Locked Inside Page 16

  †

  After a wonderful dinner, Quinn drove us to Gasworks Park. She kept the motor running so that the car wouldn’t get too cold.

  I appreciated her thoughtfulness.

  “I haven’t been shy about my feelings toward you, Belinda, but I’m not exactly sure where you’re at with us right now. Am I your friend, casual dating partner, or something more?” Quinn asked.

  During the past several months, Quinn had started lengthening her sentences with me and me alone. She didn’t use the abbreviated style that she reserved for everyone else.

  It’s been confusing for me. I’m sorry. I think I would like to try for the something more, but I’m not quite ready to reveal all to Carly. Do you hate me for that?

  She shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s a start.”

  Let me try to explain. I’m not embarrassed to be with you. It’s just that Carly is my best friend and I haven’t exactly spelled out that I’m gay yet. She’ll be hurt that I haven’t told her.

  “Why haven’t you told her yet?” Quinn asked.

  I gave her my stock answer to everything confusing in my life. It’s complicated.

  Her look was part skepticism and part pain.

  I turned to face her and pushed a lock of hair behind her ears as I gently pulled her head close to mine. When I kissed her, I gently probed her lips as my tongue asked for permission to join with hers.

  It didn’t take any amount of convincing for her to completely open to my tentative explorations. She deepened the kiss and moaned her response.

  I was having my own reaction and a sound I didn’t recognize gurgled from my throat. Other than the one time there was a spontaneous grunt when Carly squeezed me so hard after we’d learned I got into college, I’d never expressed a single vocalization.

  Quinn pulled back in surprise. “Was that you or me? I can’t tell anymore because I think I just died and ended up in heaven.”

  The noise I’d just made probably sounded like a cross between a hum and a moan. It was a monumental breakthrough and Quinn recognized it for what it was.

  I need to tell my therapist about this. Who knew that heading down the pleasure path would open up a pathway, I joked as I wrote this quickly on my tablet and turned it for her to see.

  Quinn burst out laughing. “I’d be happy to help you with your therapy, any day or night.” She gave me a wolfish grin.

  I pushed her shoulder, but knew this was a pivotal point in both my recovery and our relationship. With all the chaos of the holidays and the end of the quarter, I never got around to telling my therapist about the involuntary sound that at the time felt like such a breakthrough.

  “I better take you home before I lose all control and become a hormone crazed teenager.”

  The kiss just outside the door to my dorm room was relatively innocent as she said goodnight. “Belinda, I cannot even describe how wonderful this evening was for me. Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow. Can we make it nine at the fitness center instead of eight?”

  I nodded to let her know I agreed with our break in routine.

  Abbie and Carly were still hitting the books when I rolled into the room. Carly’s hair was messed up like she’d been absently running her hands through it. I preferred thinking that was the reason for the look of disarray. Sometimes when she concentrated or studied and a topic wasn’t easy, she would continually push her fingers through her hair in an unconscious attempt to make things more clear.

  Abbie stayed for another hour and then left with a quick kiss to Carly’s lips.

  While they were studying, I picked up my reader and read my latest book.

  “Are you ready to talk now?” Carly asked after Abbie left.

  I shook my head. Not yet, you need to concentrate on your chemistry final tomorrow and then A and P on Friday. We’ll talk. I promise.

  Carly frowned, but she let it go. She helped me get ready for bed and the conflicting feelings from my kiss with Quinn and Carly’s gentle touch kept me awake well after I heard Carly’s soft snores.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I wished I’d known more about alcoholism because I might have been able to predict what would happen next. Falling off the wagon was almost a given for the majority of alcoholics and Abbie was no different.

  The end of finals was the excuse that she gave to deviate from her promise. Later, when she talked with us about her decision, she backed up her change in perspective by spouting a new philosophy that she’d read about. Apparently, she’d researched a group called Moderation Management. A psychologist by the name of Adi Jaffe, PhD wrote an article that supported this group’s view that abstinence was not the only treatment option and that some individuals with alcohol issues could use a moderation management technique. The danger to this philosophy was the small print caution that this would not work with the true alcoholic and Abbie was most definitely a true alcoholic.

  It started off innocently enough with a bottle of champagne after Carly’s last final on Friday. Abbie came by and popped the cork, offering all of us a glass to celebrate the end of our first quarter. A raised eyebrow from both Carly and me did not stop her from filling up a glass for herself.

  “To the end of the quarter,” Abbie raised her glass and we all touched our glasses to hers.

  I crinkled my nose as I took my very first sip of alcohol. I wasn’t impressed. I never finished my drink. Carly did drink all of hers, but shook her head when Abbie offered to re-fill her glass.

  When Abbie only had one small glass, I watched Carly visibly relax.

  Quinn came by a few minutes later, knowing that Fran would arrive shortly to take us all home for the winter break. I imagined she wanted to say goodbye and try to arrange some time to get together during the break.

  Abbie offered Quinn a glass of champagne, but Quinn refused. I noticed her quick eyes take in the three glasses. Mine still almost filled to the top, while Quinn and Carly’s were empty. She glanced at the bottle, noticing there was still a fair amount left. Without saying a word, she picked up my glass and the half-full bottle and headed to the bathroom. When she came back out, she tossed my glass and the empty bottle in the trash.

