M A D I E

September Sixteenth

One

Isn't it funny?

Isn't it funny how quickly you can go from feeling valued

to feeling like you're not wanted anywhere?

—

Quinton opened the door almost immediately, smiling at the sight of me.

"Hey, baby," he murmured, leaning in for a quick peck on the lips.

"Hey," I said, slightly breathless from my walk back to the dorms. "What's up?"

Quinton had the bluest eyes, and right now, they were vibrant as he grinned down at me. A little bit of nostalgia attracted me to his gaze, reminding me of home. My past was in those eyes. So many moments of my life that I'd watched go by, and he'd watched them too.

Quin had always been there. 

"I just missed you," he said, wrapping me into his arms.

I laughed into his chest, breathing in the clean scent of his aftershave. He wasted no time, pulling me into a room plastered with Oakland State football decor.

Hopping onto Quinton's bed, I said hi to his roommate, Max, who was too busy playing video games in the far corner to really notice me. Max was also on the football team, and Quinton really hit it off with him. It was nice that Quin had made so many good friends already.

I hadn't brought a purse to the party earlier, so I threw my keys and phone on Quinton's bed next to me and turned to face him.

"I missed you too," I replied, meaning it. I'd been worried that he was still annoyed with me.

Quinton sauntered over, wearing his low-riding sweatpants and a simple black tee. His bed was raised so that it could fit storage beneath it, and he leaned against the mattress, positioning himself between my dangling legs. I found myself staring in the handsome face of my boyfriend, wondering how I'd gotten so lucky.

Well, it wasn't completely luck.

Freshman year of high school, Quinton wandered into my English class. Despite the lengthy Shakespeare monologues and convoluted epic poems, that hour became the best part of my day. I relied on the little notes he'd pass me to boost my grumpy teenage mood.

By the time the second semester rolled around, Quinton had somehow sweet-talked our teacher into letting us sit together, and we'd been dating ever since.

Quin had always been good at that—sweet-talking.

He cupped my face, tilting it just a little. "I'm sorry I was so grumpy earlier, Mads," he mumbled.

I smiled. "It's okay."

He ran a light finger along my jaw. "Did you have fun with Nessa?"

I began to nod but then froze. Nessa.

"Shit," I swore, guilt flooding me. "I totally forgot to tell her that I was leaving the party. I need to text her."

I twisted to grab my phone, but Quinton had already plucked it from his bed and held it out for me. I reached to grab it from him, and he jerked back. Something caught his attention on the screen. Staring at my phone, he kept it just out of my reach.

"I am literally the worst friend ever. Give me my phone, Quin. I gotta text Nessa, so she knows where I am."

Quinton didn't give me my phone back. Instead, he looked at me, and his eyes darkened in a way that told me his good mood was long gone.

"What?" I asked, feeling exasperated.

"Bren texted you." The way he said Bren's name made it sound like a disease. "He wants to know if you made it back safely." Quinton raised a brow.

I rolled my eyes. "Give me my phone, Quin."

He dropped it in my lap. "So you can text Nessa?" He made air quotes with his fingers as he said Nessa's name. Taking a step back, Quinton ran a hand through his damp blonde hair.

I ignored his dramatics, unlocking my phone to send Nessa a message.

"Are you seriously texting him back right now?" Quinton shot at me, throwing his hands up in the air. His eyes darted over to Max before lowering his voice and saying, "Come on."

He jerked his head to the door, and I knew that nothing good could come of this. If Quinton wanted us to leave the room, it meant that he didn't want his friend to overhear the inevitable argument that was brewing. I didn't really want Max to hear it either, so I sighed and followed Quinton.

The door clicked, and I looked up at him. "I wasn't texting Bren back. I was texting Nessa." I tried to emphasize her name, just as he had done.

Quinton glowered at me, not pacified by my explanation. "Sorry, Mads, but I'm just trying to figure out why you told me that you were hanging out with Nessa, and suddenly you're getting texts from some douche wondering if you made it home okay."

