Perigee [bxb] | Bad Moon Book II

7; {Quentin}: rain

He hadn't known at first, what that name meant.

Olivia Black.

It sounded familiar, but a name like that could be familiar to anyone. He hadn't known it was her, the lichund had that had attacked Jaylin in the park that night. He hadn't gotten close enough to catch her scent, and even if he had—they all smelled the same in that form. Like rotting flesh.

He had no idea it was the same beast that night. The one Ziya had sent upon them all. He didn't know.

I didn't know.

"Jaylin," Quentin shoved himself around the bend of the stairs. He just caught the blue of Jaylin's vest, disappearing around another turn. "Jaylin," he called again, but Jaylin was gone around another, then another.

Everyone else had taken the elevator. Maybe that was why Jaylin chose the stairs—so he wouldn't be trapped in a box with anyone outside of himself. Maybe he needed the space, the quiet, maybe he needed to be alone. And though Quentin knew exactly what it was to need isolation, something didn't feel right about this. Leaving him alone didn't feel right and he trusted his intuitions too much to stay behind with the others.

He reached the emergency exit just as Jaylin was shoving his way through. Quentin caught the door as it was closing and tossed himself out into the rain.

The conference had gone on longer than he expected, and the heat of the LA sun had exchanged for stars and moon hours ago. But a wet, hot summer rain was pelting the ground—and him, and Jaylin.

He followed the sheen of dark fabric—the night blue of Jaylin's back—down the steps, beyond the fountain, and down into the valley of parked cars. Jaylin was looking to each row, in a hurried search for Matt's jeep.

"Jaylin," Quentin called again, the light of the moon shimmering on wet asphalt. He knew Jaylin could hear him, because his footsteps moved just a bit faster.

He reached him just as Jaylin found the wrangler, and Quentin couldn't help it; he caught him by the wrist.

"Jaylin, I didn't know."

Jaylin ripped away and threw the Jeep door open, slamming it hard behind him. Quentin didn't try to open it; he just stood back and watched through the teary windows as Jaylin fumbled above in each visor, then the glovebox. He was looking for the keys, but even Quentin knew Matt would never leave a spare sitting around.

When Jaylin couldn't find one, he let out a shout—a scream that blistered with anger and pain, and then he pelted the steering wheel with his fits. He punched it again and again, and Quentin watched. While the rain blotted the window, while it soaked into his hair and his suit, Quentin stood there in the downpour and he watched Jaylin. Watched him hit the steering wheel until he didn't have anymore anger in him. Then Jaylin crumpled forward and he sobbed into his palms.

It had been a long time since he felt the pain he felt now. Watching that agony. Feeling it all around him. It was a heaviness. A crack to the ribs. Since when could the sound of someone's sobbing make him want to buckle to his knees like this?

God, it hurt. The way his body shook, the way he gripped at his hair like he wanted to pull it from his skull. Watching Jaylin cry was like being cut into.

When Quentin couldn't watch anymore, he rounded the car and cracked open the passenger door, and Jaylin didn't acknowledge him as he heaved himself up by the assist handle and into the seat. It was too quiet once the door shut behind him. At least the sound of rain was something.

He wanted to touch Jaylin so badly. Any bit of him, his hand, his hair, his heart. He wanted to wipe the tears from his eyes, to hold his face still in his palms until he stopped shaking. Quentin wanted to touch him so badly, but he didn't. He waited until Jaylin had himself together. Until he was pressed back in his seat, trying to blink away the tears. Trying to pick up all the broken bits so he didn't look so weak. It was an awful, familiar thing.

"I'm sorry," Quentin whispered, rain pouring down his face, dribbling from his chin. He raked his wet hair back and gripped to it just to keep his hands to himself. "I'm so sorry."

"Did you know?" Jaylin asked him sharply. Quentin took in his face; the red around his eyes, the startling blue in them. Those eyes. Those ocean eyes.

God they crushed him.

Another tear fell. "Don't lie to me, did you know about Olivia?"

Quentin shook his head. "I didn't. Jaylin, I—"

"Why don't I believe you?" Jaylin asked. He asked it like he truly wanted an answer. But there was nothing Quentin could give him. Jaylin shuttered. "You were the only person," he said through his tears. "I thought you were the only one who knew how I felt after my mom—I was too scared to call you. I was too scared that I'd end up like this. All fucked up just like this. But you were still the only person..." He looked to his steering wheel, gritting his jaw—and it was just that easy to cut Quentin away. "I don't want this anymore," he said with a splinter in his voice. "Ever since I met you, my life has been hell."

Quentin took it in with a deep breath and turned his gaze to the windshield. Outside, the moonlight turned rain to glitter, each little drop a falling jewel. He swallowed something bitter.

"I thought about it so many times. What I'd say when I saw you again." Jaylin said. "It was never this."

It was the tone of it—the sheer tone that filled Quentin with a sudden dread. "Jaylin—"

"I don't want it," Jaylin said. "I don't want to be what I am. I don't want to be a part of your pack. I don't want anything to do with your world." Quentin looked to him then, taking in the pain on his face—those cheeks stained red and tender, tears sitting on the rims of his eyes. Then, in that broken voice, Jaylin said, "I don't want anything to do with you."

That crack in his ribs went deeper. Quentin sat there, for a long moment he sat there. Jaylin sat there, too.

Anna wasn't the ghost to him that she used to be. Maybe once a week, he thought of her. He'd made it that far. But now all he could do was remember the pain he'd caused her. If they'd never met, she wouldn't have done what she did. She wouldn't have died. He was kidding himself, thinking he was actually protecting Jaylin. Every wrong turn he made led Ziya straight to him.

He'd had his shot at happiness. He couldn't ruin another life trying to find it again.

Quentin reached into his pockets for his keys and held them out. Jaylin gave an unsure glance and then offered his palm and Quentin dropped the keys right in.

"Take mine," he told him. "Silver Lexus."

Then he shoved himself out of Matt's wrangler and welcomed the rain again.

The hotel lights glared in the bleary distance—smeared in the fog of the warm storm. He made his way towards them.

Maybe they hadn't cleared the drinks table yet.

an;

 *promises u happy jay and quentin time AND THEN RUINS EVERYTHING*

But I do promise it's coming soon. Rain to make a rainbow.