The Last Thing (2 page)

“Honey, you need some serious work done before tomorrow. I
can’t take a hillbilly to a Jo Gillian party,” Ginger complained. She started
pulling on my long hair in an attempt to fix the mess into an elaborate up-do.

“Did you just call me a hillbilly?”

“Yes, what happened to you? When I left, you were on your way
to becoming a world-renowned makeup artist. Now look at you, all plain-faced
and wearing jeans.”

“I prefer comfort now.”

“You prefer blending in.”

I need to change the topic.

“And a Gillian party? Seriously? I’ve heard about her.” A
regular party was bad enough, but Ginger was dragging me to a Jo Gillian party.
The girl was a famous socialite and actress known for throwing wild parties and
being on the cover of all the tabloids. She had her own reality TV show, and
cameras followed her wherever she went.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ginger insisted, “but her
parties aren’t as bad as the tabloids make them out to be. No drugs, I swear.”
She held up a perfectly manicured hand, two fingers up, like the Boy Scout’s sign.
I couldn’t believe that I was actually about to agree to this; last week my
weekends consisted of locking myself in my room with a TV dinner and a book.
Now I was going to an A-list socialite party. I nodded in surrender, if only to
shut her up. Ginger squealed loudly and wrapped her arms around me in a tight
hug. I promised myself that I would try to be normal. Going to a party would be
my first step.

“So tell me, what has been happening back home?” she asked.

I shrugged. “It’s still the same ole.”

“Aunt Brooke and Uncle Joe?”

“Mom and Dad are...workin’ through things,” After my problems
had surfaced, my parents’ marriage had dissolved. Having a daughter that the
town hated, and who had tried to kill herself, took a lot out of a person. I
supposed there was no strength left to work on their marriage.

“Aw hell, remember that time in high school when we snuck out
to go on that camping trip?”

Laughing at the memory, I nodded at my cousin.

“Yeah,” I added, “and when they figured out we weren’t
staying at each other’s houses, we were in so much trouble.”

Ginger jumped on the bed beside me. She covered her laughter
by burying her head in the comforter.

“Oh,” I said, “and remember that boy in high school we called
‘stalker D’?”

“Yeah, wow. I had adoring fans even then.”

I rolled my eyes. Ginger had been popular and the lead in all
the school plays. If it weren’t for Ginger, I would have been nobody.

“What happened to us?” I asked her. We had been so
inseparable back then.

“Life,” she told me. She flipped over onto her back and
stared up at the ceiling. “We each had our own dreams, but I’m glad you’re here
now. I should have never left you in that town alone. I can’t explain it, but I
needed to get out.”

I smiled at her confession before closing my eyes. It was
nice to have a friend again. I drifted off to sleep. I had a hopeful feeling
that there wouldn’t be any nightmares tonight. Just before I passed out, I
swore Ginger whispered something softly.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

I wanted to believe it. It was the truth, but I wasn’t there
yet.

Quinn

By the time nightfall came on Saturday, Ginger had spent
hours playing dress up with me. She fixed my dark hair in a fishtail braid that
fell over my shoulder and made me squeeze into a short, black dress with long,
sheer sleeves. Upon her insistence, I also put on a pair of uncomfortable and
dangerously high black heels. She had created a smoky eyed look that made my
hazel eyes pop.

The clock on the nightstand read nine; it was almost time to
leave. A horrid feeling of anxiety washed over me. In less than an hour, I
would be in a room full of people. I began to feel nauseous. As my breathing
became irregular, I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down before leaning
against my dresser. No one knew me here; no one would stare at me. I would no
doubt be the most uninteresting person there and that was exactly what I wanted.

 
I can do this I can pretend to be normal. I can pretend
to forget. Don’t look back
.

 I stared at myself in the large mirror above my chest of
drawers. I pulled my hand down my sleek braid and ran my fingers over the fake
lashes that Ginger had applied. The girl in the mirror was different, pretty
almost, but all the makeup in the world wasn’t enough to cover the ugly person
hidden behind the façade. No matter how hard I tried.

