The Writer

For the first time in three days, Quinn came to dinner at the Berry household. Dominic and Leonrdo joined them, Leroy retiring early to his study in the aid of finishing whatever work he had for the day that had not been completed. They sat on the tile of the garden at a table where only cold dishes could be served with the heat of the evening, and Rachel was suffocating in love. She was watching the blonde sip wine and laugh at the jokes the boys had made with each other.

“How is your novel coming along, Quinn?” Leonardo laughed over his drink. “Are you the next best American writer?”

“The very next best, but not quite yet.” Quinn chuckled back.

“No one has seen this much-anticipated novella in around a week. I wonder if it still exists or if you have just decided it was perfect on your own.” Hiram smiled. He had a way of teasing all the writers who stayed in his house that weeded out the weak easily. It was a great test to who he’d befriend in the near future and who he would invite back for another term.

“You’ll have to forgive me, your rebel of a daughter had shown me the ins and outs of your country and I dread to think I should spend any time not lounging in the sun.”

“You like each other, don’t you?” He replied, leaning across the table towards the girls who were next to each other, only inches apart.

“I feel I’ve taken Rachel under my wing. She wants to be a writer, did you know that?”

“Is this true?”

“No.” Rachel scolded. “I’m translating poetry into Italian. I hardly call that writing.”

“Making things understandable is the first step, my love.” Hiram continued. “Once you understand, words flow out of you. That’s the beauty of writing. Your father will be so proud of you.”

She said nothing in return and listened as the boys and Quinn spoke loudly in Italian about their favourite books and how they had read them what felt like a million times over. It happened then. Quinn’s hand placed itself atop Rachels exposed thigh and squeezed. It made her yelp in her seat. She was teasing her, not realising the brunette sat there seconds away from death and wanting nothing more than to be touching Quinn. To be holding her. Just to be pressed against her skin would have been enough for her.

“Rachel…” Dominic came. “Il tuo naso sanguine.”

Everyone turned to face her and watched as she put her fingers up to her nose and saw it was true, blood was pouring down her face.

“Perdonami, perdomani.” She ushered, getting to her feet and hurrying back off into the house with the blood pooling from her nose and into her hands, collecting there in a puddle. For as long as she could, she sat against the fridge with ice in her hands, holding the blood off until the maid would eventually come with towels and wrap her up rag towels from the cupboard downstairs.

Quinn came first, smiling from the wine she had been drinking and laughing at the young girl in her sorry state.

“Found you.” She smiled, sitting beside her on the floor. “Did I do that to you?”

“I’m a wreck.”

“I know. It’s good to bleed, though. You’ll be okay.”

Quinn reached over and kissed the dried blood on the brunette’s neck until it was wet again and dripped mercifully into her collarbones.

“You’re going to kill me.” Rachel giggled.

“I hope not.”

“You are. I think I’ve died for you every single day since you got here.”

Quinn chuckled, letting her lips peck the tangent on Rachel’s jaw and neck one last time.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll get over it.” Rachel chuckled. Quinn was gone all too soon and by the time Rachel left to meet the table again, no one was there but Dominic, tapping a breadstick against the table cloth.

“Where is everyone?”

“Asleep, Rachel. Do you know the time?”

“No.”

“Two in the morning.”

“Really?” She questioned, checking her own watch. It was true, just past the hour even. “I must have fallen asleep or something. You shouldn’t have waited, I am okay.”

“I had to see if you were okay, but I didn’t want to interrupt you. Is that okay?”

In the desperate attempt to remove Quinn from her head, Rachel leant over and wrapped her arms around the boys neck, kissing at his face gently. He held her roughly, as if she was some doll he could purchase a new one of when this one broke.

“I am enchanted by you, all the time.” He breathed. She almost believed him, and may have even fallen for the trap if she was not already attempting to lay her down on the grass and pulling her shorts around her ankles.

“You like Quinn, don’t you?” He grunted into her neck.

“Yes."

“Like you like me?”

“No. Don’t be strange.”

He pushed forward in his plan of domination, removing her clothes there on her parents property. She did not object, she simply lay and imagined Quinn could see from her bedroom window. What would she be thinking right now? Would she even care to watch? Would she feel so sick it drove her away or would she still sleep soundly in the knowledge the great love of her life was being defiled just a stone’s throw away. The love of her life, Rachel laughed in her head, she could never be so close.

“Ti amo.” He moaned.

If only she could have gotten a nosebleed later in the day.

“Do you hide from me, Rachel?” He kissed her.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“I mean, do you hide parts of yourself away from me?”

“No, well, I mean, yes, but doesn’t everyone? Do you hide from me? Any of it?”

“Almost all.” He stuttered, just before ejaculating over her naked body and leaving her feeling as horrible as she had ever felt, lying in the sticky hot grass of Italy and wanting to cry.

“Mi dispiace!” He yelped, pulling back onto his knees. “Sono così dispiaciuto! Era così bello.”

“Don’t apologise.” She sat up, using the end of his shirt to clean up what he had done. “Do not panic yourself. I’ve heard its very common.”

“You won’t ignore me now, will you, Rachel?” Dominic remained naked and oh his knees as the girl stood and fastened herself. She liked to think that in the summer they were together, Dominic became to her what she was to Quinn; A hopeless little thing wanting love and doing nothing but pining their life away. Leaving him that night, she was crying all the way to her room and lay there, in the dark, knowing Quinn was only a bathroom away. In hindsight, she should have gone up. She would have if she knew that the next succession of days she would be ignored entirely and made to feel as if she barely existed in Quinn’s life. She should have gone up there and offered to sleep on the floor. She needed it.

When Quinn was ignoring her, days felt like months. She barely slept. All she wanted to do was pretend neither she nor the blonde existed in the capacity which they did. She wished they were both something of another world so that they may not carry the burden of emotion or courtesy. Quinn spent her day eating dinner, writing her novel, then lounging in the sun until it was time to begin again. Rachel almost wanted to die. She spent every day writing letters that would never be read and that would never be seen again by anyone but herself.

‘I worship you so much. Please don’t ignore me.’ One said. ‘I want to be with you. Please talk to me.’

Too cheesy, Rachel sighed. She thought something more direct might do it.

‘Please fuck me. I think I’m dying to have you inside me.’ She wrote.

That wasn’t it either. She couldn’t stand to think of Quinn reading brash words and thinking horrible things about her.
‘I can’t stand the silence anymore. I want to talk to you. I don’t like thinking you hate me’.
Despite an adequate flair for drama, Rachel thought it would do. She left in the night to place it on the sink of the bathroom they shared in good hopes it would meet the right audience. It was morning before she got a reply and even then, it abruptly read: ‘You need to grow up. Meet me at midnight’.