Best And Worst of Me - 6. Chapter 6

The water was flat and shimmering under the fall sun. The mountains were green from the summer rain, with patches of red and gold marking Aspen trees. Quinn stayed under the shade of a large tree, on the grass just before the sandy beach that lined the waters. He sat close to the trunk on a blanket, wearing swim shorts in the midday heat, with his knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped protectively around his shins.

It hadn’t been hard to convince his mother to let him come. Even with his few hours to calm down after… Quinn had still been a wreck. He was unfocused, mind running scenarios through his head that left him looking panicked and shell-shocked whenever someone demanded his attention.

His mother had made him promise that he’d call once in the morning and once in the evenings, just to check in. Aside from that, Quinn kept his phone off and left it in the small townhome they owned for vacations.

Quinn only ventured off from his spot to buy food from a small vendor across the street, and only when his appetite came up. Mostly the thought of food was far from his mind throughout the day. Anxiety plagued him and twisted his stomach into nauseous knots. Guilt formed a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down, and his chest hurt like no other.

Usually being alone helped him, but Quinn couldn’t stop thinking about it. Cameron had stood up through bullying, coming back and not complaining about it… but being forced suck off another guy, blind and helpless? Maybe he would go to the administration for that. Quinn cupped his face in his hands and let hot tears leak out from his eyes, lips pressed firmly closed and breathing ragged. Any chance or hope he had been harboring of having something with Cameron was pain in his chest right now. As if he hadn’t royally fucked himself over before, now it was worse.

Eventually a mother strolling the beach with her two young kids approached and asked if Quinn was okay. Wiping his eyes, Quinn forced a smile and told the woman that he was okay. She gave him a disbelieving look but returned to her post of watching kids splash in the cold lake water.

Really, what Quinn wanted to do was rent a paddle boat and take it far out into the wide lake, where no one could bother him. He had tried, but they wouldn’t rent out a paddleboat to him without being over eighteen.

Quinn watched some of the younger kids playing in the water. How many of them would grow up to be homosexual? At that, Quinn sighed and gathered up his blanket, returning to the townhome. He took a long shower before crawling into the bed and just curling up. He didn’t feel like doing anything.

His mind would remember the pleasure of being in Cameron’s mouth, but then remembered the strangled protests the other teen had tried to make.

Quinn wanted to leave school all together. Everything. It would be so much easier to cut off everything and start over new somewhere else, something more permanent than a few hours or a weekend to himself. But that would be running away, and he couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not until he graduated in the spring, he tried to promise himself. But how many more times would he see Cameron before that? In class, at lunch, or just around.

Evening came, and Quinn made the promised call to his mother at seven. “Quinn…” She started softly. “Are you okay?”

Quinn wormed further under the covers of the bed. No, no he was not. “I’m fine.” He answered anyways. “Sweetie.” Her voice lowered. “This is the second time in a week you’ve had to run off and have time to yourself, not to mention these past two weeks you’ve just been… you haven’t been okay.”

Quinn forced down another lump in his throat. “I don’t know,” He croaked out. “I just don’t know what to do with myself. I feel like sh*t all the time and it doesn’t go away no matter what I do… it just seems to get worse.”

Silence followed for a short time on the other end of the line. “Do you want to look into professional help?”

Quinn’s mind took a moment to process that, but could still only reply with a “huh?”

“A therapist or something,” His mother clarified gently. “You don’t seem to tell me very much about what’s bothering you lately, so maybe someone outside the family…”

“Dad wouldn’t like that,” Quinn choked out a weak laugh. “What kind of son needs to go see a shrink, right?”

“That shouldn’t matter if it’s something you need, Quinn.”

Quinn didn’t say anything. He didn't want to admit that he might need serious help… but after what he did to Cameron? He did need the help, but there was no way he could bring himself to talk to someone else about it. He barely wanted to think about it. “Talking isn’t going to help me, mom.”

“We could still try,” She soothed.

Quinn did want it. Some stranger with no connection to his social life that maybe he could finally say he was gay to.

“Dad won’t like it.” Quinn sighed again. His father was a man’s man—Quinn didn’t want to be weak in front of him. Therapy or what ever was weak.

“I already said that doesn’t matter. I make enough money to pay for it on my own if he doesn’t want anything to do with it. But I might be able to set some things up for this coming week…”

Could Quinn really agree with his mother and say that he needed this? He didn’t want to. If she threatened him to, made it look like he had no other choice, it would be easier to go along with it… but to admit that he might need it?

