Lead Me Not

chapter seventeen

aubrey

i had been up most of the night with Renee while she alternated between crying and screaming into her pillow. Her phone had started ringing around midnight. At first, we ignored Devon’s persistent calling. But around the fifth time, I turned it off, and Renee didn’t argue. Her red, swollen face had been set with grim acceptance.

When I got up the next morning for my lecture, I checked on Renee and was glad to see she was still asleep. I had convinced her to skip classes today and rest. She was worried about running into Devon and embarrassed for people to see her face.

I assured her the bruises could be covered up and the swelling in her lip would be gone by morning. Renee had seemed mollified by that and had finally stopped fretting about it.

After her initial admission about Devon’s abusive behavior, she had stopped talking about him altogether. She stated she wasn’t ready to hash out everything, and I begrudgingly backed off.

Stepping out into the crisp air, I took a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs. I wrapped my coat a little tighter around myself and started walking down the street. I noticed a bunch of painters heading around the back of my apartment building.

I overheard several of them grumbling about “fucking kids and their stupid graffiti.” Curious, I followed them and came to a quick stop. I tilted my head back and took in the gigantic painting along the back wall of my building.

“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself. It was amazing. Absolutely stunning. But it was also extremely disturbing.

Because someone had painted a beautiful sky raining . . . blood? There were two people, a man and a woman, each with bright blond hair, holding hands, walking along what looked like a macabre version of the yellow brick road into a stormy sea while the gorgeous clouds above their heads unleashed a torrent of blood around them.

The ground was a mass of interconnected Xs, giving away the artist’s identity. I should have known. The style was one of a kind.

But why had the mysterious street artist painted this on the back of my building? Because again, this clearly had nothing to do with Compulsion. This was a painting meant to say something else entirely.

The painters were putting up their ladders and opening up tins of white paint. They were getting ready to cover it up. And the thought of them destroying it made me feel panicky inside.

“Wait!” I called out just as a middle-aged man with a potbelly and a bald spot swiped his paintbrush over the blissfully happy couple in the picture. He looked over his shoulder at me in irritation.

“Do you have to paint over it?” I asked, realizing how ridiculous I sounded.

“Look, lady, the landlord hired us to fix this shit. Not our call. So why don’t you let us get to work,” another guy said, dipping his brush in the pot and bringing it up to the wall, smearing white over the vivid colors.

I didn’t say another word. I backed up and watched as the painters slowly eradicated the beauty X had clearly spent a lot of time creating. I felt as though I were witnessing a murder. It seemed a crime to undo something so beautiful as though it had never been there at all.

Feeling strangely sad, I forced myself to walk away, unable to stand there another moment while the men so callously covered up the picture.

Normally, I would meet Brooks for a coffee before my first class on Friday morning. But he hadn’t responded to my multiple texts. So I made my way to the coffee shop just off campus by myself.

I hated feeling lonely, and this morning I felt it acutely. I hated feeling that there was something going on with Brooks and that he was purposefully keeping his distance. I was going to have to confront it head-on eventually, but with everything that was happening right now, I selfishly didn’t feel like expending the energy the situation required.

I got my caramel latte and a muffin and sat down at my usual table by the window. I pulled out my notes in case there was a pop quiz and took a small sip of my hot beverage. I spent some time people-watching.

It was then that I saw a familiar set of broad shoulders and a head covered in a gray beanie coming into the coffee shop.

I thought hard about slinking down in my seat to avoid being seen, but then I thought better of it. Why should I hide? There was nothing wrong with him seeing me, even if just the sight of him caused me to flush to the tip of my toes at the memory of our encounter in the hallway.

As if sensing me there, Maxx’s eyes met mine. I raised my hand in a halfhearted wave, wiggling my fingers.

He smiled that smile that lit up his face.

He is so coming over here, I thought to myself as I waited on pins and needles for him to get his coffee and make the trek to my table.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, his eyes dancing at our inside joke. But unlike the time he had asked that question in the library, I offered the chair—not without hesitation, but with a lot less of it. I couldn’t help that I still had misgivings about being seen with him. My lips tingled and my heart smacked against my rib cage, but I felt an undeniable wariness.

Maxx pulled off his beanie and dropped it on the table. He picked up his mug and blew off the steam before taking a sip. I sat there, staring at him, my tongue tied up in knots.

“So, thanks for leaving me stuck with Kristie, by the way,” he joked, taking another sip.

I laughed nervously, cutting my muffin up into small pieces. “Yeah, sorry,” I muttered.

“Sorry? I’ll leave you to talk about ‘solidifying your support systems’ for an hour and see how you feel.” He was being relaxed, teasing me with a twinkle in his eyes.

He looked happy.

