`no place for a girl like yourself [HANNAH]

[quentin tucker huxley]

The air was palpable; thick with the smell of sweat, smoke, and tequila. Oddly enough, this aroma, this teen flavored atmosphere felt more like home to Quentin than anything else. It was under this moldering roof and these flaking walls that Quentin had essentially grown up, sustained by copious amounts of alcohol and other such illegal substances that help you grow. He’d attended so many functions here over the years that he was practically a veteran when it came to the weekly factory ravers.

The offensive trills of the dance music blasted clean over the drunken shrieks of inebriated party goers, causing the walls of the broken down building to vibrate at a frequency that caused Quentin's ears to ring uncomfortably. Though the music was mostly crap, Quentin usually enjoyed the feeling of the music as it thrashed abrasively in his ear cannals, however tonight, his patience for it seemed to be running thin. He positioned himself with his back against the speakers, sipping on the contents of his plastic cup as he did his best to fight his way through the massive headache that was now noming his frontal lobe. To his right, a pretty fair haired girl hungrily searched for his gaze, however Quentin was more inclined towards the large keg at his left side. Even though he’d barely reached the halfway mark on his cup, he felt disposed to fill it up once again. He felt the need to self medicate tonight.

I guess you could say that Quentin was feeling a little more than irritable tonight. While there were many factors contributing to his fatigue, perhaps the biggest was the fact that there was a very distinct possibility that he would be running into an annoying little blond this evening. The fact that it was almost certain that a dialogue between the two would be inevitable was ruining any chance he had enjoying this party. Just the notion of talking to her was enough to wreck any sort of fun he might have, but he was almost certain that if she were to be drinking tonight, he would have to spend most of his time fending off her attempts at confronting him about how he’d hurt her feelings. Or just making sure she didn’t fall on her pretty face. Whichever.

He scowled at nothing in particular, downing the contents of his drink in one gargantuan gulp. He looked over towards the girl at his side who seemed to have adopted an overly eager look in her eyes as she realized that he was looking at her. It didn’t last long however because Quentin, after getting himself yet another cup full of beer, decided to relocate himself to a group of guys he knew at the far wall.

[hannah ingrid batemen]

Hannah wasn’t even sure why she was here. For one, she wasn’t in the mood for parties, and two.. Well to be honest the abandoned factory gave her the creeps. She knew all the local school kids have taken to using it as the regular hot sport for all sorts of debauchery, but Hannah couldn’t seem to shake the primary school stories about how it was haunted. The place just gave her the irkes. She’d been un-comfortable since she set foot in the place. Even though she was surrounded by people, the blonde still felt as though some sort ghostie was going to jump out at her at any moments. She was constantly watching her back.

There could have also been another reason why she felt uncomfortable. It could, you know, possibly be the fact she was dressed like a baby prostitute. Yes, little Hannah Batemen was wearing what could only be described as clothes fit for a tart. And let me assure you, it was not her idea. Or well, it sort of was. She had wanted to shake off her usual image of cute sundresses and head-bands. This though? Wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. Her friends had told her that she looked hot. And maybe she did; if you liked your girls slutty and cheap.

Her normally neat locks were a mess. Teased up and put in what could only be described as a catatonically messy pony-tail. Dark koy lined her chocolate eyes. Normally she wore eye-liner, sure. But like this? Her eyes were so heavily coated she was sure she looked like a racoon or like she’d been crying or something. Apparently that was hot though. As was the dark red lipstick now smeared on her lips. Again, according to her friends. Personally, she just didn’t see it. She felt like an over-done loon. Then subtle has always been more her style.

Not only did her face feel heavily caked in make-up, but she couldn’t breathe. Her slim torso was heavily bounded in a black corset. She didn’t even know any of her friends had a black corset! Who even wore corsets anymore? Wasn’t that a little bit goth or something? Under the said corset was actually one of Hannah’s dresses. A black one with a particular ruffled skirt. Rather low cut, but she generally wore a lace singlet under it. Normally it looked cute and elegant. With the corset, and the black leather boots. That reached her knee, mind you.

Why the hell was she here? Why did she let herself get talked into this? The girl pulled a forced smile to her lips as a drink was placed into her hands by the blonde meat head who had invited her to the party. It wasn’t actually him, believe it or not. He wasn’t the reason she was there. She liked to tell herself, and her friends, that he was. That she was moving on with her life. That’s what they all wanted her to do. Just get over him. Funny though, when it was them in love, no one could tell them to move on. Ha.

And there he was. The reason for this whole thing. Across the room was Quentin Huxley. Chatting with some of his male friends. She felt her stomach give a lurch at the site of him. Why did she let him do that to her? Watching him from across the room, she heard his IM words in her mind, as though he’d spoken them; You can’t be wild... Frowning, her face hardened. Yes she could, and he was going to see just as wild as she could be. Taking the cup to her lips, she downed the foul tasting liquor in a few gasping gulps. Doing her best to ignore the burning. Still with her eyes on the brunette, Hannah turned her body towards her male companion. Letting him slip his arm around her waist and down to her buttocks.

Turning her head, she let his lips lock into hers. With her arms wrapping around him, she moved herself to back up against the wall, so she could see Quentin over meat-head’s shoulder, as he moved to suck on her neck. For the record, he wasn’t any food... If she wasn’t so set on Quen seeing, she’d be bored.

