oh, anna [-hs]

secret medicine

72.

The bus is rattling on the road. Construction has left the concrete gravelly. I see it flicking the heels of the vehicle and dancing away in a cloud. Every once and a while it "dinks" against the windshield of the car behind us.

The back of the bus is the bumpiest. Sometimes it's so drastic, I'm airborn for a second. I press my cheek against the simmering glass of the window and watch the gravel.

"Are you seeing anyone new, Quinn?"

I wasn't sure how she wanted me to answer that question. I shifted in my chair. "No."

Bea leaned forward in her seat. She clasped her hands together. Her face was drawn in concern. So, it's a bad thing.

I probably looked like a loser. No, I haven't fucked anyone since. I can't. No one is attractive to me. No one will feel as good as him. There was too much history, too much depth when I was with Harry. I'll never be able to recreate that, so why even try?

Her voice was soft, like warm milky tea. "Maybe you should."

The bus slows to a stop. I almost miss where I get off because I'm lost in my thoughts, but I see the familiar bar sign outside the window. I leap out of my seat and sprint through the closing doors. My bag hits my hip when I land on the sidewalk. The bus pulls away and a few pieces of gravel fly up at my ankles.

I didn't want to take Emma's car. The thought of telling her where I'm going... I know the look she'd give me. I'm embarrassed too. But I don't know what else to try at this point. This is the only thing that could possibly come close to what I had with Harry.

I make my way through the familiar streets, the old neighborhood Emma and I lived in for the longest time. And there's the apartment building I'm looking for. The brick is crumbling at the corners. I jam my finger into the call box button. It sticks for a second, and then gives way and rings his apartment.

It takes a second. The intercom crackles to life.

"What."

"It's Quinn."

He doesn't respond. There's a static silence between us, and the gate buzzes open.

I climb the staircase, dodging the trash littering the steps. His hallway smells the same as it did the last time I was here, so long ago. The light flickers.

His door is unlocked. I swing it open.

The first thing I notice is the bed frame.

It's soft brown and made of wood. There's a box beneath his mattress. It looks like a real bed, with clean sheets. I can't stop staring at it, at how neat it looks.

"Hey, Bell," his voice startles me. I whirl around to see him leaning against his kitchen counter, a cup of coffee wrapped in his hands.

"Wes." I register. So I'm not in the wrong apartment. "You have a bed frame."

"I know," he rolls his eyes in boredom. His face straightens out. "Your skirt is short," he retorts.

I glance down at it, the fabric ends at the middle of my thigh. The head of my tiger tattoo peaks out from beneath the shadow of the hem. "I know."

"How does it feel to be free," he smirks from over the cup, taking a sip. The steam swirls up into his eyes.

"My legs stick to chairs a lot more."

"No," he waves the comment away. "Free of him. I just assume, since you're here," he clarifies. My heart starts fluttering at the mere thought of Harry. I push the butterflies away. Someone's going to have to tell my stupid, weak heart I'm not allowed to have butterflies anymore.