Then she had asked me questions. She made it clear she wanted to know me. It had been a long time since anyone had given a damn about the person I am, the man behind the mask that I’ve created.
Being with Aubrey made me feel, for one perfect moment, that maybe, just maybe, I could be someone else. That I could be someone simple. And that perhaps she’d like me for who I was. Deep down, I could admit I had always craved acceptance, and Aubrey seemed to offer that without conditions.
So I had kissed her. I hadn’t been able to stop myself from touching her. I couldn’t keep myself from establishing some sort of physical connection with her.
But it had been too much, too soon. I had been overwhelmed. And yeah, I freaked out.
I had left her.
I had run like a coward.
But that hadn’t stopped me from thinking about her. From wanting what I had glimpsed in those moments we’d had together, however unrealistic they were.
Now I was filled with a confusing mix of emotions, and I needed to let them out somehow. The only way I could do that was to paint.
Lately, my pictures had been for the club. With those, sure, I still got creative with the message, but they weren’t organically mine. They belonged to someone else. They were for them, not me.
This picture, these images . . . they were all for me. They said everything that I felt but couldn’t say.
I swept my brush into a large arc of red, followed by orange and then purple, a massive sunset. But it wasn’t all pussified and pretty. Fuck, no. I didn’t paint crap like that.
There were two people holding hands beneath a sky that erupted above them. And from that brilliant, colorful sky rained blood. It flooded everything. And those two people, so content, so happy in each other, would be swept up and carried off by it.
Yeah, it was morbid. No one ever accused me of being Polly Sunshine.
I finished up the sky and slowly made my way down the ladder. I could barely stand. I was much too wasted to be out. I should be facedown in my own drool with the amount of oxy I’d taken tonight.
But when the mood hit, I couldn’t deny where it took me. I took the paints and tossed them in the Dumpster. There was no point in lugging them back to my apartment. I didn’t have the energy for that, not now that I was finished and the adrenaline rush that had led me here was gone.
I collapsed the ladder and dragged it back to the alleyway where I had found it. I was one for improvising when it came to my art, borrowing or taking whatever I could find to make the picture I saw in my head.
Standing back, I looked at my massive painting under the streetlight as morning tiptoed in. It was huge. It was f**ked-up. But goddamn it, it was me. And every ounce of longing I felt was all over that f**king wall.
I nodded once, my eyelids starting to droop. I’d better get home before I passed out on the side of the road.
I barely remembered getting there.
I woke up later in the day feeling sick. I was huddled up in my bed, freezing my ass off. I must have forgotten to turn the heat on before I had gone comatose. Every joint, every muscle, ached.
I reached over to my bedside table and felt around for the bag I knew was there. My hand hit the lamp and sent it careening to the floor. The tremors took over, and I could barely pick up the small pill between my trembling fingers.
I pressed it to my lips but dropped it. I patted around the pillows, trying to find my tiny piece of salvation.
After I found it, I put it between my teeth and crushed it before swallowing, the grit coating my tongue. I lay back, closed my eyes, and waited.
And waited some more.
It was taking too long, so I crushed another pill and swallowed.
And waited again.
Still too long.
I took another.
Then finally I could feel it. The gradual slide into numbness. My heart slowed, and I felt like I could finally breathe.
And only then was I able to get out of bed. It was already two o’clock in the afternoon. I had slept through both my morning classes. I had another one in forty minutes, but I just didn’t give enough of a shit to make myself go. I needed to get a shower. I reeked. I should probably eat something too. I couldn’t remember the last time I had bothered with food. But my stomach didn’t feel empty. I was too f**ked-up to feel much of anything.
My phone rang. With languid slowness, I picked it up and answered without bothering to look at who was calling.
“Maxx! I got out of school early, do you want to come over and help me with the car?” my brother asked excitedly. I should probably have felt bad for letting him down, but I didn’t. Like I said, I didn’t feel anything at all.
“Can’t, I’ve got stuff to do,” I replied, shuffling into my cramped living room and turning on the crappy television set in the corner. Cool, reruns of The A-Team were on. My afternoon was set.
“But you said you’d come over this week,” Landon said in a small voice.
“Yeah, when did I say that?” I asked, not really paying attention to the conversation. I made promises and I broke them. What else was new?
“Please, Maxx. David has been asking when you’re coming by. I think he needs more money,” Landon said, dropping his voice into a whisper.
Typically the mention of my ass**le uncle would have set me raging. I hated that f**ker. I hated that he used his guardianship of my brother as a noose around my neck. He had it in his head that I would finance his gambling habit just because he gave Landon a place to live. But I had enough habits of my own that needed to be taken care of first. My uncle wanting to play poker wasn’t high on my list of priorities.
But I knew if I didn’t give him what he wanted, Landon was the one who would suffer. Some days, the guilt of how I was living my life threatened to eat me alive—except for when I was doped up or asleep.
Then life was good.
“Tell him to go f**k himself,” I replied, zoning out on the television again.
“What is wrong with you, Maxx? You’re never around anymore. I can’t ever get you on the phone. You don’t come and get me for dinner on Fridays anymore. I had that huge test in biology last week, and you haven’t even asked about it. And David is being an even bigger douche than normal. He keeps yelling about how you were supposed to bring this month’s money two weeks ago. You promised me you’d make this right, Maxx. You freaking promised!” Landon’s voice rose, and I knew he was upset. My brain registered the fact that this should bother me, that I loved my brother and he was my responsibility.
Shit. He was my responsibility. I had obligations.
My chest tightened, and I felt panic struggling against the drugs in my system.