It took me aback for a moment. I wasn’t used to seeing him this way. I had grown accustomed to the tortured brokenness hidden behind an overly confident exterior.

But today Maxx was laid-back, as though by acting casual, he was trying to make me forget how he had fallen apart. How he had shown me a side of himself that was scared and unguarded.

This time when I laughed, it was real. “That sucks. She can go on a bit,” I conceded.

“You think?” Maxx scoffed, reaching across the table and snatching a handful of my crumbled muffin.

“What is it with you and stealing my food?” I asked as he chewed.

“It just tastes better when it’s yours.” And there it was. The sexual innuendo I had been waiting for. But it didn’t irritate me the way it once would have. Instead, it set my skin on fire.

Two girls passed by our table, and I noticed the way they glanced down at Maxx and flashed their best flirty eyes at him. But his eyes never left my face.

I squirmed at being the center of his intense attention. “So, about Tuesday,” he began.

I held up my hand, stopping him. “Do we really need to talk about it?” I asked, mildly mortified to be talking about our encounter in the middle of a coffee shop, where anyone could hear us.

Maxx’s face darkened, but then it cleared. “I was just wondering when we could do it again?” he asked, and I jumped at the touch of his hand, reaching under the table to touch my thigh.

“Um . . . ,” I stuttered.

His fingers traced lazy circles on my jeans, inching slowly upward. I covered his hand with my own, pinning his palm to my leg.

Maxx chuckled and removed his hand. “Well, I’m game whenever you are,” he stated breezily, as though talking about the weather. I got the impression that my lack of response had hurt him. And being the person that he was, he covered up the hurt with unaffected seductiveness.

Before I could respond, Maxx got to his feet and pulled his beanie on. His hand briefly touched my shoulder before he gave me a smile and left. The entire exchange had lasted five minutes, and I was left confused and annoyingly turned on.

That boy was bad for the heart.

I wanted to see him again. Even though I knew I should ignore the urge, I didn’t. Who was this girl with such a lack of impulse control?

I pulled my car into the parking lot of the abandoned department store where Compulsion was happening tonight. My legs wanted to run toward the booming music, but my nerves held me back.

Now that I was here, I wasn’t entirely sure what I had been thinking. The Maxx Demelo who belonged here wasn’t necessarily the man who belonged with me. He scared me. He terrified me. He fascinated me.

I tucked my cell phone into my purse and looped it around my arm, securing it close to my body. My heart thudded in my chest almost in time to the bass, which I could hear bleeding into the night air.

I headed toward the line of people who waited just as they waited every single time Compulsion came alive—wanting their chance, hoping they were enough to be given it.

I approached the front of the line and watched as more and more people were turned away. I never understood why some were allowed inside and others were told to leave. There didn’t seem to be any rationale to it. Randy, the scary doorman, always seemed to relish the tiny bit of power he had as the gatekeeper.

But after that first night, when Brooks and I had been turned away, I hadn’t had a problem. I know I would never look the part. I still didn’t fit in with the people who came here, but it was as though I had a magic pass that I wasn’t aware of.

Again, I stood in front of Randy and the other bouncer. He gave me a cursory once-over and then held out his hand for my money, which I put in his outstretched palm. He grabbed my wrist and roughly turned my hand over, pressing the stamp on my skin.

Just as I moved toward the door, I noticed another group being told to go home. The girls, dressed to the nines and way more clubbed-out than I was, started throwing a fit.

One girl wearing a dress cut so low that her boobs were in serious danger of flopping out pointed at me while curling her lip. “Why does that bitch get in and we don’t? She’s a total waste!”

I flushed in embarrassment at the unwanted attention I was receiving from the people in line. They all seemed to be judging me. And clearly I was coming up short. Pardon me if I didn’t dress for the goth and metal crowd.

Randy gave the girl and her friends a nasty glare. “Get the fuck out of here. Some people belong here. Others don’t. You don’t,” he growled. I knew the look he was giving them. It was the same one Brooks and I had received that first night. I shuddered, almost feeling sorry for them.

Boobs girl huffed and puffed in indignation, pushing her obviously surgically enhanced chest out for optimum effect before stomping off with her friends in tow.

The other bouncer, whom I had never bothered to pay attention to before, turned to look at me. I was still lingering just in front of the door, and he gave me a pointed look to get moving.

“The fun’s in there, baby. Though I’m sure I can find something for you to do out here if you’re interested.” He grinned and then licked his lips. He was cute in a rough-and-tumble sort of way, with a buzzed head and a face full of metal. I knew, without a doubt, that I couldn’t handle this guy’s idea of fun.

I hurried inside the club, followed by the bouncer’s laughter. The club was as it always was—dark and oppressive, but with an energy that couldn’t be described.