“Quinn! Get your butt down here…. I want to leave!” Ginger
called from downstairs. I gave myself one last wistful glance in the mirror and
made my way to the grand staircase.

“Coming!”

I took one step down, careful to keep my balance in the
shoes. The last thing I needed was to fall and break my neck.
Though I might
deserve to.
I pushed the morbid thought out of my mind; if I wanted to
start over I needed to stop thinking that way. When I felt safe, I proceeded
down another step with a bit more confidence.
I can do this.
Halfway
down, my stiletto heel slipped off the edge of the solid oak below me. I
promptly found myself sitting on my butt; a sharp pain shot though my back as
it slammed into one of the steps behind me. I winced and kicked off the heels.
“Stupid shoes,” I cursed.

Ginger popped her head over the banister. I could tell she
was trying hard not to laugh at my klutzy behavior. She looked exquisitely put
together, as always. Her lips were a bright red that matched her low-cut red
cocktail dress. She flipped her long ponytail behind her bronzed shoulder.
“Come on,” she said.

“Do I gotta?”

“Yeah, you need to do something other than lay in bed.”

“I don’t
just
lie in bed.” I pulled myself up by
grabbing hold of the banister. “Anymore,” I added after a second. Ginger bit
her lip, like she wanted to say something else.

“What?” I snapped. No one ever told me what thoughts were
inside his or her head, and I hated it. Her face softened slightly before
speaking.

“Your mom told me about everything that was going on. I want you
to know that…even though we aren’t as close anymore… I am here, if you want to
talk. I want us to be just like old times.”

That was great; I’m sure she and my mom had a grand ole time
talking about poor, pathetic Quinn.

“I’m sick of talking ‘bout it, I’m sick of thinking ‘bout it,
and I’m sick of people whispering ‘bout it when I go into town. I want to put
the past behind me. Be someone else for a change.” By the time I’d finished
talking, I’d made it to the bottom of the stairs. I couldn’t look Ginger in the
eyes; they held nothing but pity.

“Then remember I’m here,” she repeated. I gave her a tight
smile and grabbed my black clutch on the entryway table. “Can we go now?” I
asked.

 Ginger laughed. “I thought you didn’t want to go,”

She was right. I still didn’t want to go to the party, but I
also didn’t want to have this conversation anymore. She grabbed my hand to pull
me to the front door. “Wait up!” I cried out, motioning towards my bare feet.

 “Where in the hell are your shoes?” Ginger exclaimed, as if
taking off my shoes were some huge crime.

“They hurt my feet; I’m wearing my own shoes.” Ginger only
rolled her eyes

“Hurry. I’m gonna go wait out in the car.” She said as she walked
out the door.

 I poked around the front hallway; I’d stashed my shoes there
that morning after going for a walk. I pulled out a ratty, old black pair of
converse high tops and quickly slipped them on my feet. They fit like a glove
and I sighed as my feet sunk into their depths. These were definitely not the
shoes that Ginger expected me to put on, but I didn’t care. No one would be
paying attention to my feet anyway. Celebrities and models would overshadow me.
If I were lucky, I would be a wallflower. I ran out to the car and hoped that Ginger
wouldn’t notice my feet. With her porch light off, it was pretty dark. I didn’t
want to change back into those heels; they would be the death of me.

 I hopped into Ginger’s black Range Rover. She didn’t even
give me a moment to put on my seat belt before she screeched out of the
driveway. I threw on my belt before giving her a stink eye. “Where’d you learn
how to drive?” I joked.

 “Same place you did; the cow pasture,” she replied.

 I laughed, only because it was true, and if the paparazzi
ever found out about that story they would have a field day. We had both driven
her father’s old beat up Mustang in the cow pasture, wrecking many times into
hay bales, and ploughing over knee-high brambles, I might add.

