“Without Life”
She was afraid. Afraid of what? Oh, afraid of him? Yes, that seemed possible.
Quinn stared out of her paned window, books in hand, backpack swung over one
shoulder, the filtering light creating a yellow-tinted glow over the beige living room. The door
was towering in front of her and yet she couldn’t stop herself from peering out of the window to
her right. Beyond the reflection of a fleeting woman, her destination stood before her: a patch of
green and yellow hugging the nape of the hill dotted with houses, and veins of pavement running
between them. It really wasn’t that far, she needed a walk anyway, something to clear the
cobwebs in her head. As she hinged her neck back towards the doorway her hand gripped the
steely knob and pushed her way into the breezy autumn afternoon. Her dusky brown hair flew
behind her in a flourish as the breeze stung her light hazel eyes. She looked from her left to her
right, eyes landing on her destination as the cobwebs began to disappear. It had been a year since
the hatred had formed those cobwebs there, a year since everything had fallen apart.
As she walked, Quinn tilted her head back, the sun caressing her face. She had
remembered that morning in the shower when she felt the revival, and she could unexpectedly
feel searing drops frame her face, sliding in slow pulses, warmth gradually lifting her body back
to life. As the water soaked through her hair, she had felt the weight of it pull her head back even
further, feeling the water pool around her eyes and mouth. A clean slate: that was all she needed,
but instead the crisp air flew around her, bringing Quinn back to the cold reality.
There was this drain she always passed on her way to the park. A pathetic little thing
stuck into the side of a red-brick building, interrupting the pattern of rectangles with a rusted,
metal circle. Half the time, she expected a homeless man to appear there, but he was never there.
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It reminded her of those tiny imperfections, the ones that you only realize far too late. Those
secrets that could have saved you, kept you sane, or kept you, at least, unbroken.
When Quinn reached her journey’s end, she pictured the drain wedged into the brick
wall, draining that warm water. Those were Quinn’s small day dreams that always seemed
superfluous and unneeded. She didn’t want to feel ignorance bleed through unexpectedly, but
instead, keep that knowledge locked up forever.
Beneath her, the delicate, shivering grass sat upon the unmoving earth, just as she was
positioned now. The grass tickled her bare legs and the breeze lifted beneath her skirt; she felt
the goose bumps ascend from her body. There he is, Quinn thought.
Rising up out of the hill and treading on the concrete path, she could hear the hard tap of
a man’s stiff shoes. She hadn’t the slightest idea where he was going, nor did she care. She
closed her eyes, blocking out the harsh sunlight that pelted her face, and let her body sink back.
She listened for his angry footsteps to pass as she positioned her body just right: head resting on
hands, hips square, toes pointed. Her chest lifted methodically with cool, autumn air filling every
crevice of her lungs as the sun laid over her like a warm blanket.
The hard clack of his shoes decelerated into soft taps as he passed her: heel-toe, heel-toe,
heel-toe. This time, however, Quinn heard a different noise echo from under his feet, similar to
the lively snap of clapping hands. Her body shot straight up, gasping for the suddenly thin air.
Before her naked feet, lay a thin, leather wallet barely grazing the grass. Her gaze jostled toward
his receding figure and back to the fallen wallet. As her hand extended for the square pouch,
instinctively her arm retracted.
He would soon be out of ear shot.
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Gulping down her reluctance, she forced her hand to grasp the pristine black wallet.
Under her fingers, the new leather was soft and practically shining, similar to the newly-printed,
stiff bills folded inside.
Without looking up she yelled, “Sir, wait, you dropped your wallet!” The clatter of the
shoes stopped with an abrupt pause, and she could feel his sudden gaze land on her, first her legs,
then her cleavage, finally landing on his wallet.
“Oh, excuse me,” he gasped.
Quinn finally raised her fixed stare to the polished man. He was patting his back pockets
tensely. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” While he bent down with a
mechanical bow, she focused on the name tag fixed precisely on his tailored gray jacket that read
Charles. His chuckle that came next sent fissions down her spine, and as he reached for his prize,
her hand recoiled back to the grass. An appearance of concern extended to his face. “I’m sorry, I
hadn’t meant to startle you.”
She cleared her throat apprehensively and pulled her thick hair behind her hunched
shoulders. “No, you didn’t startle me.” She avoided his curious eyes and focused on the grass
trembling in waves from the ever-growing breeze. His eyebrows, probably better trimmed than
hers, quirked up into a pitiful puppy routine.
“Well, at least let me take you out, you know, as a ‘thank you?’ You know most people
wouldn’t return such a pristine wallet.”