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[quentin tucker huxley]

It was really a wonder that Quentin went to parties at all. True, he liked booze, and if you got enough in him he became slightly more agreeable, but he was hardly what you’d call a people person. He didn’t play nice with the other children, he had an abrasive, unapproachable personality, and hated the stigma in teenage culture where everyone conglomerates to drink and rub up on each other in dance. So… Why bother at all going to a place that seemed to have everything he hated rolled into one sweaty parcel? It was the beer. Even though it was of the cheap lame variety, it also happened to be of the free variety, which right now, seemed to be the only thing well within his budget that he could afford.

He supposed he also came for the prospect of a particularly shameless hookup. This was possibly the only atmosphere where his quiet, brooding, icy persona could be considered attractive. But then again after a couple shots, everything was attractive. Normally when attending parties, Quentin could be seen with at least one girl at his side looking starved for attention, but tonight he wasn’t particularly keen on the prospect of entertaining some bird he didn’t know or particularly want to get to know. Actually, as of late this disinterest had begun to grow more common. He found himself spurning all the girls that came his way and he couldn’t explain why. Having someone be unconditionally interested in him for the duration of a night was rare and delightful; so why on earth had he seemed to have lost his thirst for eager to please drunk bitches?

“Yo, who’s the skank over there Quentin?” Quentin’s gaze lifted from the depths of his cup as he was questioned. He shrugged, not bothering to even look at the girl who his friend was indicating at. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, taking a sip of his tepid beer. “Well she sure seems to know you; she’s been staring at you for a good while now.” Quentin’s brows furrowed as the guys began to snicker. Normally he wouldn’t have given a flying fuck, but he felt curious and inclined to find out who it was that seemed to be devouring him with her eyes. He craned his neck just enough so he could see without it looking too obvious.

He stood there, looking at the blond bird for a good couple seconds before he even realized who it was. Hannah? What the fuck was she wearing? Why wasn’t she in one of her cutesy-poo summer dresses or something of the like? Knee high boots? She looked like a prosti-tot. And who was this clown with her? He was like some carbon copy Abercrombie model with a stupid face and dopey grin. He looked like had about as much mental capability as a Labrador retriever.

He sipped darkly on his drink, watching the two with a scowl. He felt a serge of fury wreak havoc through him as her date took the liberty of exploring regions of her that should have otherwise been left alone with his hand. “Well?” his friend asked as and the rest of the guys looking expectant for an answer. With his eyes still on the lout that had his arm around Hannah, Quentin responded with a brusque, “she’s just some girl,” before he downed the rest of his drink. Somehow his friends seem to construe from his short, but charged answer, that they’d in fact known each other in an intimate capacity. “You dog! You fucked her didn’t you?” his friend shrieked, laughing along with the rest of the gaggle before Quentin shot a murderous look in their direction. “Fuck off, no I didn’t,” he said, once again resuming his stare in her direction. “She's practically a baby” he muttered before she started locking lips with her date. "She sure seems grown up to me," he friend stated, chortling along with the rest of the guys.

The sight of her body wrapped around his made Quentin’s blood boil for some inexplicable reason. He wanted to throw something at the guy; club him in the face. He needed to do something drastic. Luckily for him, the girl that he’d previously been standing beside before was now hovering close to his group, trying to look as if she were occupied and not busy trying to infiltrate the conversation. He caught her eye and motioned for her to come over, which she obliged eagerly. “What’s you’re name?” he asked. “Poppy,” she responded shyly, angling her body towards him in a way that was anything but shy. Making sure that he was in plain sight of Hannah and her meathead escort, Quentin pulled the girl in close without much of a precursor to his actions and proceeded to lock lips with her. Startled, but pleasantly surprised, the girl accepted the invitation to assault his mouth with hers. Quentin, though appearing to be entirely engrossed in the girl, kept his eyes on Hannah across the way, watching for her gaze. Two could play at this game.

But wait… Why was he doing this? It’s not like he was doing it out of jealousy… Right?

[hannah ingrid batemen]

What?? Hannah frowned intently as the boy across from the party turned her tricks back on her. Pulling a girl to him and kissing her. Or well, he wasn’t even playing a trick! She couldn’t even tell if he was still watching her or not. Maybe he just wanted to kiss that girl? Who, by the way, was dressed a lot like Hannah was right then. The blonde felt her stomach twist a little. Which had nothing to do with the tongue that was now licking behind her ear. In fact, for a moment she’d completely forgotten he was even there. Really, her mind (and body it would seem) wasn’t really into what he was offering.

She wanted Quentin to care, dammit! Why did she let him affect her so much? This guy she was here with might actually be a nice guy, if she gave him a moment. Besides, he definitely seemed into her. He’d been trying to instigate something like this the whole night. He seemed awfully pleased she was at last obliging him. Actually, in the honesty of the situation, Hannah felt rather guilty about it all. She really wasn’t that girl. The one who used people for her own purpose. Maybe her friends were right? Quentin really seemed to bring the worst out of her, and she didn’t like it.

Watching the boy with his companion, the youth felt tears sting her eyes. What was she doing? She was a heart-beat away from throwing herself him. Not to mention the fact she already had thrown herself at Abercrombie. It just wasn’t who she was; an yet... She couldn’t bring herself to stop. The smouldering ball in her stomach was demanding she try even harder to get Quentin’s attention. She wanted—What did she want? Him to come over? Him to be the one kissing her? Honestly, she wasn’t sure. All she was sure of was that she wanted some sign that the boy (or was he a man?) cared about her. Some validation that she was worth something to him..