“I have football practice…” Quinn pointed out.

“It can be after. Maybe late evening, after dinner, at least until the season is over,” His mother offered. Quinn rolled over onto his stomach, finally uttering an agreement into the phone. Soon the phone conversation was over, and Quinn wanted to just disappear into the mattress under him.

What would people think of him if they knew he was having enough problems in his head to see a therapist about it? Zach would jeer him for it. “What could be that bad?” He would tease.

Quinn squished a pillow between his arms and buried his face into it.

He didn’t move from the bed until it was dark outside, and nearly ten at night. Even then, he only snacked on some dry foods they had in the pantry. Maybe in the morning he would have to get some real food, or eat out again. Cereal wasn’t the best without milk when hungry.

Quinn went back to sleep after that, though it was restless and he was awake at seven. He lounged around the town home in silence, just staring and trying to think.

Closer to noon he ventured out, knowing he would have to leave soon if he wanted to be home at a reasonable time. But then how would he face his father, after disappearing for a whole weekend? Quinn had barely seen his father Friday before leaving for Grand Lake, and was sure that his mother wasn’t letting the man talk over the phone for Quinn’s sake.

Had she already mentioned to him the idea of therapy? Quinn’s chest started to feel tight again, and he wrapped his arms around himself as he walked the sidewalks of the town. He slipped into a few shops, trying to get out of the chill weather, different from the day before. No one was down in the water, aside from someone throwing toys in for their dog to bring back.

Quinn stopped into a rock shop, glancing around at what they offered. He stopped at a small box containing smooth teardrop shaped stones. He picked one up, holding it between his thumb and the side of his index finger. It fit perfectly into his hand like that, with another teardrop shape indented in the center.

He read the small paper above the box, advertising worry stones. Simply just rub one’s thumb into the indent, letting out all worries into the stone. Quinn picked one of color he liked—a dark gray one—and walked it up to the counter. It cost all of three dollars, and Quinn held onto it closely.

He kept it in his pocket, with his hand holding onto it and his thumb rubbing back and forth over the indent, the curved bottom resting on his index and the more defined tip between his thumb and hand. It felt comfortable there.

Quinn grabbed a small bite to eat before returning to the water one more time. He stood out at it for a few minutes and left for the town home. He repacked some of the clothes he had taken with him, and tossed them into his car. He called his mother and said he was on his way home, and would be back in about three hours.

Surely his mother must have brought up therapy by now, right? His father would hate the idea. “There’s nothing wrong with Quinn!” He would say. “He has a girlfriend, he’s on the football team… he has friends! What is there that could need therapy? They just want your money!”

Quinn smiled ruefully to himself. Of course, there wasn’t anything wrong with him. He was supposed to be normal.

He stopped once on the way home, to use the bathroom and grab a drink. He finished the drink long before the time he pulled into the driveway of his house. Would his sister, Jackie, be home to try and listen in on whatever conversation was coming?

Had his father, Roy, had enough time to cool down since therapy had been mentioned—if his mother Claire had mentioned it at all yet? Or was Quinn expected to bring it up, like he wanted it?

He did want it, after what he did to Cameron… but hell if he could admit it to anyone that he himself thought he needed to “see someone.” Would someone call it out as him just wanting attention? Or, again, make the argument that he had nothing going on in his life to feel so… f*cked up inside.

Quinn slowly snuck in the garage door of his house, bag slung over his shoulder. No sign of Claire or anyone else yet. He made it half way up the stairs to his room before her voice rang through the house. “Quinn?”

He stopped on the stairs. “Yeah?” He yelled back. He had almost made it to his room avoiding them.

She slipped out of the living room from down stairs. “Why don’t you come talk?” She offered.

Quinn stood awkwardly still. “Can I put my bag up?”

“Yes. Oh, and give me any laundry you have later, okay?”

Quinn nodded and finished up the stairs, hurrying into his room. He dropped his bag and paced a few small circles of the open part of his room, running worried hands through his hair. He remembered the stone and felt his pocket for it, holding it in his left hand and working the smooth surface with his thumb.

Talk? Had she already suckered some therapist into a home visit? Or did she just mean to talk about the idea of it with his father? Quinn let out a shaky breath before braving the stairs again. He joined his parents in the living room, with his mother curled up next to his father on the couch. His home life was good. Really, what did he have to complain about?

Quinn slowly sat as far as possible in a love seat close to the kitchen. Roy muted the TV, but Claire stole the remote and turned the box off completely.

