Despite knowing that Em was avoiding him, he couldn't help but get excited to see her. He missed her desperately. As he knocked on her door, loud enough to hopefully wake her up, he tried to finalize what he was going to say. He needed to be assertive, but not demanding. Convince her without scaring her away. He was walking a fine line here. It occurred to him that it may have been smarter to do this during the daytime, but he physically couldn't stay away any longer.
The door opened up a crack, and orangey light shone through. She peered out from behind it, and looked at him for a long moment. Then the door swung all the way open. He smiled, trying not to seem as relieved or as desperate as he felt.
"Em…"
"What the fuck." Em pulled her hand out from behind her back. She was gripping a kitchen knife tight enough that her knuckles were bright red.
"Em, what's going on? Are you okay?" His heart rate increased rapidly.
"What the fuck are you doing here."
"I… Em, why are you holding a knife? Are you in danger?" If someone had tried to hurt her, Quentin would absolutely destroy them. He would demolish them so thoroughly there would be nothing left for their families to bury. She stood there looking at him, still gripping the knife. Her breathing was heavy and erratic. She dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor. It slashed her leg on the way down, leaving a long, thin line dripping bright red. Quentin stepped forward, wanting to come to her aid, but she pushed him back. She didn't use much force, but the shock of it was enough to send him backwards.
"Get the fuck out."
"Em…"
"No, Quentin, seriously. Get the fuck out of my life." Quentin had seen Em be professional, casual, effortlessly cool, occasionally happy and once sad. He had never seen her angry before. He'd thought he had but it was nothing like this. She was looking at him like she hated him.
"....Did I do something? I don't know what it was but I can change. I can fix this, Em, I want to fix this."
"No, you didn't do anything, Quentin. I'm just a cunt and I don't wanna fuck you anymore, so leave me the fuck alone." She tried to shut the door on him, but Quentin stopped her.
"So that's it? It's just over?"
"Yup."
"It can't be. It's not. I won't let it." He pushed the door all the way open. He just needed to talk to her. He needed to make her see how good what they had was, how good he could be for her. She didn't know how to let someone take care of her, but she would learn. She just had to let him in. She froze for a moment, and Quentin thought she would step aside, but instead a single tear poured out of her eye and she shoved him again.
This time, she pushed hard. He hit the railing behind him. She stepped out to push him again and this time he grabbed her arms. He didn't grip her hard, he didn't want to hurt her, but she started flailing, switching between trying to hit him and trying to escape his grip. She was crying, screaming at him, but the words were incomprehensible. He couldn't stop her onslaught without hurting her, so he just… stood there. He had to do something, though. If she kept doing this she would hurt herself. He tried to wrap his arms around her, to bring her close enough to him that he could hold her still, but she screamed and pushed him away.
"Em! You need to calm down. Let me help you!"
"Fuck off!" She wrenched herself out of his grip. As she did, his nails dragged across her arms, leaving dark red stripes. His heart dropped.
"Em… I…" He had hurt her. With his own two hands, he left bruises on her skin. It was far too early in the morning and it was completely dark outside and he had hurt her. He wanted to reach out to her, wanted to tend to her wounds, but how could he, when he was the one who'd caused them. She was standing there in the dim light that shone through her door, staring down at her arms. She had been mad at him when he got there, and then he had done this. She hated him. If he just stood here, she would keep on hating him. He reached his hand out to her slowly, trying not to scare her.
She was shaking, still staring at her arms. He was about to reach her when someone wrapped their arms around her. It was not an embrace. The man grabbed her just below her waist, circling both her arms to keep them trapped against her body. Quentin would have done something terrible if he hadn't recognized the man as Em's neighbor, the one who had hit on him. In his arms Em collapsed, going completely limp. The man - Marco, he thought - glared at him, and dragged Em back into her apartment. The door slammed shut before he could say anything, and he was left standing out in the dark, alone.
Quentin understood, intellectually, that he should leave. It was the middle of the night and she clearly didn't want him here. Despite that knowledge, he couldn't get his body to move. Em was hurting, just behind that door. He watched her suffer and he did nothing. He couldn't do anything. He was the one who caused her pain, and now she was breaking down in the arms of another man. He should have been angry, that someone else got to be there when he couldn't, but all he could feel was guilt. In the end, it was his fault. After some time, he finally admitted that he wasn't going anywhere tonight. He sat down next to her door, leaning up against the wall, and waited.