Pulling her eyes at last from the man across the room, she tugged at Her date’s hair a little. Bringing his lips away from her neck and to her own lips. Maybe she should try a little harder to enjoy this whole thing? Sure it was much more advanced than her usual speed, but she was always being told she needed more life experience, that she was way too naive. Keeping one hand in his sandy locks, Hannah used the other to do a little bit of exploring of her own. Letting her hand wrap around his bicep, pushing up his sleeves. Reluctantly letting her tongue brush across his lips.

The sandy-haired meat-head seemed to treat that like his personal invitation to invade her body even more. One hand groping at her left breast. The other moving up, under her dress. She bit her lip, retracting from the kiss. Those were exactly the sorts of things she didn’t really feel okay with so soon. “I’m not sure we should..” the blonde started, but was silenced by his hand plunging further up. (Can you plunge upwards?) “Shh. Baby it’s fine, okay?” Closing her eyes, she pictured Quentin’s taunting face. I can be wild.. she told it. I can.. you just watch me.. . Nodding, she pulled a smile to her lips. “O-okay..”

Oh Hannah, sweet little Hannah. Just what are you getting yourself into? Didn’t someone tell you that you were playing with the big kids now? And it was serious. That there was so much more to loose then just a silly un-spoken dare with Quentin. Something that once you loose... There is just no saving face..

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[quentin tucker huxley]

The girl’s fingers searched hungrily up his back, grabbing at the fabric of his plaid flannel shit in an obtrusive fashion. Had Quentin not been so engrossed with trying to gauge Hannah’s reaction, he might have been put off by the new found vigor his partner seemed to have gained in their brief but heated time together. He plunged his fingers into the mass of blond curly tendrils, but as a practical move rather than out of passion; by moving her hair out of the way he had a better vantage point that proved optimal for lurking without it being obvious.

Watching as the oaf fumbled clumsily over the expanse of Hannah’s body, Quentin couldn't help but laugh at the pitiful situation. This sudden bout of sardonic amusement that Quentin experienced alerted his partner, her tentative lips parting from his and her big doe eyes looking up at him with wide eyed curiosity. Clearly she was unsure whether or not it had been something she’d done to trigger the laugh. Quentin looked down at her briefly and muttered an apology before initiating another round of furious kisses.

While the sight of this lout all over her got to Quentin in all the wrong ways, he had to admit that there was something inherently hilarious about this situation. She couldn’t have looked more forced then if she’d be urged at gun point to suck face with this guy. And ol’ Abercrombie? He look like he was only seconds away from devouring her ear. Boy, she sure could pick em’ couldn’t she? He found himself grinning, enjoying the laughable scene that was unfolding between Little Miss Precious-I-wear-a-promise-ring-and-attend-church-on-Sunday and Mr. C-average-I-got-excused-from-my-math-exam-cuz-I’m-on-the-football-team from afar. The hilarity of the situation didn’t last long though. In fact, things got seriously unfunny when the guy started snaking his hand up her skirt.

What was this clown doing? You don’t put your goddamn hand up in Hannah Batemen’s nether regions. Didn’t he know that he’d lose that hand if he tried any funny business with her? Well… Actually it was more likely she’d give him a stern talking to than do anything violent, but still! Quentin watched, waiting for the moment when things would start to get funny again and she’d pull her “don’t you dare, god’ll punish us if we do this” routine. Any moment now… He waited… And waited… And then waited some more, yet she still hadn’t made a move to deter him from continuing. Why wasn’t she pulling away? Why wasn’t she shoving her purity ring in his face, or hitting him with her Barbie purse, or doing anything at all? She was just letting him!

He suddenly experienced a foul feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d since stopped pretending to be interested in snogging his girl and was now focused on brooding. Poppy did her best to coax his interest back by bestowing hungry kisses along his jaw, but it was a fruitless effort; his focus had been lost. He wrenched himself from her grasp and began to walk towards where the keg was located, unobtrusively spying on Hannah and her guy out of the corner of his eye. “Wait what?” Poppy squeak, confused at his abrupt departure. “Where are you going?” she called out after him, voice quivering. “I’m getting a drink,” he responded gruffly before infiltrating the large mass of dancing people at the center of the room.

Truly, his intent had been to grab another cup and get quietly shit faced while he grumbled pissily to himself, but somehow that plan didn’t fallow through. He got about as far as getting the actual drink, but instead of it going in his stomach, it ended up all over the seat of Abercrombie’s pants. Here’s what happened: Quentin got drink. Quentin saw Hannah and ‘Assface’. Quentin got mad. Quentin casually passed by them. Quentin “spilt” drink all over ‘Douchbag’s’ pants. “Oh my god, I am soooooooo sorry,” he said, feigning an apologetic attitude that just turned out more insincere than believable. After apologizing he made a big show of seeing Hannah, pretending that this was the first time all evening that he’d noticed her. “While I live and breathe! It’s little Miss Hannah,” he squealed in what could be considered an uncharacteristically animated voice. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something! I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that I tested negative for gonorrhea. However, the bad news is that I wasn’t so lucky with the syphilis test. I suggest you get yourself checked out. Those venereal deseases’ll kill yeh if you’re not careful!” he said loudly, noting with grim satisfaction the expression on Abercrombie’s face that was beginning to grow increasingly more disgusted. If that didn't work getting him as far away from her as possible, he didn't know what would.