  I wanted to thank her, but didn’t want to make a big deal out of Abbie drinking one glass of champagne.

  Right on cue, Fran came bounding into the room, oblivious to our little impromptu celebration. She had an uncanny ability to come into the room at just the right time. “You guys ready?”

  Carly and I nodded.

  “Okay, then. Let’s get this show on the road. Abbie, Quinn, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and carry Belinda’s one suitcase and Carly’s entire wardrobe, including her mound of dirty clothes, out to the car. Geez, Carly, do you pile everything up until break when you can get your mom to wash all your clothes for you?” Fran teased.

  Carly and Fran were like sisters and they ribbed each other more than we did.

  Carly shrugged, “What? She’s much more skilled than I am. I usually end up with pink or gray bras and underwear. Well, only my Hanes underwear—even I know to hand wash my thongs.”

  Fran raised her eyebrow. “Thongs, huh? I don’t think I’d like having butt floss.”

  “They’re surprisingly comfortable and no panty lines,” Carly retorted.

  “Commando works for me. You go commando too, don’t you, Belinda?”

  I blushed. You’d think that I wouldn’t care that Fran was talking so openly about our underwear preferences, considering that Carly had seen me naked before and pretty much been a part of my most intimate care routines. Quinn was still in the room and I wasn’t quite ready to be this open. I also wasn’t completely comfortable with Abbie knowing any intimate details about me.

  Quinn came to the rescue. “I got Belinda’s suitcase. Meet you outside.”

  Abbie grabbed Carly’s overflowing laundry basket and followed Quinn. “I’ll come back for load number two.”

  I glared at Fran.

  “What? Like gi
rls can’t talk about underwear. What’s the big, fat, hairy deal? Brad knows my views on thongs and he agrees,” Fran revealed.

  “Um, I think that Belinda might not feel comfortable having Quinn and Abbey know she doesn’t wear underwear,” Carly interjected.

  “Oh, sorry,” Fran replied.

  It was going to be an interesting ride home. I didn’t know whether to broach the subject of Abbie bringing champagne to the room or to just let that mangy sleeping dog lie.

  I had a niggling sensation that this was just the beginning of a very bad, long, and winding road.

  I shook loose my dire predictions because I had other pressing issues to think about—like what in the world was I going to get Quinn and Carly for Christmas.

  I wasn’t a trust fund baby, but fortunately, I had some money from when my great uncle passed away. He’d never married and died at an early age leaving his only sister’s kids with what we all considered a small fortune. I know one hundred thousand dollars doesn’t seem like much in today’s day and age, but it was a lot to a teenager. It was a good thing I had these assets, because there wasn’t a lot I could do to earn my own spending money.

  The Americans with Disabilities Act doesn’t exactly help a disabled kid with zero experience and in all honesty, I was extremely limited by workplace standards. I didn’t want to worry about whether I would never fully recover and what I could possibly do to support myself.

  I wanted to talk with Fran about the changes in my relationship with Quinn and my concerns regarding Abbie’s decision to bring a bottle of celebratory champagne. I planned to grab her after the re-union with my parents, which would undoubtedly turn into another little lovefest.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The winter break brought good news, a great deal of joy back to my life, and a few surprising revelations. It wasn’t like I didn’t have an enjoyable first quarter, but the time off enabled Carly and me to reconnect and revert back to our comfortable relationship before the stress of our first year away from home.

  I was surprised to discover that I missed Quinn’s quiet presence in my life. She was only able to visit a couple of times during the break and not having her right down the hall left a hole in my heart. For the first time, I began to seriously consider what my life would be like with Quinn by my side. I forced myself to give up on the dream that one day Carly and I would finally come together in an epic joining of love beyond that of friendship.

  Quinn made the short trip to Bellingham on Christmas Eve and I was genuinely happy to see her. She’d bought me a gorgeous diamond pendant with a simple, Love, Quinn, engraved on the back. It was sweet and simple—just like Quinn.

  It wasn’t fair to compare her gift with Carly’s—but I did. On Christmas day, Carly brought her gift, which was a companion necklace to the friendship bracelet—sporting a replica of the charm on the bracelet. Since the charm hung on a silver chain versus leather, there wasn’t an inscription on the necklace, but the engraved card read, you’ll never walk alone again—I’ll be there for your first step.

  It was uncanny how we thought of the same gift. The necklace I bought for her had a similar silver chain with her dragonfly charm attached. My card wasn’t nearly as profound or touching to her. I simply wrote what I felt. You are the family I decided to choose.

  I felt bad because my gift to Quinn wasn’t quite as intimate, but I thought it was sentimental enough. Quinn had a passion for poetry and her favorite poet was none other than the famous Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I found on the internet a collection of her poems, printed in nineteen thirty two, in full leather binding. It wasn’t a first edition because that would have been far too extravagant for our budding relationship.

  Three days before the new winter quarter started, Carly decided we would have a bestie day and she told Abbie not to come up to visit because she’d already made special plans with me.

