If she could remember what he said at the party that pissed her off, Julie might have a different take on the question, but as it is she just kind of assumes she said something mean and then he said something equally rude like the usual fare.
"Good as we ever are-- why wouldn't we be?" She seems genuinely confused by the question, but not enough that she really cares about his answer. Her gaze drifting to his pal in the store Quentin keeps looking at, breezes on to the next topic without giving him a chance to answer, "Dana knows she's never gonna make the first move, right? Way too anxious."
Either she's playing stupid or she got even higher after leaving him at that burnout of a holiday party. That's nice and symmetrical; Quentin started to hit the cheap bottles harder after she left, just to get the eyes off him. Still, he isn't sure this comes as a relief. Feels more like a time bomb, counting down until someone reminds her, or until they have the same spat again. Whatever the case, Julie doesn't let him linger on it--and Quentin doesn't pull her back to it.
Ruby behind the counter is too anxious to make the first move, Julie says. He can't help but hear a little bit of projection in that observation. It was a risk for her to ask him for this--and not a small one, either. He pinches what remains of his cigarette between his lips to take his phone back and speaks for Dana and himself in one go: "Yeah, well. Looks like we got a masochist on our hands.
"I'll let you know as soon as I know if I can get the day off. Okay?" The door chimes, Dana pushing through it with his head down and his grin stupid. "I'll see you Saturday."
Julie looks up at Dana as she comes out of the store and back to Quentin, nods firmly and turns to leave. She pauses to look at her phone when it dings, and from the few yards she's walked he'll probably see the way she shakes her head in brief amusement.
It's a relief when Quentin lets her know he's got the day, a bigger one when she actually sees him, and she thanks him for it when she gets in the car, clipped and distracted but no less genuine. For once. Julie's like that the whole way there, doesn't speak at all unless Quentin asks her a question, mostly spends it staring out the window, desperately trying not to let him see even the briefest flicker of how anxious she is right now.
(She does, however, bring him out a sandwich and a coffee when they're parked up and before she has to go sign in and all that shit.)
About an hour and a half later is when she leaves, comes out in a pair of sunglasses even though it's late afternoon in winter, and her nose is red, but that's probably just because of the cold weather. Every visit feels the fucking same, tears her up the same fucking way, and normally she'd just sit in the car a while to decompress but she can't and she can't even be mad about it either. She just... Sits. Buckles up and exhales a deep breath. This is fine and normal.
An hour and a half is enough time to eat a sandwich (wow, that was...nice), check his messages, text Dana a couple of emojis to indicated confusion, bafflement, shruggies, and get in a pretty solid little meditative session that, in conjunction with the coffee and a set of jumping jacks while he waits, should keep him bright and shiny for the trip home. He feels good enough about it that when Julie drops into the care, he feels--rude.
The engine is still dead. He reaches to the dashboard to pick up the paper from the sandwich and the empty coffee cup, jamming the first into the second as he waits. He's not like a crazy patient person. Once his thumbs are compressing the brown paper deep into the cup, Quentin peeps, "You okay?"
"Yeah." Terse, but moreover final. She's not interested in talking about it, and especially not to Quentin of all people. Julie buckles up and sinks into the seat with a quiet sigh, head turned to look out the window. "Let's head back."
Yeah. Sure. They can just...head back. He clicks his tongue thoughtfully, but...doesn't say anything.
Not till about half an hour down the highway back, at which point he reaches to turn down the radio and stretches his hands open against the wheel. "So yeah, you know what you look like? You look like my dad when I got caught with weed in the ninth grade. Like a, uh...I'm not surprised, but I'm disappointed kind of vibe."
Does Julie bristle a little when he turns the music down? Yes. Because she assumes it neans he wants to talk or make some stupid attempt to cheer her up so the ride's less awkward, but she really doesn't give a fuck how uncomfortable he feels. Uncomfortable is nothing to her right now.
