CASSIUS

I watch Quinn disappear into the conference room and it's taking everything in me not to drag her right back out. I know she participates in the shit that goes down in that room, but I don't think I've ever noticed her do it multiple times in the same week. Something must be up.

She showed up Sunday night after I stayed the night at her apartment, and she was wasted. Monday night? She was just completely off in a whole new way. Constantly approaching me and then not saying anything at all. She would just stare and then shake her head before walking away. Tonight is the third night in a row she's faded away into the drug den, almost like she doesn't even realize that's where she's going.

My feet start moving on their own accord, but I force myself to stop.

I can't do this again. My focus needs to be on my job right now. I can't keep dropping everything for a girl. I've made that mistake one too many times and swore it would never happen again.

On the other hand, I scan over the sparse crowd and there's not really shit to do out here anyway. And Quinn never asked me to drop everything for her. That's the difference between these situations. I start walking toward the conference room for a second time.

But what am I going to do if I go in there? Shield her from Joey's creepy, underhanded advances? Stop her from doing what everyone else here does? Try to control her actions like Skylar did with me?

I hesitate again, stuck in the void between the conference room and my post.

Fuck it. This is part of the job. I'll just go in there for a second and make sure everything is under control before dipping out.

Maneuvering around the wall partition, I enter the room just in time to see Joey emptying a pill bottle out onto the table. He uses his fingers to slide two light-green pills over to Quinn.

Shit shit shit. 

What am I supposed to do here? What the fuck is Joey thinking? I know for a fact it's oxy and the green coloring is exclusive to the eighty-milligram dosage. Throw two of those on top of a shitload of alcohol and you've got yourself a very serious problem.

Quinn slides one of the pills back to Joey but palms the other. Before I can get a grip on my own thoughts, I'm sitting down with them. My elbows and forearms rest on the table as I stare Joey and Owen down.

They both freeze as they look at me, and Quinn is wriggling around in her chair, dancing to the song playing in the background.

"Something wrong?" Joey asks cautiously.

"Nope."

He grows uneasy over my short response, casually sliding the bottle back into his bookbag.

"Did you uh, want some?"

"Nope." I repeat in the same empty tone.

Owen starts nudging Joey with his elbow and they both stand from the table.

"I'll see you later, Q." Joey sighs.

Owen gives her a half-assed wave and they both exit the room, leaving me and Quinn alone.

Her movements are sluggish as she turns and tries to glare at me through hazy eyes. Naturally, they're already a pale shade of green but, when she's drunk or fucked up, they somehow appear even lighter.

"What're you doing in here?" She slurs.

"Just making my rounds."

She stares at me like she's doubting my motives, but I doubt her brain would be able to think that far right now.

"What's in your hand, Quinn?" I ask, nodding to her clenched fist that rests on the table.

She glances down at it.

"Bones. Ligaments. Veins. Blood."

"Ah, the literal approach, huh?"

"If you're kicking me out because of Skylar again, just say it."

Skylar? Is Quinn the reason she was having one of her attention-seeking meltdowns the other night while being drenched in an unknown liquid?

"Mmm, so you had something to do with that?" I muse, trying to force a smile to let her know I'm not upset with her about that.

It fades quickly when I notice a new look in Quinn's eyes. Fear, distress, sadness. Almost the same exact look she had a while back, when I accidentally knocked this very table into her.

I scoot my chair back to create some distance and try my hardest to relax my posture, so I don't seem as big in comparison to her.

"Just get it over with." Her sudden demand startles me.

"Get what over with?" I ask delicately, attempting to keep the conversation controlled.

"Tell me to leave. We all know it'll happen anyway."

"Quinn, I'm not kicking you out." Especially after what Billy told me on Sunday.

In an attempt to not reach out for her, I stare down at my hands, folded in my lap, and think back to all the times I've forced her to leave.

"Fine. I'll do it myself."

Wobbling as she gets to her feet, she leaves the room.

That was the most normal, comprehensible conversation I've ever had with her, and it makes every alarm sound off in my head. Something isn't right. Did I do something to piss her off?

I think back to everything that's happened leading up to this moment. I trace every step since I spent the night at her place. Everything was fine when I left. She seemed okay when I talked to her at the bar that night, just really drunk. But she's just gone downhill since then.

Shit! She still has the oxy.

I dive out of my seat, knocking it over in the process, and start barreling towards the front entrance, pushing past Billy. I catch a glimpse of her stepping off the curb to cross the street.

I cup my hands around my mouth and yell. "Quinn!!"

Her reaction is delayed but she turns around and stumbles again, backwards into the road. I stop breathing for the few seconds it takes her to gain her balance. This woman is going to be the death of me, I swear.

I turn back to Billy, who's watching the whole scene unfold with a hint of panic in his eyes.

"Tell Max I had to leave early. Say I was throwing up or some shit." I call out to him while jogging backwards.

So much for not dropping everything for a girl again.

When I reach the curb, my hand wraps around her bicep and I yank her back onto the sidewalk. Not even fifteen seconds later, a car comes flying down the street, definitely exceeding the speed limit. Quinn starts giggling like her accident-prone nature is the funniest shit ever.

"Why are you laughing? You could have gotten yourself killed!"

My heart is pounding in my throat. She rips her arm out of my grasp with unnecessary force.

"What's the point of life if you can't laugh at things, Cash-Money? You seriously need to lighten up!"

At least the fear is gone, but I don't think I'm a fan of her reckless side either. I can feel my self-control slipping, my temper slowly taking over.

"Give me the oxy." I grit out, trying to even out my breathing.

Not only does she give it to me, she tosses it up at my forehead. It bounces off my face and rolls into the street. I know she's being playful, but that small action is eating at something inside of me.

Just breathe, Cassius. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You can handle this.

"Quinn." I say in a stern voice after my third deep breath. "I'm gonna walk you home, you're gonna go to bed and we'll talk about whatever the hell is going on with you tomorrow."

Her snorted laugh echoes through the street, fueling the anger I'm trying so hard to swallow. When I take a step forward, she lunges back.

"Don't come near me." Her lip trembles as she makes the quiet demand.

Defeat surges through me, consuming whatever glimmer of hope I've been clinging onto.

"Billy said he told you to stick by me, that I'd protect you. After all these years...after Saturday night, you really think I'd hurt you?" I speak quietly, fixated on her face.

Her hard stare falters the slightest bit, like she's doubting her own thought process.

"Why didn't you tell me you were in prison? That you had a restraining order? What did you do, Cash?"

So, she talked to Skylar. Makes sense. This is where it all falls apart. No matter how hard I try, I feel like I can't escape this shit. It will always come back to haunt me as long as she's nearby.

I feel like I'm being smothered by all the mistakes I've made in my life. A heavy weight of guilt and anxiety fills my lungs every time I think about what I've done. Whenever it creeps in my brain, all I can see is how badly I fucked up by ever being with Skylar Lewis.

Stepping back, I think about what my dad always used to say. Whenever you start to doubt yourself, stand tall. Chest out, shoulders square, chin up. Walk with purpose.

My muscles gradually respond to his message, and I manage to hide my emotions behind the falsely confident posture.

"Be safe, Quinn."

I turn on my heels, shove my hands in my pockets, and walk back to the club. Guess I won't need Billy to cover for me after all.