Breaking Nova (33 page)

Lea sits down on the floor beside me, crisscrossing her legs, and resting back on her palms. “If you take the zero, you’re going to fail the class.”

I sigh, clicking the folder. “I know, but I can’t use the video without a signed release form. Professor’s rules.”

“Then get his permission,” she answers, reaching for her purse. She takes out a pack of gum and pops a piece into her mouth.

“I’ve tried.” I reach for the computer’s Off button. I have tried. A lot. But I never did get his number, and I’ve yet to be able to track his phone number down. I’ve tried to call Delilah a few times, but it always sends me straight to voice mail. I even sent my mom over to the trailer, but she said it was vacant, so apparently they moved somewhere else. It’s like that whole part of my life didn’t even exist, like it never really happened. But it did, and I remind myself every day that it did, because it’s important to remember how easy it is to lose track of myself and just how lucky I am that I made it out. But I can’t find him anywhere. It’s like he’s disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“He didn’t disappear off the face of the earth,” she says. “You could try calling that… old friend of yours again.” Lea knows all about Delilah and she’s not a fan. I think she blames some of the stuff that I went through on her, but I don’t blame Delilah for anything. Everything I did was my own choice. No one forced me.

Sighing, I scoop my phone off my bed. “Yeah, I guess I can, even though I’ve left her a ton of voice mails already.”

She shrugs. “It can’t hurt to try.”

“No, it can’t.” I press Delilah’s number on my phone and then hold it up to my ear. I wait and wait and I’m about to hang up, when suddenly there’s a click.

“Hello,” Delilah says from the other side. There’s loud music playing in the background and a lot of banging and yelling.

“Hey, it’s me,” I tell her. “Nova.”

“Who!” she shouts. “Hold on! Let me go somewhere quiet.” There’s a pause and then I try to wait patiently. The noise gradually fades and finally it goes quiet. “There we go,” she says and I can tell by the slur in her speech that she’s high or drunk. “Now who the hell is this?”

“It’s Nova,” I tell her, shaking my head. Lea is watching me with worry and I hold up my finger, stepping out of the room. I head to the sliding glass door and step out onto the back deck and into the sunlight. “Nova, the girl you used to be friends with.”

“Oh.” She lets out a giggle. “I’m sorry, I’m a little out of it, but now I remember.”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I’ve been in that place where nothing matters. “Hey, I just wanted to see if you knew where Quinton was,” I tell her, leaning my elbows onto the railing, praying she can remember who he is.

“Yeah, he’s with me,” she replies, and I hear the flick of a lighter. I wonder what she’s smoking or where she even is. “Well, he’s actually in the house right now. Not outside with me.”

“But he lives with you.” I’m shocked. “Are you… are you guys dating?”

“No… we just share an apartment… with Dylan. You remember him, right?” She inhales and then releases a strong exhale, coughing at the end.

“Yeah, I remember,” I say, disappointed that she’s still with him. I shift my weight, rotating my back to the railing, and inclining against it. “Look, can you put him on the phone. I really need to talk to him.”

“I can’t right now,” she says, coughing again. “He’s passed out in his room. He’s totally crashing right now.”

I press my hand against my chest, telling myself to take deep breaths. Nothing changes. Oh my God, my heart hurts so much. “Can you please just go try and wake him up? It’s important.”

“He won’t wake up,” she assures me. “Not after being up for like three days.”

“Why? What was he on?” I hold my breath, scared, nervous, and I don’t even know what else. So many emotions are racing through me simultaneously at the moment, and I need to get control again, but not with numbers. I take a deep breath and then another.

“Some really fucking good crystal,” she says with envy in her tone, letting out a euphoric grunt at the end.

“
Crystal meth.
” I’m stunned. Horrified. I struggle for air. “Why would he do that?”

“Why do we all do it?” she asks and then starts to chatter on, the speed of her voice picking up with each word. “Because we’re running away from stuff. Me, my mom… and Dylan, well there’s so much with him. Although, Quinton has it the worst, you know. Killing his girlfriend and cousin like that in that fucking car accident.” She sucks in a sharp breath, talking so quickly I can barely interpret what she’s saying. “Plus he died himself. Jesus, to die and then live after that with all those deaths on your hands.… Crystal is his sanctuary.”

A lump the size of a baseball forms inside my throat as I recollect Quinton’s tattoos.
Lexi
and
Ryder. No one
. Is that what it meant? Is
no one
Quinton? I’m choking. I stop breathing. I can’t remember how to get air into my lungs. I grip onto the railing, feeling like I’m going to fall over.

“Oh my God,” I say, breathless as memories of Quinton rapidly flip through my head. “All that time I spent with him and I didn’t know.”

Everything is starting to make sense. All the anguish and guilt in his eyes… how he always looked so depressed. The scar on his chest and how Tristan threw the driving thing in his face. He was carrying this all inside of him, the deaths, his own death. Even with everything I’ve been through, I couldn’t even imagine.

“That’s because you didn’t care enough to know,” Delilah says venomously. “You know he broke even more when you left him—left us.”