So her response is just to raise her eyebrows, totally silent for a moment or two, and then she flatly says, "maybe it's because your car sounds like it hasn't had a tune-up in years and I was trying not to say anything about it."
"I'm sure that's what it is." He nods, lips pursed in full faux thoughtfulness. "Wild how you did such a killer job of not being a total weirdo on the way up, but now it's weird. Like some kind of...bad conversation or disappointing prison visit happened between the one and the other..."
To be fair, his car does sound a bit like it needs a tune-up. It was something to focus on on the way up, trying to guess what the issue might be. Not that she could tell from sound alone, but she could narrow things down a little. Hypothetically. Was thinking about maybe offering Quentin some free work as thanks, but then he talks and like Quentin always manages to do, it just makes Julie angry with him.
Her jaw tightens in response and she looks at the door, clearly contemplating just getting out and buying a bus ticket back home. It's not off the table, but she doesn't, not yet. Fingers drumming an irregular rhythm against her other forearm where her arms are folded as she looks back out the window.
"Just because you're doing me a solid, doesn't mean you get to prey into my life, Smith."
"Yeah, so who the fuck does? Susie, Joey, Frank. But those are literally the people stressing you out, so like..." His fingers fan on the steering wheel, mouth twists sideways. "What's the plan? Hold onto it until your heart gives out? Maybe--wreck your stomach over it, and once your man gets out, you can leave and find a nice nursing home that can manage your digestive issues?"
"I don't know where the fuck you get off acting like you know me and what's going on in my life." That one comes with a raised voice. Not a shout, but she sits up straight, turns to look at him, and even with the sunglasses on it's obvious that she's furious. She looks down at her seatbelt like she's seriously contemplating just fucking undoing it and getting out of a moving vehicle.
Of course she doesn't, because she doesn't want to die horribly on the highway because she was a stubborn idiot, but that doesn't really cool her off any.
"What is this for you, some kind of project? Come into town and fix the bitch?"
He laughs, hyena high, and only spares a glance to ascertain that yeah she's pissed before fixing his eyes back on the road. "Yeah. Yeah, Julie, that's it! If there wasn't a major bitch in town I woulda just--moved onto the next one! I know everyone in this fucking county has a heart two sizes too small, but is it that crazy to think that someone might just want to help? I just wanna help."
His mouth is still bent from laughter, but he's not laughing. Frustrated color high on his cheeks, he shakes his head. "What are you waiting for me to say? I wanna sleep with you? With one of your friends? Because that's like the only ulterior motive I can imagine. I'm not winning hearts by hanging out with you, you know that right?"
"Right, right. You just wanna help. You wanna be nice because I'm so lonely without my creepy convict boyfriend around, right?" Julie scoffs, shakes her head and looks back out the window. "You're so full of it. Come to some shitty little town as an EMT, try and help out my miserable ass so you can go home and tell yourself what a good guy you are."
She shakes her head, tone of voice distinctly mocking, but she's still looking out the window instead of at him.
"No, I wanna help because I'm not a total piece of shit! I don't need you to prove I'm a decent person! Jesus, if I did, I'd fucking--" Suffice to say he's not waiting on her cosign on his morality. He swallows and sucks at his teeth, and, tetchy: "Are you gonna freak out if I light up? I'll roll down the window."
"It's your car." She shrugs a shoulder, it's just about the last thing she'd care about, if anything she'd want one too but she's not about to ask.
Usually anger is a comfortable place, somewhere Julie can go to insulate herself from all the other shit around her and in her head, but right now it's just... It's a lot. So soon after seeing Frank. Leaves everything feeling like a raw nerve and all she wants right now is a short list of things she can't have. Tiredly, she takes a quiet breath, rubs her nose with the back of her hand to try and quell the stinging sensation.
"Tell you what, I'll do us both a favour when we get back and keep a wide berth from now on, how about that?"