[hannah ingrid batemen]

....What was happening? For a moment, Hannah didn’t exactly understand why the boy was pulling away from her. Detangling himself. The cup of alcohol she had skulled moments ago was starting to take affect in her body; causing her mind to grow a little more scattered then usual- Hazy. Blinking, she watched as her date turned his body full away from her. Sour look on his face. Had she done something wrong? Was he not liking the kissing? Oh god. That was it, wasn’t it? She was a god-awful kisser and no one wanted to kiss her! No wonder Quentin—Wait, Quentin?

It was all making much more sense now. What with Quentin standing there, speaking some sort of words. Words that really didn’t matter to Hannah at the moment. She was too busy trying to figure out what exactly Quentin had done to make her date pull away from her. Knowing him, something idiotic. It seemed that every male she was around these days, Quentin had a problem with. He’d show up out of the blue and punch the guy because ‘his face looked weird’ or some other stupid excuse or reason for wanting to cause them harm. It was like he was stalking her or something. And not in that hot, Edward Cullen way.

Looking down at his pants, she noticed the liquid. Right. Uh-huh. It seemed the guy always talking about how young she was had gone and done such a mature thing like spilling a drink all down someone’s pants. Hannah didn’t care how much he tried to pretend that it was an accident or whatever- she knew better. She knew him far too well. Better then he was willing to give her credit for.. The tosser. Honestly, now she was really annoyed... Or was that feeling validation? Hadn’t she wanted a reaction from him in the first place? Well yes, but this wasn’t exactly the reaction she had been hoping for.

In true Hannah form, she had secretly wanted him to sweep in, in some grand exclamation of love or something. Not his usual stupid Quentin ways. Couldn’t he for once just do something she wanted him to do? Instead of being such a.. a jerk! Pulling herself up to her full height (not that it did her much good, she wasn’t very intimidating..), Hannah fixed a glare on Quentin. Trying to pay attention to the words he was saying... WHAT? Hannah went white at his words. He was talking about.. about... THINGS YOU GOT FROM SEX!.. But, she hadn’t.. Oh god.

“That’s not... He’s lying!” She whined, feeling like she was going to cry. The perplexed and slightly disgusted look on her date’s face was not making her feel any better. Quentin had crossed a line this time. To flat out lie like that! “Excuse me..” She tried to smile at Sandy hair, moving past him to grab Quentin’s wrist. “I’ll be right back..” She muttered, teeth gritted as she gave the darker haired boy’s wrist a firm tug. Leading him, or rather, pulling on his arm so he had no choice but to follow, through the crowd and out one of the side doors of the old factory.

“What... Why?” She stammered for words, letting go of his wrist. Angry tears stinging her eyes as she glared at him. “Why would you do that?”

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[quentin tucker huxley]

Quentin, finding the situation entirely too amusing, cackled quietly to himself, even as the tiny blond yanked him by his wrist towards the doors at the far end of the factory. He always had to do things the immature way. If he really objected to the vigor with which this guy was exploring Hannah’s body, Quentin could have just intercepted in some other way; some way that at least didn’t slander her good name. No, doing things the gallant way was too difficult a task for Quentin; it would have felt forced and only been half as funny. Before the both of them disappeared into the thick jungle of gyrating bodies, Quentin waved cheekily to Hannah’s date, fluttering his lashes a bit in farewell before he and his blond counterpart became obscured behind the thick fog of smoke and musk.

The coolness of the alleyway was a welcomed gift after having to endure the stifling heat of the factory in a flannel shirt and dark jeans. The change was so drastic that as Quentin exited the building, he almost keeled over in what could be considered a rather violent bout of lightheadedness. The perspiration on the back of his neck became more apparent with introduction of the evening breeze to his fair skin, and the ringing in his ears was intensified by the absence of the repetitive, driving beat of the club music.

He needed a minute to collect himself. He wasn’t particularly prepared for the exchange of the indoors for the outdoors, nor was he ready for the impending sparring session that was sure to occur between him and Hannah.

He braced himself against the shrill outrage in her voice, and as heartless as it may sound, the only response he could seem to find was laugher. Though most of the hilarity had subsided and Hannah was clearly upset by the whole situation, Quentin couldn't seem to control or rectify his inappropriate reaction. “Don't tell me you were actually into that guy. Come on, he had about as much personal appeal as a wet noodle," he said, spying a particularly juicy love bite that was beginning to manifest on her neck. "And about as much experience by the looks of it," he said with a sardonic grin, brushing her blond pony tail from off her shoulder so that the hicky was more visible.

[hannah ingrid batemen]

Hot tears were stinging her eyes. Rolling down her cheeks. Smearing her make-up and completely ruining her chance she had at remaining dignified. Which, probably, actually was no chance anyway. Considering how she was dressed and what she was just doing. Dignity probably skipped out on her the moment she left the house. Still though, it was nice to think she still had some to spare. Especially considering who she was standing in front of. It was always really important for Hannah to be able to save face in front of Quentin. It was like some eternal power struggle between them. Sadly though, he seemed to be always in the lead.

Anger was causing her entire petite body to shake. She didn’t understand why he was doing all of this! He’d pretty much told her to fuck off in front of the whole school. And yet, he just wouldn’t leave her alone! He was keeping her on a bloody leash or something! Well... Well she wasn’t some little pet! Something that he could play with. She was a person and he was going to start treating her that way. She was going to MAKE him treat her right... She wasn’t exactly sure how... But still. He wasn’t allowed to keep her on the end of some yo-yo string.