  Carly decided that we needed to have a full spa day, complete with facials, massage, a manicure for me, and a pedicure for her.

  When we rolled into the spa, the startled look on the receptionist’s face told me all I needed to know—they weren’t expecting a differently-abled person. I’d stopped referring to myself as disabled or crippled, thanks to the lectures Carly drilled into me anytime I said anything remotely negative about my condition.

  “Oh…uh…we weren’t expecting someone with your special needs today,” the receptionist said.

  Carly glared at the woman. “Hey, shit for brains, it’s a freakin’ massage, facial, and manicure, not open heart surgery.”

  “Of course, of course, just let me talk to my supervisor to explain the situation first.”

  I was shrinking down in my chair. It had been a long time since I’d experienced such blatant prejudice.

  Carly grabbed the young woman’s arm and pulled her off to the side, but she was so angry I heard her next words as her elevated voice burst into the air like a firecracker. “You listen to me, if you say one more insensitive thing, you’ll be lucky to get a job flipping burgers. I’d be more than happy to talk with your supervisor.”

  I saw the woman blanch and she promptly took us back for our facials without another word.

  Fortunately, the woman giving the facial didn’t bat an eyelash at either one of us before preparing us for our first bit of decadent treatment.

  After our facial, I rolled myself into the changing room where our masseuses offered us plush terrycloth robes.

  Carly glanced in my direction. I knew she was silently asking if I wanted help.

  I shook my head and managed to don the robe on my own.

  I wasn’t sure if they knew it might take me a little longer to change, but it was at least ten minutes before they returned to start our companion massages. I think they assumed we were a couple.

  The massage table was a little high for me to transfer to on my own, so Carly jumped in and offered to help. “Belinda, would it be okay if I helped transfer you to the table?”

  I nodded because I would rather have Carly do this than some stranger, even though I’d had plenty of caregivers do far more invasive things to my body in the past. Since I’d come such a long way in my recovery, I was more inclined to want to do things on my own.

  Carly got me settled on my stomach and then hopped onto her own table. We pointed our faces in the same direction and she grinned at me as both masseuses began loosening our muscles.

  The massage was heavenly, but when Carly moaned in delight, it sent an automatic shiver down my body. I was sure she would figure out how her reaction affected me, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  I didn’t want to ruin the glorious day we were having with a serious chat about Abbie and her brief slip off the proverbial wagon, but this was the first real opportunity for us to have a meaningful discussion without interruption from one of our family members.

  After we left the spa, I asked if we could go get something to eat and talk. She agreed.

  †

  After we’d settled at a table in the Bistro, I pulled out my tablet and got right to the point. Aren’t you a little worried about Abbie slipping back into her destructive pattern? I wasn’t expecting her to bring champagne and have a glass.

  “It’s not like she was drunk or out of control.”

  She’s an alcoholic. It’s only a matter of time before she loses control again.

  “Yeah, that’s what everyone believes, but she showed me some research she’s done and there are alternatives to Alcoholics Anonymous and their insistence on complete abstinence.”

  I raised my eyebrow.

  “No, really. There’s something called Moderation Management, and it’s totally legit.”

  I’ve never heard of it. AA has been around for a long time and their methods are tried and true. I think this is a very slippery slope and I don’t want you sliding into the pit right along with her.

  Carly frowned. “I’m not an alcoholic,” she exclaimed.

  That’s not what I meant. I just
don’t want you caught in the crossfire when things blow up again.

  “We’re good. She promised she would never get out of control again. You didn’t see her after that terrible night, she was genuinely remorseful. She knows her limitations,” Carly insisted.

  Promise me you’ll text me if you ever feel like you’re in a tight situation with her. You know I’d move heaven and earth to come to your aid—even bound to this wheelchair. I’d find a way.

  “I promise, but don’t worry it’ll never come to that. Now it’s your turn to fess up. I want to know what’s up with you and Quinn.”

  I started to write a vague response.

  “Oh, and don’t give me a bunch a crap, either. I deserve to hear the truth. I know you’ve been keeping something from me, but for the life of me I can’t figure out why.”

  I knew that these two little words would pierce her heart. I hadn’t planned on keeping things from her, but I had my reasons. We’re dating.

  Carly blinked and didn’t say a word for the longest time. She was hurt, I could tell.

  “Are you gay?”

  I nodded.

  “Why on earth did you keep that from me? We tell each other everything. I don’t understand.”

  It’s complicated, I wrote.

  “No, it’s not. It’s really quite simple.”

  I didn’t know for sure at first. I never went through puberty like a normal person, remember?

  “So tell me, exactly when did you figure this little nugget out?” she asked.

  Please, don’t be mad. The time just never seemed quite right to tell you.

  “I’m not mad, I’m hurt. You had plenty of opportunities to tell me.”

  Can’t we just forget my cowardice? I never meant to hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever wanted. You know now—isn’t that the most important thing.

  Carly’s voice wavered. “Do you love her?”

  Did I? I didn’t really know. I don’t know. She’s kind and gentle. She cares for me.