I wanted to dance. I wanted to get wild. It’s what people came here for. How easy it was to forget who I was and why I was there. The appeal of it was never lost on me. But I wanted to find Maxx. I had to talk to him here, on his turf.

I started pushing through the crowd, trying to search the shadowed faces for the one I recognized. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I remembered how hard it had been for me to find Renee, and I had been able to do so only with Maxx’s help.

Maybe if I stood by the bar, he’d find me. He always had before. I ordered a beer and leaned against the wall, watching, waiting. I was nervous. Actually, I was a mess. I hadn’t thought this search-and-rescue mission through.

What did I hope to accomplish by tracking Maxx down at the club? I really had some unrealistic, no-way-in-hell ideas when it came to Maxx Demelo. I could admit that I was already succumbing to the daydream in which I was that girl, the one he would change for.

But I blamed him entirely for making me feel that way. Because he made me think that I was that girl, that he was counting on me to pull him out of the chaos he found himself in.

I didn’t even begin to understand exactly what demons he was facing, the struggles he dealt with on a daily basis. I was given glimpses of a tortured soul barely treading water.

Or was that my overly dramatic mind looking for the person who needed me to save him?

Who fucking knew? Maxx had screwed royally with my head.

I wasn’t even trying to be subtle as I perused the room, seeking him out. I inadvertently caught the attention of a few less than savory individuals, but I straightened my spine and quickly turned away, hoping the obvious rebuff would be enough to dissuade them.

And then I found the person I didn’t want to find.

Brooks was out on the dance floor with a girl I vaguely recognized. Brooks was a really bad dancer, as in shouldn’t-be-out-in-public-with-moves-like-that bad. But this was a place where style and technique didn’t matter, which was lucky for him, because he looked like he was in the throes of a full-on body spasm.

The girl he was with was cute in an unassuming way. She had blond hair that was very similar to my shade and style. She had clearly done a Google search on club attire and had gone for the most extreme example she could find. She was decked out in head-to-toe black leather. She had a flickering glow stick between her teeth, and she bobbed her head around in awkward, jerky movements. She belonged here about as much as I did.

I ducked behind a couple dry-humping beside me, hoping to hide from a possible Brooks run-in. That was absolutely the last thing I needed.

I was so busy making sure that Brooks and Catwoman didn’t see me that I didn’t realize he was behind me until I felt a hand curl around my waist.

“What are you doing here?” Maxx asked, his breath fanning across my cheek. My heart thumped in an uneven tempo in my chest, and I had the urge to lean back into his touch. The heat of him seared my back, and every nerve and synapse in my body tingled in anticipation.

I turned around to face him and realized immediately what a bad idea coming to Compulsion was.

Maxx was stoned out of his mind. I couldn’t see his eyes beneath the bill of his cap, but he swayed on his feet, and his lips stretched in an exaggerated smile that was anything but normal.

“Is Red Riding Hood looking for her wolf?” He smirked, and his words were deadened and slurred. The bartender brought him a drink, though I hadn’t seen Maxx order one. He picked up his cocktail and took a long swig.

I shook my head, infuriated with myself for being so naïve. And I was angry as hell with him for being wasted. This wasn’t a man looking for any sort of salvation. This was a man enjoying his trip to hell.

Maxx’s fingers dug into the exposed skin at the hem of my shirt. I could feel the pinch of his nails as he squeezed. He leaned in close to me, until we were breathing each other’s air.

“I’ll eat you up, little girl. Would you like that?” His voice was rough and hoarse, as though he had been screaming. He was being strange. I had yet to meet this particular incarnation of Maxx’s personality—the strung-out egomaniac. And I could tell right away that I didn’t like this version one bit.

I pulled out of his grasp and took a step backward, knocking into a girl behind me.

“Watch it,” she yelled, elbowing me in the back. I stumbled forward, and Maxx caught me. My chest collided with his, and for just a moment I felt him relax. His arms came around me, and he cradled me to his body. The seconds passed as we stood there with Maxx wrapped around me.

He leaned down to press his cheek into my hair, and I felt something drain out of him. His shoulders drooped and his knees bent, but his arms tightened their grip. “Aubrey,” he murmured into my ear, and I could feel the cold tip of his nose glide along the side of my neck.

Maxx sagged into me, and I staggered under his weight. “Maxx!” I yelled into his ear, trying to pull back. He stumbled toward the wall and leaned heavily against it. I reached up and yanked his cap off his head. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked black. Even in the horrible lighting, I could see there was something very, very wrong with him.

“What did you take?” I raised my voice loud enough for him to hear me over the pounding bass. Maxx rolled his head from side to side but didn’t answer.

I grabbed the front of his T-shirt and gave him a shake. “Maxx, goddamn it, what the hell did you take?” I screamed into his face. He pushed my hands away with fumbling fingers.