Hannah flinched as his hand brushed her hair away. She hated the way even such a slight contact could cause shivers to envelope her. She hated the affect her could have on her. Jerking away, She took a hold of his wrist again, to throw his fingers away from her flesh. Her free hand moving to trace over the bruised flesh slowly. Eyes meeting his. She clutched his wrist for a little longer then need be. Finger-tips pressing into his skin. Tracing the same pattern her other fingers were tracing on her own flesh. For that moment, her anger almost forgotten.

She remembered herself quickly though, throwing his hand away. Moving both hands to her chest. Hugging her inappropriately dressed torso. Working hard now at keeping her tears a bay. She hated crying in front of Quentin. She felt so vulnerable when she did; so open and raw. Which was fine when it was someone who’d look after you right, but with Quentin, it felt like he spat in her face. Like he was ripping her wounds further apart. It was part of his nature to be a sodding twat. She was beginning to learn that about him. The deeper she dug, the more she found that the good she was hoping for didn’t seem to be there.

“You’re such a dildo!” She screamed at him. Screwing her face into a glare. “Why do you even care what I do and who I do it with? Who fucking cares who I decide to screw at a party? You made it perfectly clear you don’t give a flying monkey bollocks what happens to me so why can’t you just fuck off and leave me the hell alone!” She turned on her heal, ready to walk away.

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[quentin tucker huxley]

Oh dear god, not the tears again. Was there ever a conversation that transpired between the two where she didn’t blubber like a child? She was so god damn sensitive. He didn’t know why he expected any different from her; after all she’d cry at the drop of a hat let alone at the mere utterance of a swear. See, this is why her delusional hopes at happiness with him were and forever would be doomed. He was a person who shut everyone out and held little regard for how others felt. She was the kind of person that felt everything and everyone around her. They say that opposites attract, but this was a recipe for disaster; not a functional romance or whatever this twisted thing that was or wasn't occuring between them was.

Usually the appropriate response to tears is empathy. Or guilt, depending on the situation. However Quentin just felt annoyed. This was a tired routine they’d adopted; he’d insult her, she’d get angry and retaliate, he’d make a joke of it, and then she’d turn on the waterworks. Call him heartless, but he didn’t understand why she expected any different of him. He was a first class jerk; he’d never claimed to be otherwise, yet somehow she still hadn’t seemed to have gotten that fact. There was still a part of her that cared so much about what he thought of her and how he acted towards her and it was this very part of her that got her hurt every time.

Wow. Leave it to Quentin to somehow turn this situation and her tears into her fault.

He cocked a brow as she grabbed at his wrist, her sudden uncharacteristically violent movement startling him. He watched her quietly; coldly. She moved to touch the purpling puckered blemish that disgraced her alabaster skin and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like her this angry. Usually he just prodded her to the point where she would storm away in a huff and call him a dodo head or something of the like, but this was beyond petty come backs and pouty exits. He wanted to leave, to yank his hand away from her and disappear back into the dank bowels of the hormone infested factory, but the way her fingers seemed to roam the space of his skin on his wrist kept him still, transfixed even.

He scowled at her after she released him from her grasp, his opposite hand rubbing the place she’d gripped in all her fury. His jaw clenched as she began to yell at him in that way of hers that he was all too familliar with.

Yes, she was an overemotional little girl, but she had a point. Why did he care so much? He had all the reason in the world to dislike her and just leave her to her own devices. She was annoying, intrusive, easily lead on, naive, and just a royal pain in the ass. So why did he do stuff like this? Why did he go out of his way to insult her even though he knew that it would just encourage more reasons for her to talk to him? Why couldn’t he just fuck off and leave her the hell alone, as she so eloquently put it? The answer was a mystery, but somehow, completely involuntarily, he found himself replying just as she began to turn away. “Because I can’t,” he croaked, surprised and appalled for even giving her an answer. He felt stunned and completely immobile; a feeling comparable to the moment you realize you have a strawberry jammed in your larynx and you have no air. He didn’t know where the answer had come from. It was so uncalled for, so unconsiously delivered.

Suddenly things seemed a lot more real and a whole lot less fun now that he’d let slip something embarrassingly venerable. He felt stupid. He felt like an idiot for having admitted something to her that he himself hadn’t even admitted to himself. He couldn’t leave her alone. At first it was because it had been all too fun sending her into a tizzy, but now it was for an entirely different reason; a reason he wished didn’t exist. He felt sick. His posture grew increasingly more tense as the seconds of silence suspended them in this moment. “This isn’t fun anymore,” he growled, moving towards the door that they’d just come out of.

[hannah ingrid batemen]

because I can’t

The words struck her. Stopped her mid turn. She just stood. Too scared to keep moving away, yet too scared to turn to look at him. Because he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her alone. He was unexplainably drawn to her. She understood that. Hell, his words mirrored her own a few months ago when he had asked her why she couldn’t just leave him alone. Though he had told her to just ‘find a new drug’ or something. Now here he was! Saying the exact same thing! If the rawness of his emotion and voice wasn’t making her feel like she wanted to vomit, she’d have smirked to herself in victory.

She could feel her legs shaking under her. The world was spinning; and she couldn’t tell if it was the toxins running through her or the situation weighing down on her. Even if she wanted to turn to look at Quentin she didn’t think she could. If she moved, she was sure she would vomit.. Or perhaps faint. And really, she wasn’t sure which one would be worse. Both would show her in a very bad light. Perhaps though fainting would be worse. If Quentin just left her there, passed out on the ground. She liked to think he wouldn’t, but really she couldn’t be so sure. As he kept telling her; he was a nasty person.

