“I’m not asking you to say sorry. I’m asking you to think!” I shouted. “He was trying to provoke you. All he was waiting for was that one moment. The one where you react. And you gave him what he wanted.” I held out my hand and jabbed a finger in the middle of my palm. “He had you eating right here. Right in the palm of his hand!”
“Everyone in this fucking town is eating out of his fucking palm!” Max exploded. “He’s used to calling the shots and no one going up against him. Today he got a very small dose of reality. Next time it won’t be very small.”
My nerves were shot. And Max’s had fried and blown up in flames minutes ago. We both stared at each other, both out of breath.
Some of his anger started to crumble. He looked away and spotted Michael’s blood sprayed across his collar.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
He walked out of the room, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. I followed him up the stairs.
I shut the door and leaned against the wall. Max took off his shirt, wadded it up in a ball and threw it in the corner. He paced the room like a caged animal.
“You should’ve let me finish him,” he said.
“Okay. You finish him. What happens after that?”
“He’s dead and no one has to deal with him again!”
“No. He’s dead and you’re behind bars. And then who do I have?”
That sobered him up. He dropped his hands as he walked over to me. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m sorry I did that in front of you.”
His fingers combed through my hair. He looked at me thoughtfully, staring at every single feature before he kissed me. His lips stay pressed against mine. Not moving… just there.
My hands gripped his face and I tried to deepen the kiss, but he wouldn’t move. Adrenaline was still coursing through me. I wanted to transfer all that energy into kissing Max rather than arguing with him. I inhaled through my nose as I moved my lips against his. Max didn’t budge. My head tilted to the side and I dragged my tongue across the seam of his lips. Not a thing.
He held back on purpose. He didn’t allow lust to take over.
I hated that. I wanted to forget what happened downstairs.
Max’s grip on my face tightened as his lips slowly started to move against mine, his tongue slipped inside my mouth. I gasped.
I could feel what was behind this kiss: desperation, fear, and ultimately, loss. And that scared me more than anything. I gripped his shoulders, my grip bordering on painful.
We had nothing to worry about. We would be fine. I wanted to tell him just that, but I didn’t pull away long enough to say it.
I made my way to the bed, and Max followed. The pace of his kiss may have quickened, but his hands were slow and not near fast enough for me. I hurriedly undressed him and he took his time taking each article of my clothing off.
And when we were both naked, with me draped over him, he let me take the lead. Yet everything was still different. I kissed his strong jaw, moved down his body. His skin warm against my lips. I kissed the side of his pec. My teeth grazed against the cut of his abs.
Max’s hand curled around my skull. He lifted me up, until we were face to face and kissed me in a way that would leave my lips bruised. I moaned and slid him inside me in one fluid motion.
I moved up and down slowly, watching him the entire time. Each time his hips lifted, his arms that were wrapped around my waist, would tighten.
I held on right back.
29—TIME’S UP
On an early Friday morning, at the beginning of August, I suddenly woke up.
There was no crazy dream with me plummeting to my death and waking up seconds before I landed. I was wide awake and alert for no good reason.
I looked at the time. 5:32 a.m.
Lana’s apartment was quiet. I shot out of bed and jerked open the blinds. It was the start of a new day. The sky was painted pale gray as the sun was getting ready to rise. Most of the city was still asleep. The streets were cloaked in fog.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the window. Everything was so peaceful and quiet, but my gut told me something was wrong. This felt like the calm before the storm.
That instantly brought me to Lana’s dad. Weeks had passed since the altercation between Max and him. Max and I had waited for her dad to retaliate. To call. Harass. Press charges. Or even to go so far as to have someone do his dirty work.
But nothing happened. Not a damn thing.
In a few weeks I would go back to school. My parents would be home within a few days. My old, normal life was waiting for me. Yet, it seemed impossible that I could ever slip back into that life. How could I, knowing what I knew?
No retaliation from Lana’s dad should’ve made me feel at ease. But it didn’t. I was incredibly anxious. He had the upper hand right now. I knew it. He knew it. He was waiting for that perfect moment to strike back.
Lana knew what had happened. It was too big of a scene not to tell her. She reacted just like I expected. Withdrew from me and Max. Blamed herself for what happened, holed herself away in her apartment. It took a few days for her to return to normal. Whenever I saw her I would look at her searchingly, trying to see if there was any clue to show she had talked to her dad. She would stare right back and shake her head.
That gut feeling refused to leave and the longer I stood there, watching the sun slowly rise over the city, the more anxious and scared I became.
I closed the curtains and left the bedroom. I made my way over to the fridge, searching for something to eat. I tried to tell myself that I was overreacting and that this feeling stemmed from my paranoia. My fingers drummed against the edge of the fridge when I heard the thump of the newspaper hitting the front door. My back became erect. I slowly turned.
I couldn’t say that I watched the news, let alone read the newspaper. The most I ever did was scan the front page before walking away, going about my business. But right now, the clock ticked, and the fridge hummed and I stayed still, my gaze directed at the door. I walked over and opened the door. The newspaper was rolled up and held together with a green rubber band.
I didn’t reach for the paper. I just stared down at the small piece of the front page. What I saw was a profile of a face: one eye, sharp line of a nose, and lips pulled into a thin line. My heart slowed and my entire body felt numb.
“Oh, God,” I whispered.
Everything became hazy as I picked up the paper and walked into the living room. I read the words over and over, but nothing would stick in my brain. Just the phrases: arrested and insider trading. Blood rushed through my ears. It became hard to stand.
With the paper in hand, I walked to Lana’s bedroom. I knocked a few times. No one opened the door. I grew impatient and walked in. Her bed was made. The lights were turned off and there was no Lana.
I stood there completely stunned before I ran out of the room, changed my shirt, snatched up my keys and left the apartment.
I called Max. All my calls went straight to voicemail.
In a desperate attempt to prove the newspaper wrong, I drove to his house. I didn’t even bother pulling into his driveway. I just pressed the brakes and peered through the passenger side window. There were cars parked that I’d never seen there. Maybe his parents?
There was no point stopping by if he wasn’t there, and I knew he wasn’t.
I drove to Lana’s parents’ house next.
If Lana knew what’d happened to Max, and I think she did, then she would be here. She would retreat back into her parents’ hold. Partially out of fear and to be reassured that everything could be smoothed over if she came back.