“Back the fuck off, Aubrey. Just leave,” he growled. After a few minutes, he pushed himself off the wall and lumbered through the crowd. I took off after him, shoving and nudging people as I followed him. People attempted to stop him, and he was less than civil in brushing them off.

I was scared. Maxx’s movements were sluggish and unsteady. He seemed to have a hard time staying upright. There was no way I would let him out of my sight.

Maxx headed toward the back of the old department store and had almost made it to the exit when a guy who looked a lot like scary Randy, the doorman, grabbed him. He sported a green Mohawk and some sort of tattoo beneath his right eye. He was big and beefy, looking as though he ate kittens for breakfast. And he appeared to be extremely pissed off. At Maxx.

Shit. What the hell was going on?

Mr. Mohawk yanked Maxx through a door at the back of the room. I hurried to follow him, not thinking beyond the fact that some scary-looking dude had taken him. Any thoughts about my own safety had flown out the window.

I pushed open the door, which led to a dimly lit hallway. I could see a sign that read “Staff Only” beside a door that was starting to close.

I practically ran so I could catch it before it shut. I used my shoulder to shove it open and slipped inside. I could hear shouting. I followed the noise to a fire exit. The thump, thump, thump of the music made it impossible to hear the words being screamed. People were angry, bordering on homicidal.

I opened the door a crack and peered outside. It was so dark, I could barely see a thing. But a car had been pulled around the back of the building, and its headlights shone on a scene I wish I could forget.

Maxx stumbled precariously on his feet while two guys, including serial-killer-Mohawk-man, beat the ever-living shit out of him. I shoved my fist into my mouth to smother the scream that bubbled up in my throat.

Maxx wasn’t moving. He didn’t put up a fight. He just lay there as their feet connected with his body over and over again. Mr. Mohawk lifted Maxx up and screamed something into his face. I couldn’t hear a thing over the reverb.

Mohawk punched Maxx in the jaw and sent him sprawling. Maxx moaned in the dirt, and even in the darkness I could see an excessive amount of blood. I felt sick. I thought I’d throw up all over myself. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified.

But I couldn’t just stand there and watch Maxx be beaten to death. I pushed the door open harder than I meant to. It slammed against the wall, sounding like a gunshot in the night.

The two guys pounding Maxx turned to me in unison, and my blood froze in my veins. These were some cold-assed dudes. Crap, they were going to kill me! I was a witness to their assault; they’d have to get rid of me!

I looked down at Maxx on the ground. He wasn’t moving, and I could see that his eyes were closed. I needed to see if he was still breathing.

Tentatively, I walked down the metal staircase off the fire exit and held my hands up. “I just want to see if he’s all right,” I said placidly. I spoke slowly and carefully, making sure to keep my movements steady.

The man standing beside the guy with the Mohawk cocked his head and regarded me. I couldn’t get a read on his face. He was older, maybe in his forties. He had thick, dark hair that could only be dyed. It was too thick and too black to be real. He wasn’t remotely attractive. In fact, he was the scariest thing I had ever seen.

“You know him?” he asked, jerking his head toward Maxx’s prostrate form. His voice was gruff, like that of someone who had been smoking a pack of Marlboros a day since he was twelve. It was the voice of nightmares and bogeymen. Why the hell was he hurting Maxx?

What messed-up, Sopranos-like shit was Maxx involved in?

“He’s a friend,” I said, enunciating my words. I was such a moron. Why didn’t I just hand my life over in a pretty little box for him to stomp on? I could almost imagine him thinking of all the ways he could dispose of my body. I wasn’t very big, so it probably wouldn’t be too hard.

Scary Marlboro Man snorted. “You need to do a better job choosing your friends, sweetheart.” He laughed as though Maxx weren’t bleeding out at his feet.

“Is he okay?” I couldn’t help asking. I stopped moving, not wanting to get too close to either of the men.

Mohawk shrugged his shoulders. “Fuck if I know,” he mumbled, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the car.

Marlboro Man put his hands in his jacket pockets and looked me up and down. It was extremely unpleasant. I felt violated by his gaze, as though he were raping me with his eyes.

“If you’re his friend, get him out of here. And tell the piece of shit to get his priorities in order. That was his last warning.” He got into the car with Mohawk, and they backed up the car and left.

Without the headlights, everything went pitch-black. I could barely see Maxx, who still hadn’t moved. I fell to my knees beside his body and shook him.

“Maxx! Are you okay?” I yelled, as though he were deaf. Maxx moaned and rolled his head. I shook him again. “Maxx! Wake up!” I was feeling mildly hysterical. This was not how I had pictured my evening going.