“Therapy, huh?” Roy ground out, looking harshly at Quinn. Quinn sunk further into the plush chair, trying to retreat. He should have just stayed up in Grand Lake.

“Roy,” His mother reprimanded quietly. He grunted and looked off into the distance. He wasn’t going to talk about it. Claire sighed and stepped off the couch and away from her husband. She motioned for Quinn to follow her into the kitchen.

He heard the TV come back on in the living room, listening numbly and sitting at the kitchen table. His mother came out of the small home office with papers in hand. “I spent some of this morning looking up offices nearby…” She set the small stack on the kitchen table and sat across from Quinn. She propped her elbows up on the table, one hand tucked under her chin, while the other fanned out the papers. “There are quite a few psychiatrist options around here—“

“I thought we were talking therapy,” Quinn interrupted nervously. Psychiatrist sounded too… professional.

“A psychiatrist is a therapist, sweetie. Counseling and all, it’s just the more formal title.” Claire smiled and slid some papers forward. “Why don’t you look through these, okay? They’re all close from here and school, two are men and two are women, for which ever you’re most comfortable with.”

She slid the papers over to him and left the table. Quinn sat awkwardly, staring at the website printouts. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see a woman… that eliminated two off the bat. If he did ever come to tell about what he had done to Cameron, maybe a guy would understand more, right?

He read over the descriptions of the two men. Both had the same equal qualifications, which made no sense to Quinn anyways. He opted for the younger of the two, hoping that one would be more open minded. If he ever even got there.

Quinn found his mother up in her bedroom; Roy was still unresponsive on the couch. Quinn handed the paper over to her, eyes on his feet. She skimmed over it. “I’ll call him tomorrow, okay? And we can try to set something up for this week.”

“I have a game Friday.” Quinn reminded her. Even if he wasn’t playing, he was still required to support the team.

“Saturday, then, unless you have any plans to go somewhere again,” Claire answered.

“I don’t plan those things,” Quinn answered moodily. Claire sagged a little.

“Alright. Well, we’ll hope for Saturday, okay?”

***

Quinn held onto his worry stone for dear life most of Monday. He didn't see Cameron at all, not even during lunch. Lizzie was complaining about how he had canceled on their plans, and then wouldn’t answer his phone over the weekend.

Travis and Cory were back in school, though not on talking terms with Quinn, weren’t going around saying he got them suspended either. Seventh period was still absent of Zach. The maximum suspension was ten days, so Quinn wondered if that’s what he had gotten.

Quinn got called aside by the coach before class started. “You missed Friday’s practice.” He huffed out. He was a tall, thin man, but had muscles anyways. Quinn shrugged helplessly. “You’re already not playing this Friday, but one more practice and you’ll be missing another game.” The coach warned before switching topics. “And if you need a spotter during the class, you’ll have to ask me now. Cameron dropped the class.”

Quinn’s stomach tightened.

“I guess something happened on Friday, he just dropped the class this morning and the office was asking me why. Do you know anything?”

Yes, I did it to him.

“No, sorry. I mean… I know some guys put women’s underwear in his locker Friday…” Quinn offered that instead. The coach nodded and shooed him out of the office.

Quinn worked numbly through the class period. It was awkward having the teacher as his partner, and it kept the talking during class to a minimum. There was no bragging about the fact that Cameron would no longer be there.

Quinn hated the idea. How was he supposed to see Cameron at all now? Unless he made it obvious and hunted Cameron down during lunch… it would only be brief meetings in the hall.

After the class, Quinn stumbled into the locker room with the others. He glanced to Cameron’s locker, not expecting anything. But there was a folded piece of paper taped to one of the lockers, pointedly the one that he had pinned Cameron’s hands to the Friday before.

Quinn stared at it for a moment—folded into thirds length wise, blank on the outside. He snuck across the aisle and into the alcove to take the paper down before retreating back to his locker. He waited until everyone else had left to unfold and read it.

I don’t understand why you did that to me. Maybe because I’m gay and you hate me for it, and think you can use me? Or maybe you’re gay yourself and just can’t face it. I’m not going to judge you or out you… if you can’t confront anyone else about it, at least have the decency to confront me. If you hate me, at least have the damned balls to say it to my face like everyone else. I tried to let it go as a prank or loss of control, but I can’t. I’m not just a mouth to fuck.

If you confront me, I might forgive you.

Do it again and I’ll go to the administration.