“Maybe you should have kept the rented limo,” I teased.

“Hey! I’m not that bad!”

We flew past the palm trees and mansions then as wildly as
we’d pulled out, my body swayed to the right as Ginger pulled into another
driveway.

“That was fast…” I mumbled, confused as to where the party
was.

“We all live on the same street. My
Timeline
buddies
and I,” she replied.

 She was speaking about the other stars of her daytime soap
opera, but I found it creepy that they all lived on the same street. The
driveway was long, secluded, and off the street. She pulled in behind a slew of
other cars, all luxury SUV types, and pulled out her compact to check herself
out in the mirror.

I took a deep a breath and reached up to play with my braid.
Ginger grabbed my hand to stop me from fretting. “Calm down,” she said, “These
are normal people. They are my friends and they will love you.” She gave me one
of her blindingly white, mega-buck smiles. I immediately was at ease. She
wouldn’t put me in a situation I couldn’t handle.

 “It’s been so long since I’ve had any fun,” I told her
reluctantly.

This party was a new beginning.

“You have allure on your side. Be mysterious, and maybe we
can find you a new boyfriend,” I rolled my eyes at her comment. I didn’t have any
desire for men; romance was the last thing I needed. My heart was already too damaged.

“Don’t ditch me,” I told her as we got out of the car. The
house in front of us was breathtaking. Everything, from the exterior made of
white stone to the large bushes, were perfectly planted around the perimeter.
Every light in the house shined through the glass to the rows of cars outside.

I followed Ginger up the driveway to the large French doors
made entirely of glass. Ginger pressed the doorbell and turned around to speak
to me. “You’ll love these people, they-what in the-what is on your feet?” I
sheepishly cocked my foot to the side to show off my high tops.

“Ginger, they’re just shoes; I doubt anyone will be staring
at my feet.” She huffed at me and turned around as the doors swung open.

Right in the middle of the doorway stood almost six feet of
pure jaw-dropping, mind-melting hunk on a stick. Literally, a hunk on a stick.
He held a large shepherd’s cane in his right hand, which he leaned against. His
hair was a dirty blond that fell down to his shoulders in loose beach-like
waves. His eyes were a bright blue and his skin rocked a deep brown surfer tan.
When he smiled at us, his teeth were a perfect white. I let my eyes wander down
from his face and over his loose brown robe. Even the dirty bunch of fabric
couldn’t hide the obviously fit physique that most definitely had to come from
hours of surfing.

“What are you auditioning for this week, Barrett?” Ginger asked,
only slightly amused by his ensemble.

 “Why, I scored an audition for a biblical role; don’t I look
great?”

 Ginger snorted and pushed past him, dragging me behind her. “There
is nothing biblical about you, Barrett.”

I sensed tension between the two and made a mental note to
ask Ginger about it later.

“Wait, who’s your friend?” he called after us. Ginger didn’t
stop. She only pulled me through the lavishly decorated hallway.

It was a modern home. Everything was either black or white,
and it was spotless.

“Stay away from him, Quinn,” she warned when we were out of
earshot. His cocky laugh echoed from down the hallway, and I immediately
decided that I didn’t like him, no matter how good-looking he was. If Ginger
hated him so much, she must have had a good reason.

In a similarly decorated living room, crowds of people stood
around, glasses of wine in their hand. Some people drank beer. For the most
part, everyone seemed mellow and normal. A few girls rushed up to Ginger; I
recognized them from the soap opera Ginger was on, though I hadn’t watched it
in some time.

“Girls, this is my cousin, Quinn. Quinn, these are the girls,”
she said. I was a little confused as to why I didn’t get their names, but I went
with it.

“Hi, girls.” I waved my hand and they gave me what seemed to
be fake smiles. Even if Ginger had given me their names, I’m not sure I could
have told them apart. They were the spitting images of playboy bunnies. Ginger pointed
to a bar in the corner of the room.