Chapter Nineteen


            “He left me,” Moet whispers to her dark bedroom. “I know you’re in here somewhere, Dakota.” The empty room doesn’t answer her back. It’s about eleven at night and Moet’s lying on her twin-sized bed with the white covers doing nothing except staring at the wall. “Are you happy now? I’m giving up everything just for you,” she continues. “And you don’t even bother to show up.” Her words are as soft as the whispering breeze blowing outside through the trees. Silence weighs down the house like a warm blanket.


            “I starting to think you’re not worth it anymore,” Moet whispers to the air. “I’m sorry.”


            Shortly after, she falls asleep.




            “Where do you think we should start?” Moet asks Quinn the next day. It’s Monday and the two are seated in a booth in the back of the local diner they’ve been frequenting as of late.


            Quinn sets down his hamburger and Moet notices that there’s a spot of ketchup on his cheek. The spot bothers Moet and she compulsively gets her napkin and vigorously wipes the spot away before sitting back down. Raising an eyebrow, Quinn rubs his sore cheek and asks, “Are you sure we should be getting into this so soon? I heard about what happened with you and boy-genius.”


            She stiffens. There’s an inexplicable tightening in her chest at the mention of Leighton. “It’s alright,” she lies. “We were only together for a month or whatever. It’s fine.”


            “You’re lying to me again,” Quinn sighs and then rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He picks up his burger and takes another bight, “I think the first person we should start with is Dylan, her supplier.”


            Moet had to bite her tongue to stop herself from reflexively denying the facts. It was about time she stopped putting Dakota up on a pedestal. It was about time she faced the facts and stopped denying the truth. “Alright. Do you know where he would be at,” she checks her cellphone, “four-thirty on a Monday afternoon?”


            Quinn’s jaw clenches. “Unfortunately, yes. Wait, don’t you have practice on weekdays?”


            “I don’t care.” Moet says. She continues cutting her omelette into small pieces and pushing them around her plate. She doesn’t know why Quinn keeps insisting for her to order something even though she always ends up packing it up and giving it to him anyways.


            He groans and rubs his face with his hands. “Moet, your mother is gonna kill you and then kill me after once she finds out where you’ve been. We have to get you back, come on.” After throwing a couple of bills onto the table, he starts sliding out of the booth, but Moet’s surprisingly strong grip on his arm stops him.


            “No.” Moet’s determined brown-green eyes lock onto his dark ones. “It’s time I do something for myself. And what I want right now is for this Dakota crisis to be done with. Ballet can wait a couple days.”


            The tattooed boy searches her face as if to find what evoked this new change in the formerly weak, submissive girl that he knew. “What happened?”


            Leighton. She thought. Although she didn’t realize it at the time, his words struck something deep inside of her. And she knew he was right. So was Dr. Seki.


            Think of yourself for a change.


            “Someone told me to do what’s right for me. And I’m starting. Now, are you going to take me to see Dylan or do I have to search him up and walk over to his drug den by myself?” Moet asks in a quiet but steely voice.


            Suddenly, Quinn gives a small smile. “Yes, ma’am.” He holds out his hand for her to take and they both walk towards the parking lot.





            “Here we are.” Quinn grimaces as he pulls up in front of an ordinary suburban home the color of sea-foam green with a nicely trimmed front lawn and an American flag in the flag holder by the shiny, varnished front double doors.


            “This is where he lives?” Moet asks doubtfully. It looked more like the home of an upper middle class family of four rather than a drug dealer’s bachelor pad.


            “Sometimes.” Quinn’s answers have become clipped and short the closer the two got to the house. “This isn’t his only home.” Moet looks down at Quinn’s hands to find they’re shaking with rage.


            “I can go in by myself. You don’t have to come. It’s alright,” Moet suggests.


