Quinton tips his knee in when we reach the top, pressing it against mine. I’m not sure if he realizes he’s doing it or if he’s doing it on purpose to comfort me or himself, but I embrace the touching, holding my breath as we fall. Together. We twist and turn and hang on, people shouting all around us. My hair whips in the wind, air flows over my body, and I feel like I’m flying. It’s the most liberating feeling and I wish I could just stay on that damn roller coaster forever. Because it’s plain and simple fun. So effortless, like how I wish life could be.

By the time we get off, Quinton looks like he’s on the verge of laughing, but never does let it all the way out. Still, it’s good to see his eyes hued with a hint of happiness.

“Jesus, my heart’s racing,” he says with excitement as he presses his hand to his chest. He reaches over and takes my hand in his, then places it over his heart. “Do you feel it?”

I nod, forgetting to breathe. “So’s mine.”

Without really seeming like he realizes what he’s doing, he puts his hand over my heart, which is racing more from his touch than anything else. He doesn’t say anything, just feeling my heartbeat, while I feel his. Both alive. Both feeling the simple yet meaningful moment while people dodge around us, trying to leave the ride, giving us strange looks, because they don’t get what we’re doing. I feel sorry for them, that they can’t get how amazing it is to feel someone else’s heartbeat, to know they’re still alive.

Maybe it’s because I get that that I do what I do next. Or maybe it’s just that I simply want to kiss him. Who knows. But for whatever reason, I find myself standing on my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his. He hesitates at first, his lips not moving against mine for a fleeting moment. But then he sucks in a sharp breath and suddenly he’s kissing me back. Our tongues tangle, our bodies press together, our hands squished between us because we still have our palms over each other’s hearts. His free hand finds the small of my back and he pulls me closer, devouring me with his tongue, stealing the breath right out of me. Everything I felt last summer for him crashes through me and spills over my soul. The rush of emotion is so compelling my heart accelerates and my legs buckle. I nearly start to fall, but Quinton holds me up, gripping my waist as he backs me up against the railing. The bar presses into my back as his hands wander all over my body, fingers delving into my skin. With every breath I take, my chest crashes into his and the heat of his body mixes with mine and the heat of the desert air, making my skin damp with sweat. I’m breathless. Lost. Consumed. The people and the dings of slot machines around us start to fade away. It’s like we’ve flown off somewhere else. I wish we could stay that way forever, but eventually he pulls away, nipping at my bottom lip. Gasping for air, he rests his forehead against mine and doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. We’re both confused over what happened. At least I know I am. As much as I feel for him, the fact that he’s on crystal right now makes my feelings conflicted. Is it wrong to be with him when he’s like this? Can he even understand his true feelings? Can I understand my true feelings? Because they’re getting intense. More than I think I realized.

“So now what?” he finally asks, breathless and wide-eyed, his hand on my chest trembling.

It takes me a moment to gather myself before I can lean back to glance up at the clock on the wall. “How about we grab a bite to eat and then go back to where I’m staying so you can see me play?” It seems like such a mundane thing to do after that kiss, but it’s all I can come up with through the emotional fogginess created by his touch.

He gives me a half-smile, seeming a little dazed. “That sounds good.” He’s being so cooperative, and between that, this entire day, and that kiss, hope flashes inside me as bright as the sun. And for a stupid moment, I actually believe this is all going to turn out good. That having fun and hanging out can help someone want to get better.

But there are clouds in the distance that match the ones in his eyes, the ones that belong to the thing he wants the most—his addiction. Telling me that hope is about to fade completely and it does about thirty minutes after we leave the city. We’re about halfway to Lea’s uncle’s house when Quinton starts to get squirmy and agitated. Finally he reaches into his pocket and when he does, he flips out.

“Shit,” he curses, balling his hands into fists.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, turning down the music.

He shakes his head, his jaw set tight. “I forgot to bring something with me.”

I smash my lips together with my eyes on the road, focused on getting us through traffic. “Drugs? I thought you weren’t going to do any while we were out?”

He gets testy, scowling at me. “I said I would try, but I can’t do it.” His tone gets clipped. “I never thought I could.”

I grip the steering wheel tightly as the simplicity of the day dissipates. “So you lied to me?”

