”
“I am not like you!” I screamed.
“Quincy?”
Papa kicked dirt down at me and stepped over Quinntessa’s body. I closed my eyes and winced at the cracking sound as he shifted his weight over her.
“Open your eyes, babe.”
Slowly, I followed directions and returned my gaze to where my father once stood. I fumbled backward until my spine slammed into the wall of the rectangular hole.
“I am you.”
There, above me, was . . . me.
She stood there with her hands covered in blood, scratch marks all over her face. My eyes couldn’t remain on this version of myself for long. I dropped my gaze and felt a sob leave me, spotting the heart necklace hanging from my red fingers.
“No.” I turned around and rubbed my face, screaming with a rage I could only feel for myself. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t fucking happening!”
I felt hands on my face and tried to shove them away. My feet slipped out from under me, and I fell to the ground. I quickly realized it wasn’t just a hole.
It was a grave.
And judging by the headstone with Eleanor Battles engraved on its face, this tomb was meant for me.
I couldn’t escape. Quinntessa would always end up dead. I’d always end up digging myself into a hole, no matter what I did to save her. There was no saving me in any scenario. I was the killer. I was the murder. I was the?—
“Quincy!”
My eyes shot open, and I flew up from the grass, the sun blinding me as it set through the trees.
“Hey, hey!” I heard her voice as I frantically searched for her through my blurry vision. “It’s okay. You’re alright. It was just a bad dream.”
When I finally found Quinntessa, she was sitting beside me in the grass of my childhood home. Her neck didn’t have a spot of bruising, and her eyes, though flooded with concern, were sparkly and bright.
She was safe. Oh, thank Satan, she’s safe.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” She gently brushed my hair out of my face and placed her hands back on her lap. “You fell asleep while we were listening to music.”
“I fell asleep,” I repeated. “While we were . . .” I looked around and saw my cassette player nearby, the swing still moving from where Quinntessa once sat. “Listening to music.”
“Yeah.” She glanced around my face. “Are you alright? You . . . you said something about your dad. I know it’s not my place, but if you need to talk . . .”
“You’re right.” I sat up and rubbed my face clean. “It’s not your place.”
I heard her gulp, a soft sigh escaping her. It made guilt eat at my heart.
When I felt like I could breathe, I turned and rested my chin on my knees, legs hugged to my chest. She avoided my eyes for a moment or two, so I waited.
When our eyes finally met again, I mumbled pathetically.
“I’m a dick, I know, but I’m really glad you’re here for me.”
Quinntessa slowly raised her eyes to mine and chewed the inside of her cheek. As I predicted, a soft pink traveled up her face.
“Always.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and picked at the grass.
“I’m serious,” I spoke up, more confident this time. “You’re sweet, Mustang. I need you in my life.”
“Need?” Quinntessa squinted curiously.
“Need.” I leaned toward her with my shoulder and smiled when she moved to sit by me. My head laid on her shoulder, and I stared off into the woods. “You’re a good person, Sal.”
“You are too.” She knocked her cheek into the top of my head and chuckled.
If only she knew the real me wasn’t as great as she thought.