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He’s a shadow in the darkened hallway, but I know it’s him just by the ferocious awareness charging through my body. It freezes me in place as it rams its presence deep, punishing me for daring to attempt to live without it.
I need to say something. I open my mouth.
“I don’t want you here, Nella. You mean well, I’m sure, but I just want to be left alone,” he says. His voice is low and raw with naked anguish, but the demand is forceful.
I swallow and take a step forward. “It’s not Fionnella. Quinn, it’s me.”
That fearsome deathly stillness shrouds him. For minutes we stay like that.
Then he stumbles forward. “Lights,” he wheezes. Then more forcefully, when the room stays dark. “Lights!”
Soft light floods the room. Contrary to what I thought, there are warmer colors in here. Browns and soft greys blend with the sharper tones. But the decor isn’t what interests me right now.
Quinn staggers forward again, his bare feet soundless on the polished hardwood floors. His black hair is overgrown and wildly unkempt, easily touching his shoulders. He’s also sporting a full beard, which against the brilliance of his eyes makes his face even more hauntingly beautiful.
He’s lost a lot of weight, his hollow cheeks not disguised by the facial hair. His body is leaner too, the T-shirt and jeans hanging off him. My gaze tracks downward.
And that’s when I see it.
The whiskey bottle in his hand. It’s half empty, the amber liquid sloshing around with his forward momentum.
“Elyse…you…no,” He stops and shakes his head. Then he smashes his lids closed and takes a huge gulp of whiskey.
“Quinn.”
He slams out his free hand, as if to push me away, and, eyes still shut, takes another drink.
“Not real,” he slurs. “You’re…not…real.”
Another desperate, memory-wiping gulp and he chokes. He doubles over in a hacking fit. I drop the control and rush toward him. He rears up abruptly, his chest heaving as he stares me down.
One arm comes up and he swipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Feverish eyes rake me from head to toe, and back again.
“Quinn. It’s me. I’m here.”
He takes a tentative step forward. And another.
He stands before me, tall, strong. Half the man he used to be. And my heart breaks. For the childhood he can never look back on without pain and sorrow. For the path he chose because he didn’t manage to do the impossible and save his beloved mother.
For what he’s doing to himself now.
His eyes are severely bloodshot, which makes the silver blue stand out even more vividly.
I’ve missed his eyes…
“Elyse?”
I nod. My throat clogs as every emotion I’ve staunchly squashed these past few months attempts to break free.
The hand he lifts shakes uncontrollably. He bunches it into a fist but the shaking doesn’t stop. “Please be real. God. Please.”
“I’m real, Quinn.”
He shudders at the sound of my voice. I walk backwards into the living room; he follows, his gaze bolted on mine. Letting him touch me would probably convince him, but I’m not ready for that. Not by a long shot.
“I came…like you asked. But if you want to talk, you need to put the bottle down.”