Read Online WITHOUT YOU (STRIPPED) by Brooklyn Skye - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brooklyn Skye
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tournament—which sounds a little kinky to me, but whatever attracts the community, right?”
That elicits a giggle from her.
Out from the shadows of my dorm, the festival comes into view. A small stage erected on the grass in front of the library, booths and stalls encircling out from it with large, colorful signs for every type of carnival-like food imaginable: kettle corn, cotton candy, smoothies, and barbequed chicken legs. After I pay the six dollar entrance fee for her and show my student ID to get me in, we make our way to the grass field and find a sunny spot off to the side of the stage.
She watches as I yank a small blanket from my backpack and spread it out. I sit, then pat the stretch of fabric in front of me. She lowers her back to my chest, fitting perfectly in the nook between my legs, and I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be touching her until the weight of her is pressed in to me.
I pull two Burger King cups from my backpack, cough loudly as the cork on the champagne is popped so those on blankets and towels surrounding us won’t hear, which makes Quinn laugh again. No sadness, yet. So far so good.
I fill our cups to the rim, emptying the bottle completely, then return it to my backpack.
“Happy birthday, Zoe,” I whisper into Quinn’s ear as I place the cup in her hands.
She sits up and looks over her shoulder, eyes on mine. A moment of silence between us, the musical melody of banjos and fiddles filling the air.
“Thank you,” she says, cupping a hand to my cheek. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone as attentive as you.”
If I was attentive I would’ve picked up on the way she pulled back a week ago. Realized it was about her instead of selfishly assuming it had something to do with me and my life.
I kiss her palm and change the subject. “Do you remember her last birthday?”
Returning her back against my chest, she sips her champagne. On the stage, the banjo’s melody slows and a man with a harmonica steps up to the edge of the platform, cheeks puffing and pulling with a fast-paced tune.
“Is it horrible I don’t remember any of Zoe’s birthdays except one?”
“Tell me about it.” I take a swig of champagne, the fizziness snapping at every nerve in my face.
Quinn swallows another sip. “It was her sixteenth birthday. She didn’t want a party, and insisted a group of her friends go shopping at the mall instead. Typical teenager, right?” The cup lowers and rests on her stomach. “I begged to tag along because what annoying little sister wouldn’t? My mom dropped us off and as soon as we were out of the parking lot, Zoe stripped off her sweatshirt and started prancing down the middle of the mall in a bright blue tube top.” She leans her head back on my shoulder, the scent of sweet champagne lacing her words. “A fucking tube top! My parents were really strict about what we wore back then. Anyway, that entire afternoon I watched my sister become this person I had no idea she was. Flirting with boys, pocketing the sample lip glosses from a store’s makeup counter. At the end of the day, right in front of everyone, she walked up to one of the boys she’d talked to and kissed him—a complete stranger. Later that night when I went in her room to ask about it, where she got the guts to kiss him, I found her staring out the window with a lifeless expression on her face. At the time I chalked it up to exhaustion, after being excited all day about finally being allowed to drive a car…” Quinn sets her cup on the grass and rests her hand on my thigh, swirling tiny circles with her finger. “Now I know it was her disorder. You know, the manic and depressive moods?”
Finding out about her sister’s bipolar disorder was a shock to us both last spring. Her parents had only known for a few months before Zoe took her life with pills and never told Quinn. Since then, she’s remembered a few instances where she was witnessing the disorder.
“Her
That elicits a giggle from her.
Out from the shadows of my dorm, the festival comes into view. A small stage erected on the grass in front of the library, booths and stalls encircling out from it with large, colorful signs for every type of carnival-like food imaginable: kettle corn, cotton candy, smoothies, and barbequed chicken legs. After I pay the six dollar entrance fee for her and show my student ID to get me in, we make our way to the grass field and find a sunny spot off to the side of the stage.
She watches as I yank a small blanket from my backpack and spread it out. I sit, then pat the stretch of fabric in front of me. She lowers her back to my chest, fitting perfectly in the nook between my legs, and I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be touching her until the weight of her is pressed in to me.
I pull two Burger King cups from my backpack, cough loudly as the cork on the champagne is popped so those on blankets and towels surrounding us won’t hear, which makes Quinn laugh again. No sadness, yet. So far so good.
I fill our cups to the rim, emptying the bottle completely, then return it to my backpack.
“Happy birthday, Zoe,” I whisper into Quinn’s ear as I place the cup in her hands.
She sits up and looks over her shoulder, eyes on mine. A moment of silence between us, the musical melody of banjos and fiddles filling the air.
“Thank you,” she says, cupping a hand to my cheek. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone as attentive as you.”
If I was attentive I would’ve picked up on the way she pulled back a week ago. Realized it was about her instead of selfishly assuming it had something to do with me and my life.
I kiss her palm and change the subject. “Do you remember her last birthday?”
Returning her back against my chest, she sips her champagne. On the stage, the banjo’s melody slows and a man with a harmonica steps up to the edge of the platform, cheeks puffing and pulling with a fast-paced tune.
“Is it horrible I don’t remember any of Zoe’s birthdays except one?”
“Tell me about it.” I take a swig of champagne, the fizziness snapping at every nerve in my face.
Quinn swallows another sip. “It was her sixteenth birthday. She didn’t want a party, and insisted a group of her friends go shopping at the mall instead. Typical teenager, right?” The cup lowers and rests on her stomach. “I begged to tag along because what annoying little sister wouldn’t? My mom dropped us off and as soon as we were out of the parking lot, Zoe stripped off her sweatshirt and started prancing down the middle of the mall in a bright blue tube top.” She leans her head back on my shoulder, the scent of sweet champagne lacing her words. “A fucking tube top! My parents were really strict about what we wore back then. Anyway, that entire afternoon I watched my sister become this person I had no idea she was. Flirting with boys, pocketing the sample lip glosses from a store’s makeup counter. At the end of the day, right in front of everyone, she walked up to one of the boys she’d talked to and kissed him—a complete stranger. Later that night when I went in her room to ask about it, where she got the guts to kiss him, I found her staring out the window with a lifeless expression on her face. At the time I chalked it up to exhaustion, after being excited all day about finally being allowed to drive a car…” Quinn sets her cup on the grass and rests her hand on my thigh, swirling tiny circles with her finger. “Now I know it was her disorder. You know, the manic and depressive moods?”
Finding out about her sister’s bipolar disorder was a shock to us both last spring. Her parents had only known for a few months before Zoe took her life with pills and never told Quinn. Since then, she’s remembered a few instances where she was witnessing the disorder.
“Her
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