The Middleman | ongoing

18 | risked it all for a gram of coke

18 | risked it all for a gram of coke

Song: Who Are You, Really? by Mikky Ekko

Depicted Above: Diego Barrueco as Quinn Carter

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"So you've had this sheet the whole time, and you've been bugging me?" I question a very fearful looking Quinn as I wave the paper in the air in emphasis.

What the hell was up? If he had it the whole fucking time, then why was he pestering me about it? I wanted answers. The same answers I had been demanding since the day I met Quinn at Starbucks.

Quinn cautiously steps a few feet closer to me. His mouth opens, but then stops, and it's clear to me he's unsure of what to say. He may be thinking a lot about what his next few sentences to me will consist of, but he's said nothing yet.

In an effort to jump start the process of him explaining, I ask the age-old question, "What is that list?" Quinn knows I'm not playing around. He can see it in my eyes.

Quinn sighs in submission.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you..."

My eyebrows furrow as I take in his reasoning. It was my choice whether I believed him or not. All he had to do was lay down the answers, and I'd do the rest—deciding his words fact from fiction.

"I don't care. You owe me answers. Explain." My hardened expression should convey it all.

"Fine... I—I'm," he pauses, "a drug dealer," he manages out after some moments.

Seconds go by as I take in his face. I rove over every inch of it. From his alluring eyes to the moles scattered on his face to his pink lips, I observe everything.

What a performance.

The guy in front of me had perfected the art of poker facing. Or at least right now he did.

Actually maybe perfected isn't the term I'd use. Excelled was a better descriptor because his execution was convincing, but I could see through it.

Maybe if I was drunk off my ass like earlier I would have bought it. I would have eaten that confession up. But I wasn't. I was sober.

I didn't believe it because Quinn and I are cut of the same fabric. The same material. I had realized that. I don't know when, but I did.

We could both be stubborn and persistent when we wanted to. We were driven and motivated individuals.

For every ounce of force I pushed to know what that list was about, he had pushed back equally as hard.

We were in deadlock. Neither of us settled for less. We both had agendas. Agendas that were opposite of the other.

He punched me earlier this morning. And I had punched him right back.

He bought me grandma diapers. And I, in turn, had tarnished the reputation of his anatomy.

I had hurt his foot. Consequently, he forced an apology out of me.

Stalemate.

That's what our moves always ended up in.

Checkmate.

That's what Quinn believes he's succeeded in doing by fooling me with the idea of him being a drug dealer.