Scars

Felt-Tipped

Quentin Coldwater wasn't sure if the truth was all that liberating.

His heart to heart with Eliot hadn't exactly felt good at the time, it still didn't. Felt like an acknowledgment it was all real.

The whole Eliot's a guy thing stressed him out, for sure. For so long he had associated guys with Carter, and he had been drunk or pinned down pretty much every time. The fact that he was attracted to Eliot after that was well, surprising.

Quentin chose to ignore how his guts felt all twisted up after hearing what he said out loud. Eliot had tried comforting him, but even he could see Quentin was getting cagey, and the suicide attempt felt like a conversation that needed to happen with Julia first.

But Quentin went to class that morning Alice anyhow. After last night Quentin had realized how little he knew about her. Sure rumors, and her talent, spoke for themselves. But sometimes there's a story only one person knows, only one person can tell.

"So I know we're not super good, friends but, can I ask you something?"

"Uh sure Quentin."

"You come from a family of magicians right?"

She spat it out defensively "Yeah, and if your gonna accuse me of getting a leg up from that-"

"No Im not." Quentin cut her off. "I just wanted to know, after people graduate here, do they get, better?"

Puzzled, Alice asked, "Better how?"

"Like, all the shit that happened before, let's face it this place seems to be the Gods ashtray when it come to miserable people but there's, hope I guess? I don't know maybe I ask to many questions but I-"

"Quentin. Brakebills isn't the thing that makes people better. A thing can't change you."

Quentin felt his heart sunk even further into his chest, shriveling up.

"I just thought, since they sell all of this as a fix.."

Without missing a beat.

"So do drug dealers. And prostitutes. And travel agents. And realtors. Everyone thinks they can fix it for you Quentin. They can help, they can really help. But you have to let them."

It was sage advice, the kind Q wasn't used to getting. The thought about it, but all just seemed to lead to dead ends in his mind. Wistfully pawing at some profound conclusion with his eyes closed.

"So, if you need help, I can, lots of people can. But magic won't just solve everything, so stop thinking it can."

They went to class in silence, Alice keenly eyeing him over time and again. She once seemed to glare at him, her painful scrutiny as Quentins hands disappeared under his desk. When he saw her after class he gave her his bag.

"Just, if you could go through and, throw away anything I shouldn't have. I don't think I could do it myself."

Alice gave him the bag back a couple hours later. She took the knife he'd stole, his packs of tissues, and the vaseline. He realized next class she'd also taken all his pens, and replaced them with the soft, felt tipped kind. They came in all sorts of colors. She stuck a post-it in his minor mending notes.

Your not as good as I hoped Quentin Coldwater, but your better than you know