She chuckled softly at his arrogance, a sickly tension forming in the pit of her stomach.
How is it, she thought, that men such as these continue to see me?
Quinn glanced up to his clean, burnished face, similar to a bright new penny. His plain
gray suit looked out of place when contained in the brightness of the city park. He tilted his head
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to his shoulder and his smile was received as an invitation. Behind him, the sun shone in a severe
brightness, darkening his features and sending bright rays into the waves of his black hair.
Suspicion wrapped around her torso like a tightening fist, while his beaming face stayed
steady and his drifting eyes swam over her. It seemed that the blackness of his hair and the round
green eyes did not belong to the same body. Those eyes, she thought. Those eyes belonged to that
man who existed in greeting cards and cheesy movies. Those eyes that she could melt into. T
No, those eyes, which existed in temptation and in lies, belonged to a man who had
pushed her against that freezing brick wall, scraping her back into a million lines. Those eyes had
belonged to a man who had blackened her arms, and made her scalp ache with the force, with
which that man had pulled her hair. Incredible how the barbarian of a man can be contained in
such a pristine suit.
Quinn blinked rapidly, clearing away the tears that were pushing against her eyes and
stood triumphantly, her heart pulling her chest forward. Gathering her books, Quinn stared
directly into the glare of his eyes. “No,” she breathed, “no thank you.”
Charles’ eyes pulled away in a reluctance that dimmed his features, providing a slow nod
in response. A quick jerk of the head turned his body away, leading with his feet, his chest
extended high and straight.
She exhaled in relief, feeling her warm breath mixing into the crisp air surrounding her,
and began to walk herself, away from the park and away from the man with those eyes. The
breeze curled around her legs and she thought back to that morning when the numbness had
seeped so far into her skin that only the hot water would cure it.
Her mind wandered back to the shower: the morning when she had awakened. But last
year, the year when the one she loved turned into the one of her nightmares, when the sexy man
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of her dreams had turned into a werewolf, and when the pain, that nagging pain, turned into
oblivion. After all, the only way you grasp catharsis is to deal with the pain, wrestle with the
pain, cherish the pain. That’s the only way to heal, to find a new beginning. Those memories of
the year before were the ones that always came back to her in hoards and at the most inopportune
times.
“Quinn!” The words slapped me in the back of the head.
Perfect, just perfect. I hadn’t known that Jackson was coming home so early. My head
swam and pulsated in a sudden anxious fear as I kicked my way down the stairs. The kitchen tile
felt foreign to my bare feet when I started to drag food from the cabinets and the refrigerator in a
sporadic manner. Twisting my head to the clock, I had calculated the time. Three hours early,
what a pleasant surprise!
“Quinn!”
Time was running out. Every footfall indicated another second, another chance to bolt,
another chance to hide, maybe on the roof this time?
My pulse began to beat harder against the inside of my skull as I filled the blackened pot
with water. I could feel my wrist begin to shake with the intensifying weight of the pot. Beat,
beat, beat, he must be in the garage now, ten more seconds until he gets back. Turning the greasy
plastic knob of the stove to ‘high,’ I heard the crackle of spilled water on the heated burner. Five.
I grabbed the rough chopping board and abruptly felt the tangible coolness of the metal knife
between my shaking fingers. Three. I gripped the ripened tomato, feeling the leathery skin give
under my fingertips. Two. Slices fell away from the fruit, the seeds encased in watery, pungent
sacs. As a child, I always hated tomatoes…One.
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“Quinn!” My head snapped to attention. There he was, his stalky figure framed by the tall
doorway. But the Jackson that had come through the door was not the Jackson I had been
expecting. The man I had been waiting for held his stern face in stone with a scowl that had
engrained a deep hatred upon his expression. But the seemingly foreign man that stood before
me wore a smile that was haphazardly plastered with creases that framed his eyes. In his square
arms, a stack of books were assembled against his chest that raised to the curvature of his neck.
“For you,” he said.
I stood there motionless, while steam rose behind me from the pot like a cloud of smoke.
One hand cupping the small tomato; the other, holding the blade so tightly that my fist was
turning white and my fingers were growing numb. I noticed now that the knife hovered over the
board, poised and ready in defense. Pain rigidly amassed down my neck as every taut muscle
relaxed. I felt the slackening of my hand and I dropped the knife, which clattered against the tiled
counter. I almost forgot to put my smile on.
“Oh,” I breathed, “This is…amazing! Where did you get these?”
