Strawberries & Cigarettes

Chapter Nineteen

            “He left me,” Moet whispers to her dark bedroom. “I know you’re in here somewhere, Dakota.” The empty room doesn’t answer her back. It’s about eleven at night and Moet’s lying on her twin-sized bed with the white covers doing nothing except staring at the wall. “Are you happy now? I’m giving up everything just for you,” she continues. “And you don’t even bother to show up.” Her words are as soft as the whispering breeze blowing outside through the trees. Silence weighs down the house like a warm blanket.

            “I starting to think you’re not worth it anymore,” Moet whispers to the air. “I’m sorry.”

            Shortly after, she falls asleep.

            “Where do you think we should start?” Moet asks Quinn the next day. It’s Monday and the two are seated in a booth in the back of the local diner they’ve been frequenting as of late.

            Quinn sets down his hamburger and Moet notices that there’s a spot of ketchup on his cheek. The spot bothers Moet and she compulsively gets her napkin and vigorously wipes the spot away before sitting back down. Raising an eyebrow, Quinn rubs his sore cheek and asks, “Are you sure we should be getting into this so soon? I heard about what happened with you and boy-genius.”

            She stiffens. There’s an inexplicable tightening in her chest at the mention of Leighton. “It’s alright,” she lies. “We were only together for a month or whatever. It’s fine.”

            “You’re lying to me again,” Quinn sighs and then rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He picks up his burger and takes another bight, “I think the first person we should start with is Dylan, her supplier.”

            Moet had to bite her tongue to stop herself from reflexively denying the facts. It was about time she stopped putting Dakota up on a pedestal. It was about time she faced the facts and stopped denying the truth. “Alright. Do you know where he would be at,” she checks her cellphone, “four-thirty on a Monday afternoon?”

            Quinn’s jaw clenches. “Unfortunately, yes. Wait, don’t you have practice on weekdays?”

            “I don’t care.” Moet says. She continues cutting her omelette into small pieces and pushing them around her plate. She doesn’t know why Quinn keeps insisting for her to order something even though she always ends up packing it up and giving it to him anyways.

            He groans and rubs his face with his hands. “Moet, your mother is gonna kill you and then kill me after once she finds out where you’ve been. We have to get you back, come on.” After throwing a couple of bills onto the table, he starts sliding out of the booth, but Moet’s surprisingly strong grip on his arm stops him.

            “No.” Moet’s determined brown-green eyes lock onto his dark ones. “It’s time I do something for myself. And what I want right now is for this Dakota crisis to be done with. Ballet can wait a couple days.”

            The tattooed boy searches her face as if to find what evoked this new change in the formerly weak, submissive girl that he knew. “What happened?”

            Leighton. She thought. Although she didn’t realize it at the time, his words struck something deep inside of her. And she knew he was right. So was Dr. Seki.

            Think of yourself for a change.

            “Someone told me to do what’s right for me. And I’m starting. Now, are you going to take me to see Dylan or do I have to search him up and walk over to his drug den by myself?” Moet asks in a quiet but steely voice.