“I left for a reason.” For a moment I feel guilty, but then I remember that there was nothing I could have done at the time. I was in my own dark place, falling myself, and trying to stop myself from crashing along with someone else wasn’t impossible. It takes strength to rise back up, strength in yourself and from those around you. I didn’t have that at the time. But now I do. Now it feels like I could try to help him climb back up instead of fall with him. But I know better than to try to do it alone.

“Delilah, where are you?” I ask. “You’re not still living in Maple Grove, are you?”

“No, we moved… had to get away from that stupid, judging town, you know,” she says simply, and then I hear someone’s voice in the background. “Look, I gotta go. It was nice talking to you.”

“Delilah, please don’t hang up,” I say, but it’s too late. The line goes dead. I try to call her back multiple times, but each time it goes to voice mail. “Shit.” I slide the glass door open and hurry back to my room.

“I need your help,” I tell Lea as I rush in, trying not to panic, but it’s difficult. “With something really important.”

She nods without question. “You know I’m always here for you.”

“Thank you.” I take a deep breath, knowing she means it. And I’m glad. It’s going to help me through this because I’m going to find Quinton and help him, like I wish I had been able to a year ago.

I just hope that I’m not too late. That the small glimpses of the caring, good, thriving Quinton that I saw still exist. The one that made me smile when I thought it was impossible. The one that tried to talk me out of drugs because he thought I was too good. I hope that the sadness in his eyes hasn’t entirely taken over.

I hope he’s not lost completely.

The
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author Jessica Sorensen lives with her husband and three kids. When she's not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.

Learn more at:

jessicasorensensblog.blogspot.com

@jessFallenStar

http://facebook.com/JessicaSorensensAdultContemporaryNovels

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I wake up every morning feeling content. Blissfully, numbingly content, without worry or being haunted by my fucked-up past. At least after I take my first hit. Once I get the taste of that bitterly sweet, toxic, white powder, I’m good to go for days. The guilt that I carry around in me briefly dies with each drip of the white, poisonous powder, along with a part of me.

And I’m glad.

I want to be dead.

And I’m working on getting there, one tiny, wonderful, mind-numbing line at a time.

After a night of struggling to shut my eyes, seeking sleep, but never getting there, I finally climb out of bed. I’ve been going for days, strung out on line after line, my eyes bulging out of my head, my body and mind so tense and worn out from the energy overload.

I grab a pair of ripped, faded jeans from off the chipped linoleum floor of my bedroom that’s the size of a closet. None of the apartment has carpet or painted walls or a ceiling without stains on it. My bedroom consists of a shitty mattress on the floor, a box with stuff of my past that I never look at anymore, a lamp, and a mirror and razor that’s always within reach.

I pick up the mirror from off the floor and then the empty plastic bag next to it. I must have finished it off last night… although I can barely remember doing it.

“Shit,” I mutter, wiping my finger along the mirrors nearly dry surface, and then lick my finger clean. It doesn’t do anything for the hungry monster waking up inside of me, and I toss the mirror across the room, watching it shatter. “Dammit.” I snatch a shirt from off the floor and pull it on as I hurry out into the hall, tripping over a few people sleeping on the floor, none of whom I know, but they always seem to be around.

I reach the door at the end of the hall, and try to open it but it’s locked, so I hammer my fist against it. “Tristan, open up the fucking door… I need some now.”

There’s no response, and I bang on the door harder until the weak wood starts to cave beneath my fist. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. The need to feed the starving, irrational, unstable monster becomes too much, and I ram my shoulder into the door. With each force, I see the images of the people I lost; Lexi, Ryder, my mom I never met. And at then at the end of it, I always see Nova’s eyes that look blue at first unless you look close enough to see the green hidden in them. I don’t know why I see her. It’s not like I lost her. She’s still alive and out there somewhere in the world, hopefully happy. But for some reason I can’t stop thinking about her. Well, at least until I get my dose of fake bliss, then all I’ll be thinking about is where to channel the burst of energy.

Finally, the door caves and I stumble into the room. Tristan’s passed out on the mattress, a girl lying beside him with her arm draped over his chest. Beside the mattress is a spoon and a needle, but I don’t go for it. It’s not my thing, not what I want. No, what I want is in his top dresser drawer.

I rush over to it, the faces of everyone I lost surrounding me, the memories of them pounding at my skull. I see Lexi dying on the side of the road, soaked in her own blood, because of me. I see the life I never had with my mother, the look in Tristan’s eyes whenever he mentions Ryder. Then I see Nova in that goddamn pond, where I ultimately left her. I see her face at the concert when see sees me dealing and then when she’s getting in her car, ready to drive away and leave me forever.

The last time I saw her.

And that’s how it should be. She should be away from me and this mess that’s supposed to be a life, when really it’s just me being too much of a pussy to fully give up.

I jerk open the dresser drawer and take out the plastic bag, my hands shaking as I open it. I don’t even bother looking for a mirror. I need it now, and so I dump a thin line out on top of the dresser. My heart is thrashing in my chest, noisy and obnoxious, and I wish it would shut the hell up, because I don’t want it making any noise at all.

Taking an unsteady deep breath, I lean down, suck in, and allow the white powder to fill up my nose and drip down my throat. My heart speeds up, but somehow it becomes quieter—everything does—as it coats my body with its poison and instantly kills all thoughts of Lexi, Ryder, my mom, and Nova.

It kills everything.

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