No. It wasn’t fun anymore. Hannah could agree with that. She wasn’t sure it was ever fun for her, but I guess it made sense. Quentin had fun toying with her. She got it. Biting her lip, Hannah squeezed her eyes closed. At least he wasn’t enjoying the game anymore? That was a good thing right? It didn’t change anything though. At least, not unless he changed his actions. It was one thing to hate what was happening, but if you didn’t try to change things, then you really couldn’t complain about what you didn’t like.

Feeling him move past her, Hannah reached out. Slipping her hand into his softly to stop him from walking. “Don’t...” she whispered. “Don’t leave me out here like this..” Biting her lip, she forced herself to turn to him. Slowly so she wasn’t sick all over him. That would be a rather disgusting mood killer. “Quentin... I..” She started, unsure how to go on. What did she even want to say to him? She honestly wasn’t sure. What she did know though, was that she wasn’t ready for him to walk away. She wasn’t ready to be left; raw and alone.

“If it’s not fun anymore then stop..” She pleaded. Her voice still as quiet as a whisper. “Please, lets stop the game. Tell me why you don’t want me with other guys... Tell me....I...” her voice pattered out, as tears over-took. “I thought this is what you wanted..” She gestured to her outfit. “That you liked girls who were wild.. I thought you’d want me if I dressed like this...” She swallowed. Not even sure herself why she had suddenly changed tact and was admitting to him why she was here, dressed like a tart. She was just so tired of everything. Tired of all the games and pretence. She wanted something real. Turning from him, she let her hand fall from his. “Please, if you don’t want me... Just let me go...”

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[quentin tucker huxley]

This was exactly the thing he hated; confrontation he couldn’t skirt with a dismissive insult or an abrupt exit. Usually when caught in the middle of a verbal brawl with someone, Quentin somehow managed to come out on top, delivering the final blow and then leaving before things got uncomfortable, tedious, or all too real. For some reason though, he could never apply this sort of control with Hannah. He didn’t know what it was about her, but through some sort of intrusive tenacity she seemed to possess she always managed to make him feel not just uncomfortable, but venerable as well. He hated it. He hated the way she made him feel, the way she came at him with those weepy eyes telling him to re-evaluate his opinion of himself, the way she couldn’t seem to understand that he wasn’t going to change or sweep her off her feet, and the way she always turned their games into something more serious then need be. He hated it. Simply hated it.

And yet, he hated it when she hadn’t logged onto facebook for more than a couple days. He hated it when she was in the same room as him and wouldn’t even give him a second glance and he hated it when she showed more interest in someone else rather than mooning over him like she was supposed to. He didn’t know why. He felt hoist or rather suspended in some kind of tug-of-war when it came to her. She irritated him and made him unbearably furious but seeing anyone else’s hands on her made him crazy. Every time she talked he wanted to shove a sock in her mouth but sometimes those moving lips of hers were the only things he could think about.

However the worst part about being around her was not how annoyingly intrusive she was or how this inexplicable desire to touch her seemed to surface in him; the worst part about being around her was that the longer he hung around her, the more he came to realize how much of a monster he was. Sure, he was a jerk; he’d already made peace with that notion. But the way he treated Hannah? It was beyond the repertoire of what a jerk could manage; it was borderline horrifying. He never understood the depths of his own cruelty till he met her. Insulting her was his way of telling her to get away from him, that she as a young naïve girl was a making a huge mistake in falling for a cold and self destructive guy like himself, yet even as he did his best to push her away he’d selfishly find a way to keep her from moving on from him. He knew he was poison for her and yet he couldn’t let her go.

His feet seemed to have stopped working the moment she slid her dainty hand into his. His regular impulse would have been to snatch his hand away from her. You don’t touch Quentin Huxley no matter how close you are to him. However that principle wasn’t applied here; he just stood, hand in hers, immobile, and as much as he just wanted to run back into the party, he listened to her squeak out her feeble refrain.

“Wait, wait wait… You thought I would like this?” he interjected as she began to justify her choice of attire, brows furrowed and posture stiff as he indicated with a hand at her tarty outfit. He shook his head and closed his baby blues, a hand rubbing at his temple as frustration mounted inside of him. Was she that clueless? Did she think the length of her skirt would change his mind about her? Did she think that somehow the amount of cleavage she displayed would salvage what was left of this screwed up romance they had?

His hand slipped form hers as she turned to him and he noticed for what seemed like the first time that her heavy makeup was running in all directions under the manipulation of her tears. He had half a mind to just mutter an apology and disappear into the night, but by some bizarre cosmic disturbance, Quentin found words; a feet that didn’t come naturally to the boy. “I’m trying to let you go, fuck I’m trying,” he growled, his frustration becoming apparent as he ran a hand through his messy dark hair. “I fight with you because yelling seems to be the only way to get it in your head that you should back off.” He took a moment to breath and collect his thoughts properly. He needed it if he was going to have any hope of making sense. He readied himself to speak again, but approached it with less hostility then he had before. “Hannah, I’m no good for you. I can’t give you what you want. You want a guy who’ll hold your hand and take you to the movies and shit and won’t be afraid to call you his girlfriend. You can’t get that from me; I’m not like that.” His attempts at remaining calm failed and once again frustration reared inside of him “Fuck why do you even bother with this shit? Why do you try to impress me with this?” he indicated at her choice of clothing once again. “Don’t you understand? You’re wasting your time on my approval. You think it matters what I think if you dress up like a baby prostitute? What is my fucking opinion worth?” he spat bitterly as he took a step closer to her. “I still live at home, I work at the fucking yacht club, I just barely graduated, I didn’t even apply for universities because I knew I wouldn’t get into any of them.” He laughed coldly; sardonically at his pitiful circumstances. “I’m a fuck up and there is no way in this world that I will ever deserve you.” The hand that hand previously been in contact with hers quivered. “So why do you give a damn? Why is the opinion of a messed up asshole worth more anyone else's?