He pauses with a cigarette pinched between his lips, lighter fiddling between his fingers to shake his head. "Okay? I don't....want that? Fuck." His brow pinches low, frustration and concentration, as he lights up--drops the lighter in the console before cracking the window. Somewhere between the hot smoke and the cold air, his brain starts to settle. Back up. Be nice. Offer something.
"I had--I had this group of friends. In high school. Just--assholes, but they were my assholes, right? My dad fucking hated them, he'd never say it but...y'know no one's ever good enough. They probably woulda gone to college and we all woulda found new friends and girlfriends and all that, just..." His thumb raps the steering wheel as he takes a drag. "...just they all died. Were all--murdered. Serial killer who picked us cuz..."
Serial killers pick people for no fuck reason all the time. This is already more than Quentin likes to share with anyone, he can probably forego the gritty details--especially when they sound insane. He focuses on the grind of smoke along his tongue for a few thoughtful seconds, focuses till his eyes stop watering. "I got away. And I was so fucking lonely. If I had someone else, I would've...I dunno. Maybe I could go home.
Her eyes might be obscured, but Julie's expression is probably plenty clear despite that, a frown that only deepens as Quentin keeps talking. Confused, frustrated, annoyed. Why is he telling her all this?
"That sucks," in place of the 'I'm sorry' most people would offer, hearing about his friends. Because it's horrible and Julie's pretty sure some asshole picking off her friends would break her, it fucking sucks, but she's not exactly brimming with compassion at the best of times. The way he cuts himself off, stops himself from telling her why pings at her curiosity, but not enough for her to pry. Maybe it's some shred of respect, or maybe she just can't find it in herself to care, who could say?
"Dunno why you're telling me all this. I'm not your friend and I'm definitely not your fucking therapist." It's cold, the way she says it. Impassive. Slapping away the hand he's offering. If he needs people so bad, there's a town full of them. She has all the ones she wants.
She's a stone. Maybe that's the rub; he took her for icy and she's just straight up stone. Quentin laughs, no smiling, and shakes his head. "You're the one who keeps asking why. What's--in it for me." The cigarette is wasting next to the window as he swallows hard. He comes back hoarse, "So I'm fucking telling you. That's why I want to help, because it fucking--sucks."
And this sucks. His mouth shakes till he pinches it around what remains of his cigarette, frees up his hands to reach for the radio. "Whatever. You don't have to believe me." When he cranks the dial, the station is playing something bubblegum and electric. Quentin winces. "Jesus. Can you find something else?"
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"Good as we ever are-- why wouldn't we be?" She seems genuinely confused by the question, but not enough that she really cares about his answer. Her gaze drifting to his pal in the store Quentin keeps looking at, breezes on to the next topic without giving him a chance to answer, "Dana knows she's never gonna make the first move, right? Way too anxious."
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Ruby behind the counter is too anxious to make the first move, Julie says. He can't help but hear a little bit of projection in that observation. It was a risk for her to ask him for this--and not a small one, either. He pinches what remains of his cigarette between his lips to take his phone back and speaks for Dana and himself in one go: "Yeah, well. Looks like we got a masochist on our hands.
"I'll let you know as soon as I know if I can get the day off. Okay?" The door chimes, Dana pushing through it with his head down and his grin stupid. "I'll see you Saturday."
The tester text he sends her is simply: 👌😜
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It's a relief when Quentin lets her know he's got the day, a bigger one when she actually sees him, and she thanks him for it when she gets in the car, clipped and distracted but no less genuine. For once. Julie's like that the whole way there, doesn't speak at all unless Quentin asks her a question, mostly spends it staring out the window, desperately trying not to let him see even the briefest flicker of how anxious she is right now.
(She does, however, bring him out a sandwich and a coffee when they're parked up and before she has to go sign in and all that shit.)
About an hour and a half later is when she leaves, comes out in a pair of sunglasses even though it's late afternoon in winter, and her nose is red, but that's probably just because of the cold weather. Every visit feels the fucking same, tears her up the same fucking way, and normally she'd just sit in the car a while to decompress but she can't and she can't even be mad about it either. She just... Sits. Buckles up and exhales a deep breath. This is fine and normal.
