Page 25

Quinn

The road stretched ahead of me, an endless black void illuminated only by the faint glow of my headlights. I had been driving for hours, but I barely remembered the last few turns I took. My hands were stiff from gripping the wheel too tightly, my knuckles aching from the pressure.

But I couldn’t stop, because stopping meant thinking. Thinking meant feeling. And I was so fucking done feeling. I just wanted to be gone.

I wanted to be back at school, back in my shitty dorm room, back to the version of myself that existed before him. Before Mark and Mom, before Evie’s world shattered, before I let North sink his claws into me and pull me under. I wanted to pretend like this summer never happened.

But no matter how far I drove, I still felt him.

His touch was burned into my skin, his voice still whispering in my ear, his body still pressing me against that kitchen counter, fucking me like he was trying to destroy me.

I hated him. I hated him so fucking much. But my body didn’t get the memo. Because even now, even as I drove further and further away from the wreckage he left me in, I still ached for him.

And that? That was the worst part. I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes to stay on the road ahead. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. I was done. Done with him. Done with all of them. I just needed to get back to campus and pretend like this whole summer had been one long, fucked-up fever dream.

The car sputtered beneath me, the dashboard flickering as the engine let out a horrible, choked sound that made my stomach twist. No. Not now. Not when I was almost free.

I gritted my teeth, pushing my foot harder against the gas, but the car groaned in protest before the engine died completely. My heart dropped into my stomach. I barely managed to pull onto the shoulder of the road before the car went still, the only sound left was the low hum of the highway in the distance. I let out a shaky breath, gripping the wheel so hard my fingers shook.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

For a long moment, I just sat there, my mind buzzing with static. Then, finally, I reached for my phone with stiff fingers.

Evie. I could call her. I knew she’d come, but I hesitated. Because if I called Evie, she’d want to talk. She’d ask me things. Things I wasn’t ready to answer.

I swallowed hard and scrolled further down my contacts list.

I needed a tow truck. I needed someone—anyone—to get me the hell out of here. After a few rings, a gruff voice answered. “Yeah?”

I sucked in a breath, forcing my voice to steady. “My car broke down. I’m stuck about twenty miles outside of town. Can you send a tow?”

The man on the other end sighed, like he had already had a long night. “Yeah. What’s the make and model?”

I rattled off the details, my throat tight.

“Got it,” he said. “I’ll send someone your way. Shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Thanks.”

Then, I hung up and let my head fall against the steering wheel. Thirty minutes. Thirty more minutes in the dark, alone, with nothing but my thoughts. I clenched my jaw. I could handle that. I had survived worse.

***

The tow truck driver didn’t ask many questions. He picked me up, drove me back, and dropped me off near my dorm. I barely said two words the entire ride. I wasn’t sure I could if I wanted to.

By the time I made it inside, I was bone tired. Everything felt heavier now. The moment I stepped through that door, my body finally understood that I didn’t have to keep fighting anymore. That I could finally just… stop.

I tossed my bag onto my bed and let out a long breath. The room was exactly the same as when I left it. The same boring furniture, the same creaky bed frame, the same slightly-too-cold air conditioning.

But it felt different. Or maybe I was different.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at my hands.

I had done it.

I had left.

So why did I still feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop?

It wasn’t easy, but I got back into a routine that made the days go by faster. Class. Work. Sleep. Repeat. I ignored every single call from Mark, Mom, and North. Evie sent texts every other day, asking if I was okay and if I needed anything. I never responded, but I read every single one.

Sometimes, I almost answered. When I felt like I had the energy for it. We planned to meet up and discuss things, but I kept putting it off. Because the second I let even one of them back in, I knew I’d unravel completely. So I kept going.

I got a job at a café down the street, spending my nights scrubbing countertops and pouring drinks for students who weren’t running from their pasts. I told myself I was fine. That I was moving on. That I wasn’t waiting for him. That I wasn’t waiting for the inevitable moment when he would come for me. Because I knew he would.

North didn’t let things go. Even when he should. Even when I needed him to. And then, just when I started to believe that maybe—just maybe— he wasn’t coming after all… I woke up to his lips on mine.

Warm. Wet. Familiar.

Unmistakable, and yet I was so bone-tired that it actually felt like another one of the wet dreams that had been haunting me.

My body reacted before my brain did. My lips parted slightly, a soft sound slipping from my throat before my mind finally caught up. And the second it did, rage exploded inside of me.

I shoved at his chest, my hands meeting solid muscle, my breath catching as I scrambled backward.

My sheets tangled around my legs, my heart slamming against my ribs.

North.

He was standing beside my bed, his face shadowed in the dim light, his breathing heavy while I stared at him, wild-eyed, furious. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. He just looked at me. And he looked wrecked. Guess the past few weeks were just as difficult for him as they were for me. His hoodie was wrinkled, his hair a mess, and his jaw clenched so tight I could see the tension in his neck.

“You left.”

His voice was rough. Accusatory. Like I had wronged him. Like he wasn’t the one who had spent weeks tearing me apart. My pulse pounded in my ears, my skin still burning from the feel of his lips.

I forced a breath through my teeth, my hands trembling. “Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I did.”

His nostrils flared, his body vibrating with tension. Like he was barely holding himself back. Like if I so much as said the wrong thing, he would snap.

I wanted him to. I was scared and angry, and so fucking done with all the lies. But this week had been hell, and there were a few nights that I’d spent crying into my pillow, wondering if I should call him and tell him to come take me home.

No matter how much I hated him, I still wanted him.