“Why?” I say before I can stop myself.
“I guess my body is just used to it,” he says, and I want to know why. “My mother said I was the worst sleeper out of all of us.”
“All of you?” I ask, intrigued by his statement.
“I have a brother, Reed, who is two years younger than me, and my sister, Harlow, who is five years younger than me.” His whole face lights up when he talks about his family. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, and I don’t add the thank God.
I don’t say anything else because he looks back out of the window. For the first time in my life, I watch the sun rise without having the fear that I don’t know where I will be that night. For the first time, I don’t have to wonder if he is going to be in a good mood or not. For the first time, I watch the sun rise without hating the fact that I’m alive.
The yellow sun slowly takes over the whole sky, and for the first time in my life, I wish I was outside to feel the heat on my face. I close my eyes as the sun shines in the window. “Maybe soon,” Quinn says. “We can see if we can watch the sunrise outside.”
“Why do you like watching it?” I ask him.
“It’s almost therapeutic.” With a smirk, he grabs a container of pie and comes over to me. “It’s like a restart.”
“That makes no sense.” I shake my head.
He smiles at me. “It makes all the sense in the world.” He opens the container of pie. “Let’s say today is one of the worst days you’ve ever had.” He starts to talk. “And the only thing you can think of is I can’t wait for this day to be over. You ever have those days?”
I laugh. “I was left for dead. So chances are, I’ve had more than a few of those days.” I try to make a joke of it, but I can see his eyes go dark. I see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows.
“The sunrise shows you that today is another day. It shows you that you have a reset.” He smiles and puts the pie in my lap, and I look down, seeing it’s blueberry.
I look down at the pie, my mouth watering. “You ever see the glass half empty?” I ask him, my hand itching to grab the plastic spoon he holds in his hand.
“Do you ever see the glass half full?” he counters and extends his hand with the spoon. “You just have to have a bit of faith.”
I hold up my hand and reach for the spoon. “In my life …” He holds on to the spoon. “I learned early on that faith wasn’t on my side.” His eyes are on mine. “I learned that in my life when I thought the glass was half full, it was quickly shown to me that not only was it not half full but it was, in fact, empty. A figment of my imagination at times.” I look at the spoon in my hand and then the pie. “See this pie.” I put the spoon down on my lap and pick up the container. “What do you see?”
“I see a piece of pie,” he says, and I look down and blink away the tears that are fighting to be let out.
“I see a piece of pie also,” I tell him, smiling and then looking back at the pie. “But I also see something that will give me a little bit of joy because it’s my favorite. But then I see something that can be used to make me feel disappointment.” His mouth opens. “You see, if I show even a bit of emotion toward this piece of pie, it gives someone, anyone, the chance to use it against me.” I try to shrug my shoulders. “It’s the way the world works for me.”
I watch him as he takes in the words I’ve just said. I watch him as he struggles with not flying off the handle. I watch his hands clench into fists on his legs and then I see them open as he rubs up and down his upper thighs. “Eat the pie,” he says through clenched teeth.
“I can’t eat much,” I say. “I haven’t eaten in eight days,” I say, and he looks at me.
“You mean six days,” he corrects me.
I shake my head. “No, I mean eight days.” His jaw goes tight. “And experience reminds me that if I eat this whole thing, it’ll be wasted because my stomach will most likely throw most of it up.” I pick up the spoon. “So I’m going to have two bites.” I cut a piece and bring it to my lips. “It smells so good,” I say.
“When you get out of here,” he says, getting up and smiling at me, “I’m going to take you to my grandmother’s house.” My heart speeds up in my chest. “She’s going to bake it in front of you, and then, Willow,” he whispers, “you are going to eat the whole fucking pie.” He walks away from my bed. “I’m going to tell them you’re awake.”
I don’t say anything to him as I watch him walk out of the room and then look down at the pie with the tears I lost the battle against. They roll down my cheeks as I try not to sob out. I take a bite of the pie and let the sweetness sit on my tongue. My whole mouth waters at the same time as I chew the little bite. After the second bite, I put the spoon down. Looking out at the nurses’ station, I see him with his head down and his arms outstretched to his sides; hands that look so strong. Hands that look like they will hold you up instead of push you down.
“You will never be good enough for anyone.” I hear the voice in the back of my head. The voice so many times, hurting me more and more. “The sooner you admit it to yourself.” I hear her voice again. “The better it will be for everyone.”
I close my eyes, trying not to make her words hurt me. She is nothing to you. All I can do is hear her laughing in the background just like she always does. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
My eyes fly open as I try to run away from her voice, my heart speeding up as I push her back in the black box I buried her in. “I hope you are rotting in hell,” I mumble. “Burning in hell.”
Chapter 11
Quinn
I stand in front of the nurses' station with my hands by my sides, trying to make the burning in my stomach go away. I made a note that she is going to have blueberry fucking pie every single day that I’m here. Every fucking day that I’m around her.
“Good morning,” Shirley says, coming out from another room. “Is she up?”
“She is,” I say. “She is going to have two bites of pie.”
“I’ll see if we have something for her for breakfast,” she says, “and she is expected to go for tests this morning.” I look at her, and the worry must show all over my face. “Routine tests. We need to see if the swelling in her head has gone down.”
“Okay,” I say quietly and turn to walk back into the room. I see her with her eyes closed as one tear rolls down her cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Who are you, Quinn?” She opens her eyes, and I see they are filled with tears. “I can’t pinpoint who you are.” My heart speeds up as I walk over to the chair and sit down next to her bed. I want to get closer to the bed and hold her hand in mine. “My head keeps going around and around in circles as I think about who you really are.”
“Who do you think I am?” I ask, trying to get her to talk to me and open up a bit more. My hands get clammy as I ask her the loaded question.