The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Seven

"Keller!" I frantically shout, pounding his locker, making my headache worsen by the second. 
          He jumps, making his books spin to the floor. 
         When his eyes meet mine, he simply rolls his eyes in disapproval. He starts to walk away, but it only makes my heart rage deepen.
          "Where the hell did you go last night?" I yell as he struts away. When he doesn't turn around, I yank his shoulder and force him to.
          "Where did I go?" He exclaims, examining me up and down like I'm some kind of monster.
          His voice lowers. "You're the one who got too wasted to care about me."
          And in that instant, everything comes flooding back and a tear drips down my cheek as he walks away. 
         Oh, Keller. I hope you're okay.
          "Ms. Taylor," Mr. Milgram's voice bellows from behind me. 
          I pivot around and find him with furrowed eyebrows and narrowing eyes, immediately making my gut clench.
          I screwed up on the last day of school. 
          "A word," he says, making me regret everything that happened in the past five minutes.   
          I wipe my palms of sweat on my pants every two on the way to his office. 
         Suddenly, everything feels so hot and the walls around me start closing in. Until, they actually are; Mr. Milgram's door shuts, leaving me in the confined space of his office with a racing heart and a hangover. Neither of those things should enter a guidance counselor's office. 
"Have a seat," he says, ever so calmly leaning in his leather chair. "And tell me what's going on."
          Reluctantly, I sit in front of him and my aching head instantly falls to the floor. 
          Don't cry, don't cry. 
         "Here," he says, reaching under his desk. He pulls out a mint and lies it in front of me. "I can smell the hangover from here." 
         Hangover? He knows… when I get home, I'm dead. He's going to call my parents, tell them what happened, how I've been acting; I won't get to leave my house tomorrow because I'll be dead!
         "It's okay," he says. "I won't tell anyone unless it becomes a problem." 
     And suddenly, the air is lifted. I'm safe. Mr. Milgram's my friend… at least, more than he is an enemy. I can trust him
        I can trust someone.
        "You've been acting out of character-- skipping school, yelling at peers, showing up hungover; this isn't like you, Quinn. You're better than this." 
        I grab the mint and pop it in my mouth. 
        "Why don't you tell me what's going on? I'm here to help," he continues.
         And that's when I break down.
         Tears start streaming down my eyes and every emotion comes to the surface-- every doubt, insecurity, all the uncerantities, and most of all… the guilt. The guilt of not giving Maeve a chance and assuming she's just like every other popular girl, the guilt of allowing myself to get so wasted that I don't remember if I had sex with Brandon, the guilt of not telling my own mother where I was, the guilt of putting Mia as suspect number one, the guilt of letting Keller run off last night, and the guilt of leaving Wesley without a word. 
         It's all there and it's not leaving.
         Every time I try to fix something, I'm so close to fixing it-- but it just slips through my fingers.
         I tried to fix me and Wesley's relationship, Keller's unhappiness, and I tried to fix me… but it all dove into shambles.
           "Hey," Mr. Milgram says, placing a tissue box in front of me. "Everything's okay… just talk to me."  
"I-" I stutter. 
"I'm an awful person."   
About sums everything up.
    “Quinn,” he says. “You are an outstanding person. You study hard, you’re lucky enough to have a family who loves you, and you’re the kindest young lady I’ve ever met.”
For a moment, I let those words sink in as I sit there, sniffing my nose. 
Maybe he’s right-- perhaps I’m just overthinking everything and I simply need to look on the bright side. I’ll mend everything, apologize for what I’ve done wrong, and realize people have it worse.
I’m okay. I’ll be okay. 
“If you ever need to talk, shoot me an email, okay? I have an office in the summer… a therapy office where I see numerous patients,” he says.
Therapy… I don’t need that, do I? I couldn’t afford it and telling parents-- it’d be terrifying. They’d worry about me, ask me what’s wrong, and I couldn’t tell them.
But Mr. Milgram? I could tell him. I feel like I can tell him anything and it’ll be safe.
“For free and  mainly for students,” he adds. “If you need help, Quinn… someone is always there for you.” 
I stay silent.
I could never go to therapy. I don’t have depression or anything, I’m just an average high school student. Everyone has problems, right? Mines not bad enough for therapy. 