Throwing my head back so it hit the wall, I stood there for a minute. From his perspective, I could see how it looked bad. The guilt inside me doubled.

Finally, I leveled my gaze and attempted to find a steady voice. "Nessa wanted to go to a party. We went together, and Bren was there. We talked for like five minutes, and then you called."

Quinton took a quick step toward me, and I was forced to press myself against the wall. He squinted at me—a clear accusatory look. "You went to a fucking party?"

"With Nessa," I clarified. "I told you I was hanging out with Nessa."

"You didn't tell me you were going to a party," he sputtered, bearing down.

"Well you didn't seem very interested in hearing about my plans," I snapped, putting a hand on his chest to push him away a little.

He flung back as if I'd actually pushed him, his hands curling into fists as he paced the other side of the narrow corridor. "Fuck, Madie. Why is it always my fault, huh? Sorry if I don't want my girlfriend to get hit on by other guys." 

Quinton stepped rigidly toward me again, slapping his hand on the wall next to my face, causing me to jump. Chills ran down my spine at the force of his restrained anger.

All I wanted to do was close my eyes and disappear into this white-washed wall. Reasoning with Quinton right now would be impossible. It always was when he got like this. But I needed him to know that I would never purposely betray him. I needed him to know that I hadn't done anything to betray him at all.

"Nothing like that happened, Quin," I insisted, keeping my voice low.

He shoved off the wall with his hand. 

"Whatever," he said, rolling his eyes. And then Quinton disappeared back into his room.

I exhaled, pent-up air whooshing through my lips. Whether it was relief or regret, I wasn't sure.

But regardless, the conversation was over for tonight. I wasn't going to follow Quinton back inside his room now. Forcing my feet to move, I found my way to my own dorm, wanting nothing more than to collapse in bed and put my emotions to rest.

But it soon became apparent that wasn't going to happen, because I opened the door to reveal...Bren.

Bren, leaning against my bedpost. Bren, shirtless with a lean, muscled arm tossed over his head, gripping his own hair. Bren, biting his bottom lip, grating his teeth across the flesh there. His eyelids fluttered closed in recognizable pleasure.

Without permission, my own breath quickened. A sheen of sweat glimmered on Bren's distinct abs, accentuated by the light from the hall behind me. I couldn't keep my eyes from following the rippled veins on one of his arms. It was the same arm that was reaching down to clutch the hair on Nessa's bobbing head.

Oh my—

"Fuu-uck!" Bren swore, the word beginning as a groan and ending as an exclamation as I blinked upward to see him staring at me, his face contorted in some combination of shock and intense satisfaction. Then his gaze lowered, flicking over me, making me feel things I shouldn't be feeling.

"Shit, I'm so—I'm so sorry," I hurried to say, instantly retreating back into the hallway, fumbling over my own feet as I did.

I pulled the door tightly closed behind me, wanting to shut out what had just happened. And then I stared at my feet as an unwanted bubble of laughter threatened to release from my throat. Clearly, neither Bren nor Nessa cared too much about my departure from the party. Clearly, Quinton had no reason to be mad about Bren talking to me.

Part of me wanted to storm back to Quinton and tell him that, but I was too tired—and embarrassed.

Oh my god, I was so embarrassed.

Trying not to think about the image of Bren and Nessa, I covered my face in my hands and drug my feet back toward the dorm commons. With a grimace, I plopped down on one of those modern, stiff couches.

Annoyed. I was also annoyed. I was annoyed at the shitty way this night had ended. Frankly, I was annoyed at the shitty way it had started too. To be honest, only about five minutes of tonight could be considered good.

Not knowing what else to do, I lay down and stared at the popcorn ceiling until slowly my lids drifted shut.

—

September Seventeenth.

Zero

It's after midnight,

so it's a new day.

You find yourself starting over

at zero.

🖤
Thank for reading Chapter Seven of It Burns Within Us! This is your friendly little reminder that this is a mature story that revolves around sensitive topics.