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The engine is still dead. He reaches to the dashboard to pick up the paper from the sandwich and the empty coffee cup, jamming the first into the second as he waits. He's not like a crazy patient person. Once his thumbs are compressing the brown paper deep into the cup, Quentin peeps, "You okay?"
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Not till about half an hour down the highway back, at which point he reaches to turn down the radio and stretches his hands open against the wheel. "So yeah, you know what you look like? You look like my dad when I got caught with weed in the ninth grade. Like a, uh...I'm not surprised, but I'm disappointed kind of vibe."
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So her response is just to raise her eyebrows, totally silent for a moment or two, and then she flatly says, "maybe it's because your car sounds like it hasn't had a tune-up in years and I was trying not to say anything about it."
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Her jaw tightens in response and she looks at the door, clearly contemplating just getting out and buying a bus ticket back home. It's not off the table, but she doesn't, not yet. Fingers drumming an irregular rhythm against her other forearm where her arms are folded as she looks back out the window.
"Just because you're doing me a solid, doesn't mean you get to prey into my life, Smith."
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Of course she doesn't, because she doesn't want to die horribly on the highway because she was a stubborn idiot, but that doesn't really cool her off any.
"What is this for you, some kind of project? Come into town and fix the bitch?"
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His mouth is still bent from laughter, but he's not laughing. Frustrated color high on his cheeks, he shakes his head. "What are you waiting for me to say? I wanna sleep with you? With one of your friends? Because that's like the only ulterior motive I can imagine. I'm not winning hearts by hanging out with you, you know that right?"
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She shakes her head, tone of voice distinctly mocking, but she's still looking out the window instead of at him.
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Usually anger is a comfortable place, somewhere Julie can go to insulate herself from all the other shit around her and in her head, but right now it's just... It's a lot. So soon after seeing Frank. Leaves everything feeling like a raw nerve and all she wants right now is a short list of things she can't have. Tiredly, she takes a quiet breath, rubs her nose with the back of her hand to try and quell the stinging sensation.
"Tell you what, I'll do us both a favour when we get back and keep a wide berth from now on, how about that?"
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"I had--I had this group of friends. In high school. Just--assholes, but they were my assholes, right? My dad fucking hated them, he'd never say it but...y'know no one's ever good enough. They probably woulda gone to college and we all woulda found new friends and girlfriends and all that, just..." His thumb raps the steering wheel as he takes a drag. "...just they all died. Were all--murdered. Serial killer who picked us cuz..."
Serial killers pick people for no fuck reason all the time. This is already more than Quentin likes to share with anyone, he can probably forego the gritty details--especially when they sound insane. He focuses on the grind of smoke along his tongue for a few thoughtful seconds, focuses till his eyes stop watering. "I got away. And I was so fucking lonely. If I had someone else, I would've...I dunno. Maybe I could go home.
"You need other people."
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"That sucks," in place of the 'I'm sorry' most people would offer, hearing about his friends. Because it's horrible and Julie's pretty sure some asshole picking off her friends would break her, it fucking sucks, but she's not exactly brimming with compassion at the best of times. The way he cuts himself off, stops himself from telling her why pings at her curiosity, but not enough for her to pry. Maybe it's some shred of respect, or maybe she just can't find it in herself to care, who could say?
"Dunno why you're telling me all this. I'm not your friend and I'm definitely not your fucking therapist." It's cold, the way she says it. Impassive. Slapping away the hand he's offering. If he needs people so bad, there's a town full of them. She has all the ones she wants.
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And this sucks. His mouth shakes till he pinches it around what remains of his cigarette, frees up his hands to reach for the radio. "Whatever. You don't have to believe me." When he cranks the dial, the station is playing something bubblegum and electric. Quentin winces. "Jesus. Can you find something else?"