The movie inside my head had me finding Maxx and talking him into leaving with me. We would go back to my apartment, where we would have this amazing heart-to-heart. Maxx would break down and share all of his deep, dark secrets. He would tell me I was the only one who could help him. I would vow to stand by his side. And then we would have the most fantastic sex of our lives.

I was absolutely delusional.

Maxx finally came to. He said something, but it didn’t make much sense. It was garbled and confused. After a while, I was able to get him to his feet. Not only was Maxx fucked-up, but he was severely injured, making walking an arduous task. I was thinking a trip to the ER was in our future.

I draped his arm around my shoulders and propped him as he struggled to get to his feet. “I can’t carry you. You’re going to have to walk to my car,” I said firmly.

“Okay,” was all Maxx said. I wasn’t sure he realized who I was or what had happened, he was so out of it. Instead of going back through the club, we slowly made our way around the side of the old department store toward the front.

It took what felt like an hour to get him there. I had to stop frequently to rest. Maxx was a big guy, and he wasn’t helping me much. I had to yell at him periodically when he seemed in danger of passing out.

Once we were in the light of the streetlamps, I was able to get a good look at him. One side of his face was bruised and swollen. His left eye was already shut. His upper lip was split and bleeding. His white T-shirt was stained with dirt and blood. He looked like hell.

“Maxx!” someone yelled. I didn’t stop, afraid that whoever it was would want to finish what the two goons had started.

“Stop!” the voice called out. I heard footsteps running behind me and turned to see one of the doormen. Not biker Randy, but the other one, the one who had flirted with me when I had arrived.

“Fuck, what happened to him?” he asked, immediately taking Maxx’s other arm to help me.

“Thanks,” I said sincerely. We were moving much faster now that I had assistance. The doorman wasn’t overly big, but he was strong. He handled Maxx easily.

“He was beat up,” I explained, not sure why I was telling this guy anything, only that he was helping, and right now that was enough for me.

“Gash,” the doorman said under his breath.

“Huh?” I asked, my foot catching on a rock, making me stumble. Maxx moaned as I collided into him.

“I’ve got him, you can drop his arm,” the doorman told me. I did as he said, relieved to be free of Maxx’s deadweight. Maxx looked horrible. He was trying to open his eyes, but he wasn’t having much luck. The left one was swollen shut, and the right one was glazed and unfocused.

“Can you get him home?” the doorman asked me. I nodded, wrapping my arms around my middle. I was shaking uncontrollably, and my heart was hammering in my chest. I was close to having a meltdown.

“Where’s your car?” the doorman asked me, sounding frustrated and out of breath from carrying Maxx’s six-foot frame.

I pointed to the far back corner of the parking lot. The doorman hoisted Maxx up so he could get a better grip and jerked his head impatiently. “Lead the way. Our boy isn’t light,” he complained through gritted teeth.

“What’s your name?” I asked him, tired of referring to him as “the doorman” in my head.

“Marco,” he answered tersely.

“I’m Aubrey,” I told him, though he hadn’t asked for my name. I felt that given our current circumstances, we should be on a first-name basis.

Marco didn’t make any comment, and I got the impression he honestly didn’t care who I was.

I hurried ahead of him to my car and unlocked the passenger-side door. Marco heaved Maxx onto the seat and positioned his head so that it was upright. Maxx’s eyes squinted open. I wasn’t sure he knew who either Marco or I was. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and then closed his eyes again.

Marco muttered a string of curses and then started patting Maxx’s pockets.

“What are you doing?” I asked, not liking how rough he was being. Maxx was clearly about to lose any semblance of consciousness. Marco ignored me and pulled out a plastic baggie from Maxx’s jean pocket.

He held it up to the light, his mouth tightening and his eyes narrowed. It was empty. Marco dropped the bag on the floor of my car, and I had to stop myself from demanding that he pick it up and dispose of it properly. My OCD didn’t recognize the crazy situation I found myself in. All it saw was trash where it shouldn’t be.

Marco pulled a wad of cash out of the same pocket and started counting it.

“Wait a minute! Isn’t that Maxx’s?” I asked in dismay. Was Marco going to rob Maxx right in front of me? What kind of fucked-up world was I in?

Marco lifted his lip contemptuously and didn’t bother to look at me as he said, “You need to mind your own business, pretty girl.”

He finished counting the money and made a noise of disgust before shoving it back into Maxx’s pocket. He gripped Maxx’s chin and then slapped him across the face. I let out a pathetic squeak of alarm.

“Stop it! He’s hurt!” I protested, my horror giving me a voice when I should have probably stayed quiet.

Marco ignored me and smacked Maxx again. Maxx tried to open his eyes and weakly pushed Marco’s hand from his face. “Leave me the fuck alone,” he slurred. At least that’s what I thought he said. The words were strung together, and I couldn’t be entirely sure. But given the way Maxx was struggling against Marco’s grip, I could only assume that was the general message.