Jackson’s expression turned to one of condescension. “Well, I am a contest winner. The
prize: twenty of the best books you will ever get to read.” As he set the novels over the counter
with a thud, I felt the smooth, shining covers call to me. “Now, what’s for dinner?”
But I couldn’t go to them, my books, because the water would be overflowing now,
which would create a film of singed crust over the burner. I would be punished for my
forgetfulness and for my inadequacy. I was better than that, but only with him around to remind
me.
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Memories like this one always seemed to leach back into her mind, without any warning,
without any pleasure. And as she walked from the park, she wished for the warmth of the shower
again. She just wanted a clean slate.
By the time Quinn reached the door to the library, the air froze around her and the sky
stretched into that deep blue with white light still attempting to push its way from the horizon.
She paused. Once she was inside, silence engulfed her. This was a feeling of complete serenity,
every noise, every conversation, and every word of that man in the park, rushed away with utter
euphoria. She felt the air escape her again and was then acutely aware of the burning sensation of
her once freezing nose. The warmth was just another cure to the goose bumps palling her skin.
With another deep breath, she shook out the thickness of her hair, a soft caress that
warmed her neck with a familiar and comforting touch. Quinn allowed herself to fall into the
embrace of the bookshelves lined with rows upon rows of books that stood at attention and
saluted her. Quinn reached out a hand to the soldiers sitting on the shelves and began to run her
hands along their spines. Her favorite part, though, was the corporeal sense she received from the
changing textures of the books. Some had a rough fibrous cover similar to stubble against the
back of her shoulder. Others were silky and glossed over, much like the softness of his hands
against her cheek. At least that was what she wanted, that was what she needed. She let her neck
elongate, feeling her hair sweep across her back and over her right shoulder as she examined a
hardcover.
Weary from her memories of the past year, she stopped, every vertebrae straightening
into a rigid alignment and slowly turned to see a man in a dark gray suit, with round green
eyes…There he is, she thought. As she thrust her head forward again, she felt a nagging pain
erupt in the top of her head.
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“Well, well, look what I’ve found.” His voice grated against her ears. This was no time to
be scared, if there was any minute to let courage show, this was it. “You know I never caught
your name.”
The air was left hanging for her answer, but she only clenched her eyes shut.
Simultaneously, Quinn lifted her head while sipping air into an inhale, feeling a low ache in her
muscles roll down her back. She knew very well that there was no way of getting out of this
without a few scratches.
“Hi!” Her smile extended into every inch of her body as she reached for his outstretched
hand. “Quinn, nice to meet you.”
His smile quirked to one side as he cleared the phlegm encased within his throat. “I’m
Charlie, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Quinn giggled with a high pitch from the back of her throat. “Please, the pleasure is all
mine,” sarcasm thick from the back of her throat.
He appeared to revert to his original stance, taken aback. Charlie seemed to be smart
enough to pick up on the sarcasm enclosed in her words. “Excuse me?”
Quinn’s head slowly raised to meet the green tint in his eyes as she felt his stare seep into
her body, much like when wine stains through a white dress, the color slowly spreading, no way
to stop it, no way to pull it out. “I’m sorry. You know what? I can’t do this.”
The gala was that summer night, in one of those mirrored ballrooms with far too many
chandeliers, and was far too cold for the required apparel. I stood in front of one of the reflective
walls, and listened as forks clinked against china, dresses scuffled with matted fabric against one
another, and voices never ceased. Keeping my eyes steady, I rolled my head to lean to one side,
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letting my dark coffee curls, stiff with hairspray, brush against my bare shoulder. The dress
seemed long enough, a shining corrugated gray that reached to grab my other shoulder and
wrapped around the curvature of my hips. My eyes, masked behind two single black lines,
popped out beneath my dark maroon eyelashes. Bringing my head back into place, and blinking
rapidly to displace the tears, I saw Jackson beaming behind me. His presence never seemed to
cease.
There he was behind me kissing my neck, the tiny spots of his stubble sending my hair on
end. “You look absolutely ravishing my darling.”
I chuckled with a high pitch that rang in the back of my throat. “Ravishing?”
His smile erupted into a laugh, the resounding chortles echoing off each corner of the
room, forcing some to turn and smile, while others ignored the booming of his laughter. My eyes
met his in the mirror, as if we were both staring into space. “Would you like to dance?” was all
he asked.
My feet felt numb in my shoes, as they made scuffs on the perfectly polished floors.
Lines of gray and brown twirled together in patterns on the floor, similar to Jackson’s hair.
“Quinn, please, stop looking at your shoes, you’re fooling yourself.” His voice sounded
like an irrepressible ringing in my ears.