    “Signs are posted around the school, and I’ll send an email out-- are you gonna’ be okay?” he asks.
    Am I? Will I ever be okay? 
    “Yeah,” I mumble. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
    At least now I know why Maeve came out crying from his office; everyone breaks down at some point. 
***
    After getting tylenol from the school nurse, the headache slightly subsides and I’m able to focus on my final. 
    Turning it in as the first person done, I feel myself slipping back into my old self; I’m the girl who aces every test and stays locked in her house.
    No boys to worry about, no parties-- just spending time with a happy, joyous family. 
    I leave school after testing, not saying a word to Keller; he needs space. When he’s ready, I’ll talk to him. And when I’m ready, I’ll rip Mia’s picture from my closet wall.
    “Quinn," someone says from behind me as I walk down the concrete stairs, on the way to my car. 
    I twist around, clinging onto my backpack straps. 
    Jessie McFall-- his fists are clenched and I swear I see a vein popping from his forehead. His blond eyebrows furrow with anger as he leans in closer to me.
    My skin crawls as my legs begin to shiver in fear. 
    What did I do? What did I do wrong? 
    I eye around, finding the people passing to be staring at the scene laid out in front of them like a movie.
    I’m trembling, ready to run. I can make it-- if I start running right now, I can make it to my car and race towards my house. 
    “What the hell did you say to my girlfriend?” he hisses, making my mouth run dry.
    I didn’t tell Mia anything! I barely spoke to the girl, let alone tell her anything about Jessie! 
    “I-I-” I stutter. “I didn’t-” 
    “You’re gonna regret this, Taylor,” he spits through his gritted teeth. 
    At the sound of my last name, my chest tightens. I just want to get home. I want to--
    Wait. 
    He just threatened me. If he’s threatening me, who else could’ve he done the same to? Maybe he follows through. Maybe this man is capable of murder.
    “Back off,” Keller’s familiar voice bellows from behind Jessie, making Jessie crack his neck and clench his fists tighter.
    Keller, no. Don’t do this.
    “And what are you gonna’ do about it?” Jessie says. 
    He didn’t do anything! He didn’t touch me! He doesn’t deserve to be hurt! Keller, calm down!
    Before I can say another word, Keller’s fist goes flying into Jessie’s face and Jessie flies back. 
    For a small moment, Jessie simply stands there with his hand over his nose. When he moves it, blood covers his hand. 
    No. No, he needs to stop. He’s taken this too far. 
    I want to say something, but my tongue is tied in knots. The world around me starts to spin as Keller goes in for round two, only to be knocked to the concrete by Jessie.
    “Stop!” I exclaim. “Keller, he never hurt me!”
    And with that, I finally conjure up the ability to run over and hover over him. He lies there, helpless with a black eye and worn out body. He’s broken, unable to function properly.
    I remember when he was just Keller-- a happy, care-free, gossip-loving Keller Avery.
           Now when I look at him, all I see is pain.
    “Come on,” I say as he leans up, feeling his head. I glance back at Jessie, who’s still covering his nose with bloody hands as he snarls at us. “He’s not worth it.” 
    I grab Keller’s hand and pull him up, placing an arm for support on his back, pulling him up. 
    “I’m fine,” he snaps the second he stands up. 
    And when those words left his mouth, I’m stuck in an awe of betrayal. My heart sinks-- like his trust is leaking out of the holes he’s put in my heart. 
    He’s slipping away and I can’t seem to get a firm grasp.
    I’m sorry, Keller. For whatever did, I’m sorry.
***
    I’m sitting in my closet, ripping Mia’s picture off the wall with tears streaming down my face. 
    Why am I crying I shouldn’t be crying. This is nothing; people have it worse. Yet still, I find myself trapped, like a bird in a cage. I’m screaming, but no one will let me out; screaming is a natural act for humans. 
    My one friend is gone, somehow I got tangled up in a huge mess with Maeve’s friends, and here I am, still trying to solve a murder because the cheif of police doesn’t give a damn about their citizens.
    I tape Skye’s picture where Mia’s used to be and below that, lies Jessie McFall.
    There I sit, with my back against the wall, pulling out my phone. 
    Brandon and I exchanged phone numbers last night. But have yet to text each other. 
    But I need to know. I can’t sit here and do nothing about it. 
    So I hit call.
    And he picks up.