Marco gave Maxx a hard shake. “Where’s the rest of the money?” he growled.

Maxx pressed himself into the back of the seat and shook his head limply. “That’s all of it, man,” he argued.

Marco dropped his hand from Maxx’s chin and looked down at him with repugnance. “Fucking junkie,” he bit out, spitting in the dirt by my car.

I slowly got into the driver’s seat, not making any sudden movements. Maxx’s breathing was shallow, and he seemed to be struggling to stay awake. He moaned and brought a hand up to his bruised face. “Ouch,” he said softly.

“Should I take him to a hospital?” I asked dumbly. I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do.

Marco curled his lip again. “Don’t bother. He’ll live. Though he might wish he hadn’t if Gash decides to finish what he started.”

I had no idea who Gash was. I didn’t know what Marco was referring to. I just wanted to get Maxx out of there. I was feeling the beginning of a panic attack rearing its ugly head.

Marco slammed the passenger door, and I rolled the window down. “Just get him home. And tell him I’ll be by to see him in a few days and that he’d better have one hell of an excuse,” Marco said, his words an obvious threat.

I didn’t bother to comment. I didn’t know what was going on, and right now finding out wasn’t my priority. Getting Maxx out of here in one piece was.

“I don’t even know where he lives,” I said.

“He lives in an apartment above the Quikki Mart downtown. Now get him out of here. Now!” Marco barked, and I jumped.

“Okay, okay. Keep your pants on,” I muttered loud enough for Marco to hear me. He cocked his eyebrow at my statement, and his lips twitched. If I hadn’t known any better, I might have thought he found me amusing. Marco banged the top of my car before walking off.

“Aubrey! Is everything okay?”

Oh god, just kill me now!

Brooks and Catwoman were standing beside my driver’s-side door. Brooks peered down at me, his brows furrowed. His eyes flicked to Maxx, whose lucidity was questionable.

Brooks’s mouth pinched into a line, and his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing with him?” he spat out, clearly unhappy with finding me with Maxx.

Unfortunately for my friend, I didn’t have time for long-winded explanations. “I’m just giving him a lift,” I said, shrugging a shoulder and hoping my excuse would be good enough.

Maxx chose that moment to regain consciousness. He rolled his head and looked at me. He seemed confused by my being there, but then his battered face brightened as his glazed eye focused on me.

“Aubrey, baby,” he slurred, reaching over to drop his hand on my thigh.

“What the fuck, Aubrey? Isn’t this the guy in your group?” Brooks asked, pointedly looking at Maxx’s fingers, which were tracing a line up underneath my skirt. Shit.

I tossed Maxx’s hand away, and he chuckled before closing his one good eye again.

“It’s nothing,” I started to say, but Brooks held up his hand.

“Do you understand what could happen here? He’s fucking loaded, Aubrey! And you’re hanging out with him like this? Inappropriate doesn’t even begin to cover what this is,” Brooks preached, climbing up on that big ol’ soapbox he was becoming so fond of.

I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, least of all from Brooks. Maxx started making a gurgling sound in his throat, and I was worried he was going to puke in my car.

“We can talk later. I’ve got to go,” I said in a rush. Brooks leaned into my open window and dropped his voice to a whisper. He was invading my personal space in a way I had never seen him do before. I leaned away, feeling uncomfortable. I looked over his shoulder at his date, who seemed less than thrilled by Brooks’s blatant show of male ownership of me. I didn’t blame her, and in truth I felt bad for her.

“Don’t do this, Aubrey. This is illogical and irrational and completely beneath you. Don’t be so stupid,” he said firmly, as if calling me stupid was the magic ticket to get me to listen.

He clearly didn’t know me at all.

“Get away from my car if you don’t want me to drive over your foot,” I warned, revving my engine to emphasize my point.

Brooks glared at me. I glared at him. We were in the middle of a silent showdown. Then Maxx started to heave, and Brooks jerked back from my car. I leaned over Maxx and opened the passenger-side door, pushing his head outside just in time for him to throw up.

“Ew, Brooks. Let’s go,” the girl in the catsuit whined. I didn’t bother to look at either of them. I was too busy rubbing Maxx’s back as he puked his guts out.

I could tell Brooks was hesitating, but finally both he and leather girl walked away. Maxx finally finished mangling his guts and flopped back in the seat with a moan. I got out of the car and hurried around to close his door, careful to avoid the puddle of vomit in the gravel. I felt bile rising in my throat but was able to keep it down.

I watched Maxx for a few minutes, making sure he wasn’t going to be sick again. When I was sure he wasn’t, I got back in the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive to Maxx’s apartment was silent except for the occasional groan. I pulled up in front of the Quikki Mart and hurried around to get Maxx. He was coming around somewhat and was able to get out of the car on his own.