I felt the hurt behind my eyes pushing against my perfectly perfect smile. It was the smile
of angels, of the perfect wife painted perfectly for him. “Sorry, darling.” I cleared my throat, air
fluttering in my chest, my pulse rising.
He held himself so reserved, so proper. Amazing how a suit can reserve a barbarian.
A dizziness began to fill the left side of my temple, a pulsating dizziness that you only get
when the stress itself is too much to handle. When the sounds become deafening.
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“Will you please…please try to stop fidgeting?” His words came as a growl through his
teeth, while his eyes flashed as a warning sign.
I couldn’t speak; the air wasn’t filling my lungs anymore. The dress was too tight and
everyone was breathing too much. The air was just too hot. “Um, Jackson? I’m sorry I just need
to go freshen up a little.”
“All right, don’t take too long. I need my date back” As he led me off the dance floor, he
kissed my forehead with a tenderness that could only create the advertisement of the perfect
couple. An image of true love’s vision as written in the dreams of a teenage girl. An image so
resilient that love really had nothing to do with it.
“Of course, don’t I always come back?” A smile extended over my face, finishing off the
impeccable picture painted for an audience dressed up in ties and ball gowns. As I arrived in the
lobby, clinging tightly to my gown, I saw a bright “Exit” sign calling to me. I slowly twisted my
head to the sign marked “Bathrooms.” My chest rose and fell with a visible struggle from the
constriction of my dress. No one was watching me and I felt a lonely peace form around me. I
could just leave. But I had never felt that power before, and suddenly I felt an overwhelming
burst of bliss, like the drug had finally reached my veins
That night was the kind where you could taste the pungent saltiness in the air, when the
summer humidity hung so low that it was almost impossible to breathe. That night might as well
have been one of my nightmares, those ones that wake you permanently so that you stare wideeyed into the ceiling until your eyes dry out. But it wasn’t, it wasn’t a dream. He had always
made my heart beat a little bit faster, but never like this.
I was running, that’s right, I can remember now, I was running. By the time I had reached
the low brick wall, my heart had started beating out of my chest, and the air hung dense in my
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throat. I started sucking in air and choking. I must have lost my shoes on my way there, but the
dress was still squeezing my body, forcefully holding me together. Under my fingertips, the
unleveled bumps of the wall met my hand in what felt like sandpaper. As I looked up, the moon
held a halo of light around it, which reminded me of those chilled nights in winter, when the
temperature is so low the clouds won’t even stick around. But it couldn’t have been winter
because the heat, that heat was too harsh.
“What do you mean? Can’t do what?” There was still the threat of a smile on Charlie’s
face, which confused her. Smiles are rather confusing things.
“Again, I’m sorry.” The end of her words filtered off into a quiet sigh, an exhausted air
buzzed around her. “Please, I can’t…” She suddenly felt a falling sensation, the air rushing past
her ears. Quinn felt the hard wooden shelf meet her back, while books toppled around her like
falling boulders in a landslide. She sucked in the musty warm smell of the library, and again she
felt the red brick wall, the heat of that night, and all she could do was inch to the ground and
stare ahead blankly.
“Quinn?” He said her name, the name that she had come to fear.
“I’m sorry, but how do you know my name?” She was still staring into space.
His face registered something of hurt, of human. “You told me your name only minutes
before…” Oh, he was concerned? Yes very concerned, probably for her psychological safety, or
sanity, or whatever. “Quinn, do you remember my name?”
Did he have the right to ask her that question? Such a question was reserved for doctors,
therapists, trauma nurses. She felt the lines in her forehead curl up as her eyebrows raised. The
only air she could muster came out trembling, “Jackson?”
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“What? No, my name is Charlie. Don’t you remember?”
Her chest began rising and caving in at uneven beats. Everything was moving through
her head too quickly, too sporadically. Her world was spinning uncontrollably. She could swear
that his mouth was moving; was his mouth moving? She could only hear her heartbeat swell in
her ears, nothing else. “Charlie? But your name is Jackson…” Hiccups of tears began to drown
her eyes, clouding her vision and choking her mouth. Within those tears there was a colossal
release of pressure from her chest, every ounce of pain, of worthlessness, of fear, a pure rush
from opening the floodgates.
Bewilderment pushed his face back. His mouth was forming something of a shape like,
“Quinn?”
I couldn’t quite remember when I blacked out that sultry, summer night of the gala.
Everything was blurry, everything. “Ma’am can you tell me your name? Do you remember your
name?” The trauma nurse kept flashing a light in my eyes, which had reminded me of the street
lamp that had hung above me and the blurry redbrick wall. Instinctively, my eyes squinted to the
harshness of the white light, pain flooding my head.