“I said I would try,” he snaps, the monster inside starting to take him over. “And I went without it for a few hours, but I can’t do it anymore…I need to go home now.” He takes his cigarettes out and starts smoking.

“I can’t turn around right here.” We’re on the freeway so that’s not even possible. And even if it were, I’d still try to get out of it.

His hands are quivering as he holds the cigarette between his fingers. “Nova, I’m trying not to lose it here, but things are going to get really ugly really fast if you don’t turn around this fucking car.”

“Quinton, I—”

He pounds his fist against the door. “Take. Me. Home. Now.” His voice is low and carries a warning.

I want to cry. I want to scream at him. But I can see the ugliness—the hunger—rising in his eyes and it frightens me. So I do something I’ll always hate myself for. I take the next exit and turn the car around, heading back toward the house, feeling our happy day dwindle, like the sunlight in the sky.


Quinton

I messed up badly. Not just with that damn kiss. In fact, I’m confused right now over the kiss and whether I regret it or not. And that confusion is causing a stir inside me and I forgot to bring a few lines with me, so I can’t calm the stir down. I’ve never done that before. Always remembered the thing that keeps me thriving. But Nova distracted me with the promise of a good day, smiling at me, making me get lost in her again. Kissing me like I’m the air she needs to breathe. It’s so fucking wrong, yet it feels so right at the same time.

And now I’m crashing. Hard. And ruining that beautiful day Nova tried to create.

By the time we arrive at my place, I’m sweating, panting, my hands split open where I stabbed my nails into them, and I can’t feel my mouth from grinding my jaw. I feel like shit but there’s only one thing that’s going to make it go away and I concentrate on that: the small plastic bag hidden under my mattress. The single thing that makes life bearable, makes the confusion bearable.

But the tension coiling inside me tightens when I notice a black Cadillac in the parking lot and a large man standing outside it, leaning against the door, smoking a cigarette. It looks like the car that pulled up when I got jumped and the man smoking looks like Donny, the guy who beat the shit out of me. It’s only been six days since Trace made a threat, but for some reason I’m not surprised they’re early.

Shit, Tristan.

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” I say quickly, grabbing the door handle. My thoughts are going haywire as a bunch of thoughts surface at once. I hope it’s not Trace that’s here. I hope Tristan’s not in trouble. I hope no one’s found my stash. The last thought is so selfish, yet I can’t control it. My addiction controls me at the moment.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” Nova asks, noticing my sudden jumpiness. She tracks my gaze to the car and Donny, her forehead creasing. “Who is that guy?”

“No one,” I say, my fingers fumbling to get the seat belt undone.

“But you seem nervous,” she replies, looking at me concernedly. “Does this have anything to do with that Trace guy?”

I hate that she knows enough about my drug life that she knows who Trace is. “Everything’s fine, Nova. You just need to go.” I don’t make eye contact with her as I climb out of the car. When I go to shut the door, she calls out my name, making me pause, briefly pulling me back to her.

“Quinton, wait, I can tell something’s wrong,” she says with a plea in her tone. “So just tell me.”

“Nova, let it go,” I say, lowering my head to look into the car at her. “You can’t be here right now. It’s too dangerous.”

“It is about that Trace guy, isn’t it? Tristan didn’t pay him back in time?” She worriedly flicks a glance over at Donny. “Jesus, Quinton, this is bad.”

“I know it is,” I say, looking at Donny, who’s taken notice of us and turned in our direction. He has his weapon of choice in his hand. A tire iron, and my body aches as I remember what it felt like to be beat by it.

“Do you need to borrow money?” she asks as I look back at her. “Because I have like fifty dollars on me if you need it.”

God dammit, Nova and her sweetness. It’s killing me because she just needs to stop caring and leave. “Fifty dollars isn’t going to do any good and I already said I don’t want you involved in this.” I shut the door, hoping it’ll end there.

But she gets out of the car and shouts over the roof, “But I want to help you.”

“God dammit, Nova!” I shout as Donny starts to stroll toward us with a smirk on his face. I panic. Not because I’m worried anything’s going to happen to me. It’s all about Nova. “Get back in the fucking car!” I yell at her from over the roof.