The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Eighteen

    It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. If Milgram killed Brandon and admits to that, then he’s sitting in jail for every second of the rest of his life. Adding Maeve’s murder to his sentence wouldn’t do anything; it wouldn’t add a death sentence, it wouldn’t make him suffer any longer because it wouldn’t make a difference. 
    So the only thing that makes sense is that he’s telling the truth. 
    “God, Quinn!” Wes exclaims, running towards me. Behind him, stands a worried Keller. Why is he here? He’s not needed. 
    As Wes tries to hug me, I push him away, too distracted by the train of thought racing through my mind. What if he didn’t? What if Milgram… didn’t kill Maeve? But it wouldn’t make sense-- the pictures-- they proved him guilty. Perhaps he was framed?
    “Quinn,” Keller says, approaching me. I don’t say anything, but only stare at the floor. “I only told one person.”
    Seriously? That’s what he’s worried about? I came all the way to the city police station, spoke to Mr. Milgram and this is what he’s worried about? He doesn’t care about me! All he cares about is himself! 
    “Hey,” Wes says, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get you home.” 
    I yank my hand out of his weak grip.
    “I don’t want to go home!” The people around me begin to stare. 
    “Keller,” he says. “Can you tell her parents she’s with me?” 
    That’s the last time I see Keller before he walks out, followed by Wes and I. 
    Wes grabs the keys out of my pocket and he unlocks my car, allowing me in the passenger seat. 
    What if Milgram is sitting in his cell for a crime he didn’t commit? Even if he’ll sit in there no matter what, everyone else will think of him as less than a man. 
    Why am I even thinking of defending him? He’s a rapist… he hurt people. 
    We drive until we reach his house with a car full of silence. 
    His mother greets us and asks if I’m okay and I tell her I’m fine. 
    For the remainder of the day I sit in Wes’s room, watching movies until supper rolls around. 
    Luckily, my parents don’t know where Wes lives or else they’d come looking for me, forcing me to come home. 
    His mom has ordered pizza and we all sit in his kitchen, dispersing the pizza among each other. Grace hugs me and tells me how much she loves me even if it’s the second time I’ve spoken to her. 
    When I look at his mom, I can still see the sadness that sits, creeping in her dark eyes. 
    That night, I don’t go home. I fall asleep, watching a movie with Wes until morning falls. 
    When I wake up, Wes is gone. I search the room, but he’s nowhere to be seen. When I open his door, I see the bathroom directly in front of him with a door cracked open. 
    There he is. 
I wait at his doorway, watching him from afar. 
With him wearing nothing but a towel, I fall speechless; he's not perfect, but no man is. He's nearly thinner since the last time I saw him like this-- the night at the foster home, but somehow, I find him just as attractive as I ever have… not that that means anything; it's just a bonus. 
He reaches for the cabinet and pulls out a pill bottle, unscrews it and swallows a couple straight-- no water. 
What are they for? He's been through a lot, so it wouldn't surprise me if it's something to help him get through the days. Everyone needs help sometimes. 
But when he opens the door, I jump back and fall onto his bed, pretending to be asleep.
When he walks in, I stretch as if I've just woken up. 
"Did you know you talk in your sleep?" he says. 
I open my eyes, finding him still in a towel. Still. Oh please, don't ever put on real clothes. 
"What? No I don't!" I insist as he opens a drawer and pulls out an outfit. 
Dangit. 
"You also like to cuddle." 
My cheeks turn red and I'm suddenly overly aware of myself. Why did I do that? I don't remember doing that. God, we're not even official yet! I can't cuddle with him. 
"And now I have to pee," I say, finding an excuse to flee the scene. 
I rush to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. 
Oh god. That's embarrassing. That is so embarrassing. 
I lean against the wall, rubbing my eyes in frustration. But when I take my hands away from my face, I see something-- the pill bottle he must've left out.
When I look closer, Wesley's name isn't printed on it. Instead, it says Sarah Kingston right over the word, Xanax.
No. No, he's smarter than that. He wouldn't-he wouldn't take his mother's antidepressants. Is it even an antidepressant? No. No-- Xanax is for anxiety, right? Why does he need this? He doesn't. They're his mother's! These aren't his! So why is he taking them? 
I crack the door open, spotting him. 
He's sitting at the end of his bed, staring at the floor in vain. He seems so broken, so... dependent.
But it all makes sense now. 
He shakes. He shakes a lot. 
His sudden aggression. 
The way he's been rapidly losing weight. 
His eyes that are in a constant red state. 
I never noticed it before because I was so focused on the murder, so focused on being with Wes.
I didn't see what was right in front of me. 
"I need to pee," Grace's small voice says as she pushes the door open. 
She steps in, but I can't acknowledge her. Instead, I stand with the bottle grasped between my hand and Wes's eyes locked on mine. 
"Quinn?" Grace says. "Can you please close the door?" 
"What?" I say, snapping out of my state. "Yeah-yeah, I'm sorry."
With that, I step out and shut the door, leaving only Wes and I to confront each other.

    “What the hell is this?” I exclaim, rattling the pill bottle as I stampede into his room. “I saw you take these!” My heart races. He’s been doing this behind my back… behind everyone’s back? He can’t think this is the right way to go about things! 
    “Quinn,” he says, standing up. He’s wearing a pair of pants and an old t-shirt now. “It’s-- it’s not what it looks like.” 
    Oh, it’s not? Then tell me, Wesley. Because it sure as hell looks like you’re taking your mother’s Xanax. 
    He falls silent. 
    He walks behind me and closes the door as Grace steps out of the bathroom. 
    He tries to grab it out of my hand, but I throw my arm up. 
    “No, Wes!” I yell. “You tell me what the hell you have these for!” 
            He stares at me for a moment until… until he sits down and says something. He says something that forces me to run out of the room and tell him I won't come back until he stops.
           "I just wanted to take them once… it got out of hand. I'm sorry, Quinn." 
    I run all the way out of his house with the pill bottle still in my hand. 
    All this time. All this time I’ve been falling for him, he’s been falling down another hole; a hole few can climb out of. 
    “Quinn,” he says, opening the door. I jump up, gripping the bottle. Does he think this is okay? If he keeps this up he’s gonna’ end up just like Maeve! 
I won’t let it happen. 
“No!” I yell at the top of my lungs, burning my throat. 
I run to the middle of the open road and open the bottle. With him staring at me with tears staining his cheeks, I pour each and every one of them out. 
“You don’t get to do this to yourself!” I exclaim, stampeding back up. 
He falls to the porch and sits there, wrapping his arms around his legs. 
“I’m sorry Wes,” I say. “But I’m letting you hurt yourself like this.” 
And that’s the last thing I say before getting in my car and driving over the pills, on my way home.