In Your Story

“I just need one more.”

I spoke softly, almost feeling embarrassed as I asked for another drink at the 411. I continued the same pattern for the past year: coming here almost every single night and hoping that he would make an appearance, that I would see him here just once. We split up a year ago. A year? A fucking year? I couldn’t believe that it had already been that long. Not only that, I couldn’t believe that I had gone that long without seeing him, as many times as I’d tried to see him. I showed up at all the regular places where I expected him to be, but this was always the end result. He was missing. He was absent. And I was going through withdrawal.

“Thanks,” I exhaled disappointedly, accepting my drink from the bartender.

“When are you going to write about me?”

I laughed uncontrollably, shaking my head at Manny as he sat next to me and observed my journal carefully. It was a new one: one that I had started after my relationship ended. I continued writing as I sat at the bar, even though I had promised him a fun night out.

“I am writing about you,” I lied.

“Let me see.”

“It’s private. What if I don’t want you to know what I wrote?” I asked curiously.

“Silly bitch,” he sighed.

“I love you, Manny.”

“I love you, honey, but don’t change the subject. What are you writing in there? Hopefully nothing about the elusive John Cameron,” he said, rolling his eyes. He knew better than to say his name in front of me, but I supposed that he thought it was more than okay now that I had quite a few drinks in me. I covered my face, pressing my fingers into the corners of my eyes in distress. After taking a deep breath, I finally made eye contact with him, shaking my head.

“I miss him,” I admitted hesitantly.

“And that’s okay. It’s okay to miss him, but you need to move on at some point,” he said sweetly. “It’s been a year.”

“A year doesn’t mean that I’m willing to move on.”

“You should be willing to move on. Has he talked to you at all? Have you seen him? What if he’s seeing someone else?” he asked, pounding me with questions.

“You don’t just move on from John Cameron. That doesn’t just happen,” I argued. He sighed deeply, chugging the rest of his mixed drink before mingling with a couple at the end of the bar. Always flirting. That’s just like him. I loved him for it. I loved the fact that he always seemed to stay the same, regardless of the fact that I was deep down in this hole. “I’m going to call it a night,” I said, nodding in his direction as I paid our tab.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t find what you were looking for.”

“A good night with you? That’s what I was looking for,” I said, giving him a sweet smile. He wrapped me up in a hug before I left, brushing my hair aside and leaning close to my ear.

“I know you came here looking for him,” he soothed.

I nodded, choosing not to answer or respond in any way. He was right, of course. I was looking for John Cameron. I was always looking for John Cameron.

My chest was heavy as I began the walk back to my apartment. The 411 was much closer to John’s place than it was to mine, but I had refused to drive, knowing that I would drink too much. I was always drinking too much when I was thinking about him. In fact, I was drinking so much that I made it to the corner of the warehouse, and I held onto the old, worn brick wall as I steadied myself, trying to ignore the fact that I almost felt too tipsy to carry myself home. Tipsy wasn’t the right word. I felt tired, fatigued, exhausted. No, I felt completely drained. I leaned my forehead into the corner of my forearm as I rested it against the wall, and I shut my eyes for a brief period of time. That’s nice. That feels nice, I thought, trying to ignore the fact that things were spinning in my head. The shitty thing was that things weren’t just spinning in my head. They were spinning when I opened my eyes again, and I knew that I wasn’t going to make it home. I felt myself gripping the wall and hoping that I didn’t embarrass myself in front of the traffic on the busy city street in front of me. I stumbled a little when I made it to the very edge of the building, holding onto it more tightly but quickly feeling my grip loosen as my mind started to slip away. Then, everything went black.

I opened my eyes hours later, squeezing them shut tightly as soon as I realized that my head was pounding. I wiped them, not even caring that I was wearing makeup. How the fuck did I end up in a bed? I was so fucking drunk. At least I remembered that I was drunk this time. If I was being honest with myself, I had never been a heavy drinker, but losing John brought it out of me. I always felt like I was slipping away—losing myself, even. My head was hurting so much that I rolled over and hugged the pillows tightly, gripping them with every ounce of strength that I had—which wasn’t much after the night I’d just had. I inhaled deeply, ready to fall back asleep. That’s nice. That smells nice, I thought. It was a fresh, masculine scent that invaded my senses, and as I exhaled, my eyes opened slowly. I rolled over onto my back, paying attention to the way my hair splayed across the memory foam pillow. I pressed my fingers to the corners of my eyes, just like I had the night before. I closed them once more and didn’t want to open them this time. Even if I didn’t know where I was, I knew where I wanted to be.