“Come on, Maxx. Let’s get you inside,” I cajoled, trying to get him to move, but he was so stoned that stumbling was the best he could do.

“I just want to sit outside for a bit,” he said, weaving his way around the side of the convenience store and sitting down heavily on a wooden staircase. He leaned his head against the side of the building and brought his hand up to his face. He didn’t seem to be feeling a lot of pain, which was good, because he’d be feeling it in the morning.

“My face feels weird. What’s wrong with it?” he asked, still slurring. I pulled his hand away from his wounds and held it between mine.

“You just need to get inside and get some sleep,” I said soothingly, hoping to convince him to get to his feet. Maxx shook his head.

“I want to stay out here. Just for a while,” he said and then squeezed my hand. “Don’t tell Landon. Mom and Dad would be so pissed at me. I keep screwing everything up. Don’t tell Landon,” he mumbled, his chin hitting his chest.

I gave him a shake, afraid he’d pass out. It was freezing, and I was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Maxx’s skin that wasn’t discolored and bleeding was ashen and pale. I needed to get him inside.

“Come on, up on your feet,” I urged, pulling on his arm. Maxx complained, but after a few moments I was able to get him to climb the stairs to his door.

“Where are your keys?” I asked. Maxx smirked, though it was a sad impersonation of his normal arrogant smile. The split lip made it hard to take his attempts at seductiveness seriously.

“You’ll have to get ’em yourself,” he garbled. I was glad to know that, even high as a kite, he was still capable of being a jerk.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my hand in his pockets, feeling around for his keys. Maxx chuckled and swayed on his feet, finally using the wall to brace himself. I pulled his key ring out of his back pocket and then went through the process of finding the right one to unlock the door.

After several unsuccessful attempts, I got it open and forced Maxx inside. He was laughing and rambling incoherently. I flipped on the light and deposited him on the threadbare couch that sat in the living room.

Maxx fell onto his side and stayed that way. A cut on his forehead had come open, and he was bleeding onto the fabric beneath his cheek.

“Do you have a first-aid kit?” I asked him. But he was past hearing me, so I started searching for something to clean him up with.

Maxx’s apartment was sparse, and what few furnishings he had were old and used. There was a distinct lack of anything personal in his home, and I found that rather sad. It was the space of a man who cared nothing about his surroundings. The neglect and disarray gave off a quiet sense of despair.

The bathroom was down the hallway, and I was happy to see that at least he kept it clean. I found some Band-Aids and antiseptic cream in the medicine cabinet.

And then because I couldn’t help myself, I opened the only other door in the hallway. I turned on the light and knew right away that this was Maxx’s room. The bed was unmade, and there were clothes on the floor. I saw some schoolbooks and an old desktop computer on a table by the window.

I found a clean shirt in his dresser, and then, just because I felt like being a snoop, I started to dig around in the piles of clothing. I found two empty prescription bottles and a ridiculous number of plastic baggies.

Then, in the back of the bottom drawer, I found a folded-up photograph. Pulling it out, I saw that it was a picture of a family. It was one of those generic portrait-gallery shots with the cheesy blue background and awkward posing. A woman with fair, wavy hair sat on a stool in front of a tall man who rested a hand on her shoulder. A young boy with a head full of blond curls stood by the woman’s side, and in her lap was a baby, no more than six months old.

I knew without a doubt that these were Maxx’s parents. I studied the picture, thinking that maybe this would reveal something about the man who lay passed out in the living room. Maybe I could figure out who he was and why he did the things he did.

I heard a bang from the living room and hurriedly shoved the picture back into the drawer. I gathered the items I had gone searching for and closed the bedroom door behind me.

Maxx was sitting up and rubbing his shin. “You all right?” I asked, sitting down beside him.

“Fucking coffee table,” he muttered, turning to me with a wobbly smile on his face. I held up the Band-Aids.

“Let me clean you up,” I said. Maxx didn’t say anything, simply closed his eyes and let me do what I needed to do. I wiped off the blood and covered the cut with a bandage. I cleaned out the scrapes on his palms, which he must have gotten when he was beaten to the ground.

“Who were those men who beat you up?” I asked, not sure I’d get any sort of answer in the state he was in.

So I was surprised when he answered me. “That was Gash. He runs the club. I guess he’s pissed at me,” he snorted as though it were a joke.

“I’d say,” I mused quietly. When Maxx didn’t volunteer any further information, I tried prodding him a little more.

“Why’s he pissed at you?”

Maxx gave an exaggerated shrug, his head starting to droop.

“Don’t tell Landon,” he mumbled again.

“Don’t tell him what?” I asked as I finished my task.

