Midnight Muse

She huffs like it’s the most inconvenient answer in the world, but I don’t want to get oil on my phone and I don’t want to take my gloves off right now. Not ever, but certainly not now that she might be able to see the traces of the accident that still mar my skin.

“Please, can you not be a prick right now? I’d rather let her know as soon as possible so that I don’t have to be around you.”

Ouch, Princess, I think sarcastically. It’s not exactly the response I was thinking she would give, but it sparks my irritation nonetheless.

“I’m not being a prick. I’m working on something and you’re interrupting me because you’ve made the mistake of locking yourself out. Maybe you should take your phone the next time you go to the landlord’s office to complain.”

Her face flushes and her mouth falls as she gapes at me in surprise.

Yeah, I want to bite, I heard all about that.

I return her previous glare, unscrewing the fresh bottle of oil with a little more force then necessary. Some of the liquid sloshes over the rim of the jug but I don’t care anymore, I want to be done and far away from her.

“You’re right.” My grip falters on the bottle at her words, so soft that it throws me off for a second. “I’m so?—”

“Now here’s a sight I never thought I’d see.” Slate’s voice echoes down the street, starling the both of us. I cut her a look and find her already staring at me, both of us averting our eyes to watch as my roommate appears, grinning like a fool. I will the oil into the hole faster because I can’t bear seeing Slate being all buddy-buddy with her. “Knox and Quinnie, sitting on the curb,” he sing-songs, and I want to fucking throttle him. He looks as if he’s going to continue despite my warning glare, but he catches sight of her—Quinn’s—bare feet. “What are you doing out here with no shoes on?”

I watch her response from the corner of my eye. Her hazel gaze is turned my way but disappears just as quickly when she shifts her attention to Slate. Her shoulders droop as if she’s feeling defeated, and a pang of sympathy burrows in my gut.

“I, um, got locked out of my apartment and left my phone inside. I was just asking Knox if I could borrow his to message you, but here you are,” she explains with a weak smile.

I can’t help but note the way my name rolls off her tongue. She’s been paying attention, too.

“Here I am, saving damsels all day long,” Slate jokes, offering Quinn a hand up off the curb. I have to drag my eyes away from how they look together when she accepts.

She laughs at his lame ass joke and the bottle slips from my grasp again because it sounds like the best song I’ve ever heard in my damn life.

I quickly fix the spout back into place.

“Need some help, Knox?” Slate asks, but I shake my head.

“All good here, man.”

“Great. Quinn, why don’t you come on inside and I’ll wait with you until Rory gets back. Maybe we can pick up where we left of in class,” Slate says, waggling his eyebrows. I don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but I don’t like it. Quinn rolls her beautiful eyes and allows him to sling an arm around her shoulder. He grunts dramatically at the playful shove she gives him and my hand tightens around the empty bottle on its own accord. I don’t like how friendly they’re being with each other.

And she has a class with Slate too? Something hot flares in my chest. I don’t like that either.

Not. One. Bit.

It’s not right.

Nothing is ever fucking right.

The tattoo gun in my hand shakes and the line squiggles, array, just like my thoughts.

It’s well into the night, yet I’m unable to find sleep again. I tried—I really, truly, did. I was exhausted, laying down in my bed as I shoved my headphones over my ears, praying that the music would keep my haunting thoughts at bay. Flashes of memories shattered the songs, menacing words in my father’s voice slipping between the lyrics, slicing into my brain like spears no matter how loud I turned up the music.

I tossed, turned, and did everything I could to fight away the nasty thoughts, but nothing worked.

After the oil incident with Quinn, I’d cleaned up, disposed of the mess, and headed up to my apartment for a quick shower. Neither she nor Slate were anywhere to be found, so I dipped into the bathroom, feeling greasy from working out in the hot sun.

When I had finished, I’d returned to my phone only to see a message awaiting from my father. I hardly read the first three words before I was swiping it into the trash and trying to shove the reminder of his existence from my head.

My hands shook for a lot longer than I’d ever be willing to admit to anyone, not that I have to worry about it becoming a topic of conversation brought up by me or my roommates.

By the time the pizza arrived that Slate ordered, Quinn was gone and he was calling Ace and I from our rooms, there was only a slight tremor, one I could easily hide.

Still, I wasn’t in the right headspace throughout dinner and I retreated back into my room as soon as I finished my last slice, ignoring Ace calling after me, asking if I wanted to watch a movie with him and Slate.