Regardless of whether it was coherent or not, that was perhaps the most Quentin had ever spoken at one time. He felt venerable and idiotic standing in front of her after all of that and couldn’t help but lower his gaze to the asphalt beneath their feet. "I don't deserve you..." he reiterated again, but softer; more venurable.

[hannah ingrid batemen]

She felt naked. Standing there in front of him, dressed the way she was. She felt naked; as though each word he was saying was stripping her of more and more of the fabric that was covering her. It was as though the fact him thinking she looked like a baby prostitute was enough to fill her with shame. No, it wasn’t like that. It was that. She had never in her life ever been filled with such a strong sense of shame. Her cheeks turned a dark red shade, and she hugged her arms tightly around her torso. Shielding her practically naked form from his gaze. She didn’t want him seeing her; seeing her shame on display for him to pull apart.

She was a fool. She knew that now. She looked like a fool and worse, she had acted like a fool. She didn’t even like Abercrombie guy. She had been willing to let the sandy haired boy go way too far. Just to prove something stupid to Quentin and well, that wasn’t okay. She had more self respect then that—She had to. She wasn’t that sort of girl! Or at least, she didn’t want to be that girl. Hannah was learning that just maybe, she didn’t exactly know who she was yet. She was still young though, she had time to figure that all out. She needed to stop doing stupid things to figure it all out though.. Or she’d turn into something she didn’t want to be.

As the tears kept falling from her lids; tumbling down her cheeks and splashing from her chin, she braced herself for the worst. Fearing Quentin would keep talking, and the words he’d say would be far worse then anything he’d already said. It was okay. Maybe if he crushed her spirit with his vicious words she could finally let him go? That would be a plus for this whole night. Because she really did want to let him go.. Right? Sort of. In theory she did. But, in practice it was a lot more complicated than that. Letting go was really hard. Especially when neither of them really were willing to cut the cord.

Quentin did continue to speak, but his words surprised the youth. She had been expecting more insults. To be told she looked ridiculous and how no one would ever love her. However that wasn’t how he went at all. Hannah felt her body loosen a little. As she spoke, she felt less of a need to brace herself against his words, and more like she needed to comfort him. What he was saying, it was breaking her heart. Dropping her hands away from her chest, she swallowed, stepping into him. “Quentin..” she murmured softly. Moving a hand to his cheek. Fingers grazing the skin softly. Instead of saying anything else though, she stretched up and kissed him. Pressing her lips softly, but surely to his.

The kiss was slow, sweet and perhaps a little sad. She was attempting to express the sadness she felt at his words in the simple action of kissing him. Express that he was good enough for her, if he’d only let himself see that. She was careful not to let the kiss go too deep. She didn’t want it to be about sex or attraction. It was more pure then that. It was, dare I say it, about love. Or as strong as an emotion towards love a girl so young could feel. Either way, it was about something more, something real.

Parting their lips, she kept her hand on his cheek. Her face still close to his, so she could whisper her words. “Don’t you see? I don’t care about your job, or where you live, or your education. None of that matters to me... I care about your soul.. and believe me or not, your soul is worth it..” She moved in again, to press a quick kiss to the side of his lips, before pulling away completely. “I.. I just wanted to give you what you wanted... I thought you’d like me like this. If you don’t like me like this.. and don’t like me how I usually am... What.. What will you like me like?”

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[quentin tucker huxley]

He felt very cold; rubbed raw. There was no way he could look her in the eye. Not after whatever that was. It would have been too close, too intimate, too uncomfortable a thing after he’d just exposed himself like that to her. He was suddenly put in mind something his little brother once said to him. After a bizarrely personal chat he'd had with the then 7 year old, Perry interjected and suddenly said “you’re like a clam, spilling its guts.” It was such a strange thing to remember at a time like this, but it was oddly fitting, despite the fact that it was an analogy that made little sense. The best way he could describe the feeling that fallowed opening up to a person you swore never to let your guard down around, was that it was a little like being seasick. It was like there was too much salt in his stomach and it was making him nauseous.

He concentrated on the dark puddle just left of the heel on Hannah’s shamelessly tarty boot, his jaw clenched in a fashion that resembled the tenseness displayed in his hands which were now balled into white knuckled fists. As they stood submerged in the stifling silence that had taken over after his outburst, Quentin felt something prickle behind his periwinkle blue eyes. Not tears. No not tears, but rather the mere indication of them. His breaths came slow, shaky, and far apart. He wanted to turn away and run, like he did whenever things got too serious or too real for him, but by some unknown force his feet remained rooted to the pavement.