“Quinn, Quinn Harken?”
“That’s good, very good. Now, can you tell me what happened?” the nurse said,
scribbling on a clipboard.
“He…he hit me.” My breathing came in choppy, croaking breaths. “I left…I left and he
hit me against the wall.” The air escaping my lungs scratched the back of my throat like sand,
and I could taste something in my mouth. Blood, it was blood; the pungent saltiness flowing over
my taste buds. Fuzzy black spots started to fill the corners of my sight.
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“We need a crash cart over here!” There must have been more yelling after that, but all I
heard was a steady, high-pitched tone in the back of my ears. That was all.
“Quinn? Are you alright?” Charlie’s voice came out with a thick release of air that he had
probably been holding in for a while. Charlie. That was his name. How could she have been so
misguided? He wasn’t Jackson, it was just those eyes, those emerald eyes that always seemed to
turn black. Those eyes took her breath away, literally.
Quinn was lying on a freezing, metal bench that felt rigid and skeletal. “Charlie…”
“You forgot me.” His snicker resembled some form of pure happiness. “That’s okay,
would you believe I forgot your name too?”
In spite of herself, Quinn started laughing, the sudden burst of amusement scratching
against her vocal cords in a static cling. “Oh, I believe it.” Her laughing continued in surges, as
his eyes became framed by the furrowing of his eyebrows. Heat began to rise with her laughter,
every inch of her body was screaming in fire. Quinn pushed herself up from her seat, up from the
vulnerability that had restrained her there. “Yes, in fact, I believe it.”
“I don’t understand what…”
“No.” Her voice pulsated in her ears. “I’m sorry, I am truly sorry, but I will not fall into
this trap again. No more.” Her surroundings began to spin as Quinn jostled her head back and
forth, her pulse visibly beating in her throat. When she shook the cobwebs from her head, there
was nothing left. Everything was clear.
But her stomach, that was a different story. She felt a raw pain growing in her stomach,
the plagued sting rising from her gut, ready to explode. Quinn saw his eyes, and now, his eyes
were turning black.
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“I swear to god,” Charlie sneered. “I have been very patient with you, the least you could
do is act like a lady.” Every nerve in her body tensed, and that ache was ready to burst. “Now I
realize that you’re crazy, just like every other woman.” The words escaping his low snicker
pierced her skin, each dagger sinking deeper.
A smile swelled over her face again, one that couldn’t have possibly been fake. “Oh, then
please, tell me more.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hmm?”
“Well, nothing of course silly man!” Quinn’s words came under a quiet scream, the air
whistling through her high-pitched voice.
Charlie’s mouth froze in position, as the green glow of his eyes curdled in anger. “Like I
said: Every woman. Is. Crazy.” The last word lingered under his breath, his rage reverberating in
the air around him as he pushed himself from his sitting position.
The pain in her stomach shattered, every ounce of tension deteriorating. “Well” she said
in a calm breathlessness, “I guess you could say that every man is a misogynistic asshole then.”
Charlie’s mouth clamped shut, and that was when everything went silent. The only
sounds resonated from the incessant buzzing of a distant highway, and the low-pitched humming
of insects. “Goodbye.” Quinn released the air enclosed in her lungs, the pain discharging in a
rush of adrenaline. She raised her head once more, turning away to watch the droning highway,
lights of red and white blinking together in some sort of communication. Quinn let the midnight
wind crash against her face, stinging her cheeks and stealing her breath away. The cobwebs had
cleared and the crispness of the atmosphere breathed life back into her. “Goodbye, Charles.”
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Afraid, she must have been afraid. Of what? Oh, of him? Well yes, true, correct, 100%
accurate. Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. After all, she was the weaker one, the one that
had to be put in her place, back into her box. It was constant, much like that nagging pain, which
comes with a morning headache before coffee. He was constant.
Oh that’s rich right? Needing, clawing for a man when you know perfectly well that he
will never acknowledge your presence as a physical, intelligent human being, but rather a
sculpture just for his eyes, only for his ‘love.’ Of course she was afraid, she was always afraid,
that’s just who she is.
But the truth of the matter, the truth of fear, is the awakening that indefinitely follows the
pain and suffering. The clearing of ignorance, of those cobwebs, finally being able to look away
from that drain stuck in the redbrick wall. Everything you lose, you can gain again. Everything
you live for, and everything you don’t have to die for. Everything that life hands you versus
everything you decide to take. Choose the awakening, choose life, because without life, without
freedom, there is nothing.
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