The Blackout Girl ✔️

chapter twenty-one

She called a cab on her phone but didn't enter a destination. She had the money to go anywhere, God willing, but didn't know where she might find herself. The car was five minutes out, and the wait was agonizing.

Lexi wanted to be far away. She needed to put some distance between herself and her family. Or, more specifically, the people who reminded her of Quinton. She could see the flashes of his smile in the reflections painted against the window. She could hear his voice in the restaurant chatter. She was haunted and angry, and it scared her to think there was no limit to the places her head could go.

She climbed into the back of the taxi as soon as it arrived, shrinking against the seat. The driver looked at her in the mirror. "Where are we going?"

"Fort Worth," Lexi blurted, startling herself.

"Gotcha," the driver said, plugging the address into the GPS. "That's quite a drive. You live out there?"

She didn't answer.

His voice was raspy, presumably from smoking. He drove with the window cracked, a cigarette between his teeth.

Lexi wanted to ask for one, but she decided not to. She didn't trust herself to speak without breaking. It was a common theme lately, a thread that ran through her everyday life. Tragedy after tragedy was set to take her down.

The cabbie deposited her on the curb outside an apartment building. She hadn't been there in a few years, but she didn't have another place to go, and she hoped this could be a safe haven.

She headed up to the second floor of the apartment complex. Cal's condo was up there and knew he hadn't moved because Quinton visited from time to time. He was one of the only people she could consider a friend. Or at least, as close as she could get to one.

She knocked, waiting for a response on the other side.

She got one a moment later.

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you anytime soon."

She glanced up at the familiar face of Calvin Maguire. He pushed his long, black hair out of his eyes and assessed her. His face was scruffy, bearing the signs of the same exhaustion and heartbreak that ailed her. He smelled faintly of weed, a dying joint pinched between his thumb and index finger.

"You know how it is," she said. "Life. It happens."

He stepped back, allowing her space to enter. "Come in."

His bachelor pad hadn't changed much in the time between her last visit and the present. It was still messy, albeit a little more so. The TV was on. A newscast. He was obsessed too.

"Q's been on a couple of times," said Cal. "Well, not him, but... you know what I mean."

"Yeah." She sat down in an armchair, wringing the fabric of her purse out in her fists.

"So why are you here?" he asked. "Not that I'm kicking you out or anything, but you never talk to me. We haven't talked in forever."

"I don't talk to anyone," Lexi admitted. "It's not you."

He offered her what was left of his joint. "Want a hit?"

"No," she whispered.

"You were always one of the good ones," Cal said, putting it out in a tray at the table.

Q never shied away from a good time. Her doctor warned her of the risks of putting too much of any substance in her system. Getting drunk could exacerbate her symptoms, and so could getting high. She couldn't resort to the ease other people found. She was built differently, wired to face her problems sober. One drink couldn't kill her, but too many could be her downfall.