“She’s dead,” Moet says. It’s around twelve o’clock during lunch break the next day. A pale-haired girl sits across the booth from a rugged-looking teen with dark features.
Quinn doesn’t speak, but just stares ahead blankly.
“Quinn, Dakota’s dead.” Moet repeats.
His eyes shut and he presses his lips together. He nods, signaling to Moet that he heard her. Watching him at that moment made the lump in the back of Moet’s throat appear again. It surprised her; she thought she cried herself dry the night before. Quinn finally opens his eyes and tries to give Moet one of his famous half-smiles but it comes out all wobbly an it morphs into that face that people make when they want to cry but they try to hold it in.
“The night before she left, I cheated on her.” Quinn says in a raspy voice. “It was after our big fight where I saw her with that guy, Dylan. He was all over her and she didn’t give a fuck, she just let him kiss her, grab at her, whatever.” Quinn sighs and buries his face in his hands. He starts speaking in a soft and slow voice. “I don’t even know why I did it. I didn’t feel better afterwards. I felt worse. And then I come out, and I see Dakota standing outside the door just staring at me like she couldn’t believe I would do such a thing to her. And then I see the bruises on her arms and how the bottom of her dress is ripped and I just don’t know what to do… Before I can say anything, she walks away from me and goes into her room.” He uncovers his face with his hands and Moet can see the anguish and unshed tears in them. “I didn’t know that’d be the last time I’d see her.”
“We hardly do.” Moet replies. She feels the cold air-conditioning on the thin rivulets of tears rolling down her cheeks. She doesn’t have the energy to wipe them off.
They sit there, bonding over their shared grief for a while before Moet breaks the silence.
“Quinn.”
“Yeah?”
“I have to find her body. I want you to help me find her.”
Quinn thinks for a moment. “How would we even start?”
Right then, a thought strikes Moet. “What was that guy’s name? The one you said was with Dakota?”
“Dylan?” Quinn recalls.
“Dylan…” Moet repeats. That name sounded so familiar. She could’ve sworn she’s heard it before. “His name sounds really familiar.”
Quinn sighs. “It’s a common name, it’s probably nothing.”
“No… I swear, I remember someone mentioning that name and it was really important…” Come on, think, Moet, think. Right when Moet thinks she’s caught onto the edge of a memory, a sudden familiar anxiety washes over her and tightens her chest. Panicking, her eyes snap open and she frantically looks for some way to cope with this horrid sensation gripping her body. She spies Quinn’s pile of unorganized silverware sitting next to his bare plate. Her fingers hastily slide the set over to her side and start shifting them around, organizing them by size, by cleanliness, by purpose, anything until her hands stop shaking. Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Moet ducks her head down and an intense urge to cry overwhelms her.
“What was that?” Quinn asks.
“I have OCD… It acts up every now and then.” Moet admits. She starts nervously fidgeting with her fingers.
YOU ARE READING
Strawberries & Cigarettes
Teen FictionShe has obsessive-compulsive disorder. He finished all the required classes for graduating by his freshman year. She trains in ballet four hours a day, five days a week. He doesn’t understand people. She’s scared of waking up. He’s scared of not kn...