Upon feeling her gentle fingertips against his cheek, he squeezed his eyes shut, though did not pull away as would have been expected. Her touch caused an involuntary shiver to manifest just under the skin of his neck and a sharp, but soft intake of breath could be heard from his lips. Hadn’t she heard a thing he’d said? He’d basically outlined all the faults in his personality and still she wanted to touch him? He’d treated her worse than he’d ever treated anyone in his life and yet here she was closing the gap between the two of them and reaching out to him. “Please, don’t-” he began softly, but found he couldn’t make any more sound; not with her lips pressed so earnestly and so sweetly against his.

Her lips were soft. They tasted like plum and tequila. He had half a mind to push her off of him and once again explain why they were terrible for each other in a very loud, threatening tone of voice, but for some reason he found himself accepting the kiss, a hand of his tentatively cupping the one she’d placed upon his cheek.

The longer they stood captured in this kiss, the harder it became for Quentin to stick to his former argument. Despite the countless odds that were set against them being together, this was perhaps the only thing that could make the torment and tribulation of their inevitably doomed relationship worth it; the way that all their communication could be done with a simple kiss.

Though sweet, the kiss was over too quickly and was soon replaced with whispered words so close that he could feel them on his lips. What she was saying, in his eyes, was complete bullshit, but it was nice to hear. Though she might have thought she knew his soul, she really didn’t know all that much about the twisted thing. How could she have? In the short time they’d known each other he’d kept her at a distance, even during the times where they had seemed close. However it was encouraging to hear from someone who’d experienced the brunt of much of his cruelty that they believed he wasn’t entirely rotten to the core. Though the assumption was misguided, it was still undeniably sweet.

After what seemed like an eternity, he found his gaze lifting back to her, his baby blues falling upon the gentle curve of her neck as she stammered once again over her reasoning for dressing up in a costume that was anything but Hannah Bateman. He leaned in closer to her, his hand coming to cradle the place where the back of her neck met the beginning of her beautiful blond head. “That’s not what I want,” he breathed softly. With the hand that wasn’t already engaged, he employed his fingers along the soft patches of skin under her eyes and began to gently wipe the sooty black tear stains from her alabaster skin. His fingertips, though callused and rough from guitar strings and boating rope, were gentle as they rid her skin of the offending mask that she’d put on. "There,” he said after he conducted the last stroke of his thumb that rid her beautiful brown eyes of the mascara and the eyeliner. “That’s what I want,” he breathed, his hand coming to rest against her rouged cheek.

He took a moment to examine her face now that it was free of her caked on makeup. He looked over the contours of her lips, the arches of her brows, and the planes of her cheeks and found that even though it was probably better for him to just stop now and kill the inevitable heartache that was bound to happen before it really began, he just wanted to kiss her, to be with her and to just touch her in some way. “…You sure you want me?” he asked after their moment of suspended silence. “Because I can go get Ken Doll if you don‘t.” he said, indicating with his thumb in the direction of the factory. “He’s probably safer than I am. Stupider, but safer.” he said, wrapping an arm around her petite waist and drawing her close to him, just the hint of a smile on his lips.

[hannah ingrid batemen]

Maybe he was right, she didn’t know his soul as well as she liked to think. That wasn’t really the point though now was it? The point was, she knew he wasn’t completely rotten. That there was good inside him; good she wanted to learn more about. The very fact he didn’t think he was good enough for her made him good enough. If he truly was a horrid person, he’d have taken what he wanted from her and not given a care. Quentin cared, that’s what set him apart. He tried to deny it, but the secret was out now. He cared. About Hannah.

If though, there was any doubt in her mind that he cared, the boy’s next action was enough to prove to anyone. Even the most cynical of people. Her breath hitched as he moved his hand to the back of her neck. His touch igniting a domino affect of tingles down her spine. Resulting in the softest whimper from her lips. It was rare that he allowed himself to touch her like this, which actually made it all the more intense when he did. The single thrilling pleasure of his hand on her neck was enough for Hannah to want to throw herself at him in a rather embarrassing display of lust. Of course she refrained though.

The tingles only continued as he moved his rough fingers to the tender skin under her eyes. She swallowed deeply. Feeling her legs grow weak. Only this time it was most definitely not due to any negative feelings he was inspiring in her... Or the booze. This time it had everything to do with the fact her heart was picking up speed, galloping in her rib-cage. Who knew whipping away running eye-liner could be such an intimate act? Let me tell you, it was. Oh god it was. The blonde let out a soft noise. Something between a sigh and a whimper. This moment, it was perfection.

No. She took it back. What he just said; that was perfection. If it were physically possible to melt, Hannah would have in that moment. Those words. They were everything she’d ever wanted to hear from him. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. Moving to press her fingers to his chest; over his heart. She could feel it beating. It was beating for her, and that was beautiful. Removing her fingers, she leant down and pissed a soft kiss to his ‘heart’. Before looking up to meet his blue gaze. Blue lost in brown; Earth meeting sky. A soft smile touching her lips. He wanted her. The way she was... He wanted her!

He was kidding right? Hannah shook her head, trying not to laugh at him. Of course she was sure she wanted him! That’s what she had trying to tell him! At the mention of her ‘date’ for the evening, Hannah looked at him, eyes wide. “Don’t you dare!” To make her point, she tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer. Fingers staying curled up in the fabric even after the action was complete. “He was a horrid kisser, and look at the mess he made of my neck!” She tilted her head a little, to show it off. “Besides..” she started, her tone softening, becoming less playful. “I’m not ready for you to let me go just yet.. If you don’t mind..”

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