            Quinn whips his head around her and looks at her as if she’s crazy. “Are you kidding me? I’m not sending you in there alone! Fuck that, come on.” He opens the door, gets out of the car, and slams it behind him. Moet follows his lead. They walk up the perfect paved pathway up to the perfect front porch with the perfect white wooden rocking chair. The more Moet focused on it, the more obviously fake the perfection seemed. The creepier it became too. It all gave Moet an icky, crawly feeling. Quinn rings the doorbell, clenches his fists, and stuffs them in his jacket pockets.


            A blonde young man opens the door. Immediately, Moet knows this is Dylan. His cruel blue eyes reminded her too much of another pair she knew. The bitterness, the lack of feeling… it was unsettling. His lips curl into a smirk. “Quinn! Long time no see, bro! Give me a hug.” He steps forward and wraps his arms around Quinn as Quinn stiffens and keeps his clenched fists secured in his pockets. After an awkward hug, Dylan steps back and shifts his attention to Moet. “And who do we have here?”


            “This is Moet. Dakota’s little sister.” Quinn gruffly introduces.


            “Dakota? I’ve heard what happened. Hope the police find her,” Dylan says as he takes out a cigarette and lights it in front of them.


            “She’s dead.” Quinn grunts.


            Dylan raises his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Dead, huh. I give you my condolences.”


            “You little fucker,” Quinn snarls before attempting to grab Dylan by the shirt. Moet steps in front of him.


            “I want to know why.” She says to Dylan. Dylan raises his eyebrow and looks her up and down.


            “Tell your bodyguard to go away and I’ll talk.” Dylan says.


            “Quinn, go away.” Moet orders.


            “Are you kidding me?” Quinn asks in disbelief. “What if he hurts you?”


            “He won’t.” Moet says confidently. Dylan’s lip curls again.


            “You heard her. Go stand in the corner until the we’re done talking, Quinn.” Dylan dismisses him. Glaring, Quinn slowly backs away off the porch and walks to the car. When he’s gone, Moet turns around to face Dylan.


            “Tell me where you hid her, you son of a bitch.” She was tired of being feeble. She was tired of being weak. She wanted answers and she wanted them now.


            “Whoa, whoa. Calm down, girl.” Dylan holds his hands up in fake-surrender. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”


            “I know you killed her. There’s no point in lying, so just tell me where her body is and we’ll get this done with, alright?” Dylan’s smirk wipes off his face and in its place is a stony mask of suppressed anger.


            “I don’t know where you got your information from, kid, but I did not fucking murder your big sister. What would be in it for me? Anyways, if anyone killed your sister, I say you take a good hard look at your buddy over there. The last time I saw her was with her precious boyfriend. Who she left with. Think before you go around accusing people, kid.” Dylan takes another drag from his cigarette.


            “You lying bastard,” Moet growls, shaking with suppressed rage.


            Dylan lets out a bark of laughter. “You got guts. I’ll tell you that. Coming over to my house, standing on my front porch and accusing me of murder. Well, let me tell you something.” He leans forward to whisper in Moet’s ear. “That little drug whore deserved everything she got.”


            Without thinking, Moet pulls her arm back and drives her fist into Dylan’s stomach, which causes him to collapse onto the floor.


            “Fuck. You.” The girl spits out. Unable to say anything else, Dylan just groans and cradles his stomach. Driven by this unseen force inside of her, Moet pulls her leg back and kicks him in the crotch for good measure. Walking the short distance from the house to the car, she sees Quinn’s mouth gaping open in shock at what just happened. “Let’s go.” She demands and gets into the passenger seat without waiting for an answer.


            Stunned, Quinn slowly walks into the driver’s seat and starts the car. Ten minutes later, he whispers, “I can’t believe you did that.”


            “I can’t either,” Moet says back in her trademark soft voice. “My hand hurts, though.”


            Quinn shakes his head and starts to laugh. Unexplainably, Moet cracks a smile too. The moody teenage boy barely ever laughed so this was a sight to see.


            “If Dakota was here, she’d be damn proud.” Quinn says once he’s calmed down.


            “Yeah.” Moet says back with a small smile on her face.

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