“John,” I whispered. No answer. “John,” I repeated, clearing my throat and hoping that my voice would produce more sound. Nothing. “John,” I said bluntly, and this time, it was loud enough that I knew he would be able to hear me if I was awake—if this was really happening. There was still no answer, and once I figured out that there wouldn’t be one, I rolled over onto my side lazily. There was a glass of water and some anti-inflammatories on the nightstand, and I blinked a few more times before taking them and downing the entire glass. Fuck, my head hurts. The longer I lay there rubbing my eyes, the more I started to gain consciousness. I heard water running, and it made me certain that I wasn’t alone. I wanted to say his name once more, just to prove to myself that it wasn’t real, but I refused to allow myself to be so fucking desperate. I was tired of this. I was tired of always pretending that he was there when he wasn’t. I felt my stomach heaving, likely from how fast I had chugged the glass of water, and I desperately wanted something to eat. When I finally opened my eyes after struggling immensely, I didn’t recognize anything that I saw. I looked around, trying to understand exactly how I would have ended up at a stranger’s place. I checked my phone before I did anything else.

Manny: Are you okay?

Manny: Did you go home with that hot guy from the end of the bar?

Manny: Okay, I’m seriously worried. Text me as soon as you get this, babe.

I let out a deep sigh through my nose, rolling my eyes and somehow finding the strength to text him back.

Quinn: I’m okay. I’m somewhere. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

Manny: That sounds terrifying but not unlike the recent you I’ve been dealing with.

Quinn: Hey, I’m sorry about that.

Manny: Hey, get it together, bitch.

Quinn: Hey, I’m trying.

I set my phone on the dresser, and I immediately began to wonder how it had a full charge after I’d been out all night. I sighed, reaching for the glass of water that was now empty because I had already chugged it. My last resort was turning back over onto my other side, curling up with the pillow, and smelling that masculine scent that I seemed to be enjoying so much. Whatever it was, it was comforting enough that I could convince myself to fall back asleep. It seemed like hours that I slept, but I knew that it couldn’t have been that long. I tossed and turned repeatedly. I was still unsure of whose bed this was, but I just knew that I had been sleeping in it long enough, and at a certain point, I rubbed my eyes and attempted to open them once more. I was staring at the same end table as before, and my phone was still sitting there. This time, however, I noticed that the glass of water had been refilled. I picked it up and sucked it down right away, drinking from it eagerly as I tried to cure myself.

“I wouldn’t have brought you home if I didn’t think you were dying.” That voice sounds familiar, I thought. I grabbed the covers, bringing them up to my face and trying to hide myself under them desperately. “You know, you can’t hide from me. You are in my place, after all.”

“This is so fucking embarrassing,” I groaned. “I’m sorry.”

“It was more embarrassing for me,” he argued playfully.

“I doubt that.”

“Seriously. I had to lie to the cops. I told them that my girlfriend—she got a little out of line, and she started drinking so much that I had to peel her off the sidewalk,” he chuckled.

“I hate you,” I sighed.

“Did you hate that Tylenol, too?” he asked. I huffed audibly. “And the glass of water?” I tightened my grip on the blankets that surrounded my face. “Correction: multiple glasses of water.”

“No, I didn’t entirely hate them, I guess,” I admitted, still refusing to move the covers away from my face.

“I am concerned about you. I think everyone is, a little bit,” he said genuinely. “Quinn…”

I finally moved the covers down past my eyes, peering up at Lee as he sat at the edge of the bed.

“Thank you for being concerned, and thank you for peeling me off the sidewalk,” I joked hesitantly, “and thank you for the Tylenol and the multiple glasses of water.”

“Anytime,” he said softly.

“Wait—did you—did we—?”

“Seriously?” he sighed. “I would have taken you to dinner first.”

“Well, I was only assuming because I woke up in your bed,” I observed nervously.

“I slept on the couch.”

“Understood,” I whispered. “I should probably head home. Thanks again for saving me.”

“Like I said, anytime.”

I stretched in his comfortable bed once more, downing another glass of water before he led me to the front door. I grabbed my bag and gave him an awkward hug before he closed the door behind me. As he left me standing on his welcome mat, the door to apartment 13-A opened, and its current resident stepped outside, coming face to face with me. I stared wide-eyed back at him until he spoke.

“Quinn?”

“John…”