Maxx pried his good eye open and turned to look at me. He grabbed my hands and squeezed them so tightly I winced. “About me. Never about me,” he whispered.

Maxx shook his head and let out a sob. “They would be so disappointed in me,” he cried, gripping his hair in his hands as he became more and more agitated.

I put my hand on his arm. “Who would be disappointed?”

Maxx’s chest heaved, his eyes still closed. “They wanted me to be some great doctor. Something special.” He shook his head violently. “Look at me!” He grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled at it, ripping the fabric. He was getting really worked up.

Maxx put his hand first in one pocket and then the other. “Where are they?” he asked, getting unsteadily to his feet and digging farther into his pockets.

“Where are what?” I asked, bewildered by the sudden change in his mood.

“I need them!” he yelled, pushing past me and lumbering into the kitchen, where he started taking things out of the cabinets and throwing them on the floor. When he didn’t find what he was looking for there, he let out a howl and practically ran down the hallway to his bedroom.

I followed him at a distance. I thought about trying to stop him, but a desire for self-preservation held me back.

He ripped his room apart, dumping clothes on the floor. He gathered the empty baggies and ripped them apart.

“Where are they?” His scream was desperate. He tipped over his bedside table and fell to his knees, looking through the stuff that had fallen out. He picked up a bottle and shook it. It rattled, and the look of euphoria that replaced the hopelessness on his face made me cold. I knew exactly what he had been looking for.

“No, Maxx! You don’t need that,” I cried, falling down beside him and trying to pry the bottle from his hands. Maxx yanked it away from me and scooted backward on his knees. He popped the top off, and before I could do anything, he dropped the white pill into his mouth.

He crunched it between his teeth. His mouth went slack, and he leaned back against the wall.

“Maxx,” I said with bone-weary regret. Maxx looked at me, his normally beautiful lips stretching into a lazy smile that was all too familiar. I used to think that smile was sexy and mysterious. Now it was just sad and pathetic. Now I knew exactly why he smiled that way.

I hated that smile.

I hated how happy he seemed.

I hated how easily he gave in, not even bothering to put up a fight.

This was how he lived his life—from one high to the next, bad choice after bad choice, followed by catastrophic consequences that he cared nothing about, not now anyway.

Maybe in the morning, when he wasn’t fucked-up and could possibly think more rationally, he’d care.

I brought my knees up to my chest and leaned my cheek against my leg, exhausted and angry. But I was also resolute.

Maxx licked his lips, his eyes drooping shut. He put a hand through his blond curls and then let his arm fall limply beside him. His head bobbed from side to side as though he was making sure he could still move it.

I found myself watching the rise and fall of his chest, scared that if I stopped looking, even for a moment, it would cease to move, that he would slip away quietly, without me realizing it.

Before I had the chance to fight for him. Because obviously he didn’t have the will to fight for himself.

This man wasn’t a casual user. He was slowly being eaten alive. It was like watching a car driving full speed toward a brick wall. The sinking feeling of helplessness I remembered all too well made me momentarily immobile.

I would fail him.

I would lose him, just as I had lost Jayme.

I was a fool to think I could make a difference for anybody.

I looked around the trashed room and sighed. I should leave him to this miserable cycle he lived in. I didn’t need to be mixed up in all of this. Brooks was right. My being here was inappropriate. The boundaries were already blurred.

And what would it matter anyway?

Maxx reached out and took my hand. “Stay,” he whispered. I shook my head. I couldn’t stay. Not after everything I’d seen. There was no place for me in his world.

“Please, Aubrey. Stay with me,” he pleaded. I turned back to him. His pupils were dilated, and I wasn’t sure if it was just the drugs or whether he had a concussion. I should have taken him to the hospital. He may have had broken bones. But I had allowed my good sense to be drowned out by the need to care for him. To do it all myself.

As if I had something to prove by making things right, all on my own.

I was scared to leave him in the state he was in. But I was scared to stay, knowing that if I did, that was it. I had stepped over that invisible line. And once I had done so, there was no turning back. It would be too late.

I stared down at Maxx, and he looked so young and vulnerable, his face devoid of its characteristic calculation and seductive allure. He seemed . . . innocent.

I wouldn’t leave him. I couldn’t walk out his door and pretend that this boy didn’t matter to me.

Already, he had become something important. Something I should never have allowed him to be. But that didn’t change the fact that he was.

I opened my mouth to agree to stay, but Maxx’s eyes were closed and his mouth drooped open. I found a blanket and draped it over him.

Then I lay down on the bed, wrapping my coat around myself, and watched him while he slept, each rise and fall of his chest binding me to him in a way that frightened me with its totality.

There was no leaving him.

I had made my choice.

I just hoped it was the right one.