10. Maxwell
Maxwell
The Timbermill is a low-lit tavern with a lot of high top tables and a large bar smack in the middle of the dining room.
Despite it being a Monday, it is popping with crowds. I recognize some people from campus, but most are unknown.
Clayton and I find two seats next to each other at the back. The chairs are hard to sit in and I can’t spread my legs too much in fear of touching the person to my left. Spreading my right leg out a bit, it touches Clayton’s.
“Sorry, not a lot of room for my lanky legs,” I joke.
“Oh, it’s fine.”
The bartender comes over taking our drink orders. Clayton orders a suncruiser and I order a vodka cran with sprite.
A silence falls over us. Not uncomfortable. No tension. Just two guys sitting side by side waiting for a drink.
I break it.
“Why don’t you like parties?”
Clayton’s head whips toward me and his entire demeanor changes. “I just don’t.”
“Just wasn’t sure. Over the weekend you got pretty shaky and then turned it down today. Thought maybe something happened?” I push. It’s none of my business, but if something happened to him, I need to know.
Not sure why.
I don’t care to look further into that.
“It was a while ago. Doesn’t matter.”
“But you still don’t go to parties, so it matters,” I say.
“Leave it alone, Max.”
“Look, if anyone hurt you before, I want you to know if I’m by your side you are always safe.”
His face drops. That stone-angry look is gone and in its place is something softer.
Our conversation is halted by the bartender dropping our drinks and taking our food orders. Clayton orders a burger with fries– no cheese, of course. I ordered the buffalo wings with a side of blue cheese.
“I wasn’t always like this. My head in a book and focused on nothing but my future.
Freshman year I went to parties, hung out with people, and lived my life in full.
There was a girl at the party I was friends with; we were chatting, dancing, whatever,” Clayton begins to speak, his hands shaking just like they were that night in the dining hall.
Sliding my hand to his, I cover it with my palm.
A small reminder to know that right here, he is safe.
He looks at me, a small smile covers his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes look hollow as if nothing is behind them. A shell of himself as he talks.
“She went to get us drinks. We had a few, but I have a pretty high tolerance. I thought I lost count of how many I had and didn’t feel well.
Got dizzy and nauseous. She walked me to the bathroom.
At this point, I still thought she was trying to help me.
She shoved me into one of the bathroom stalls and locked it behind us.
She wasn’t helping me, she was taking advantage of me.
I was so out of it that I couldn’t stop her from pulling my pants down or stop her from putting my dick in her mouth.
I couldn’t even speak in full words. She brought me to the point of an orgasm, but right before I did, she stopped and climbed up on me like a tree and rode me. ”
His voice is low, making me have to sit even closer to him. His body heat is warm and comforting in a way that I hope mine is for him.
“She helped me back to my dorm, but the next day, I remembered everything. It’s like I was alert and aware, but my body wasn’t its own. The drugs she slipped in mixed with the alcohol I’d been drinking seemed to paralyze me. Dimmed my strength.”
As he talks, my hand never leaves his. My thumb rubbing circles over his knuckles while my other hand fists at my jeans. Just as he stops talking, the worker brings over our food, but I don’t seem to have an appetite anymore.
“Did you tell anyone?” My voice is tight as I try to hide the anger inside of me.
“I told my best friend at the time. He told me that no one would believe me because girls don’t rape.”
I feel like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
“Who was she?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Max. It’s fine.”
“Who?” I bark. Heads by us turning to look in our direction. “Sorry. Who?” I ask softer this time.
“Her name is Amberlyn,” he whispers. My leg starts shaking up and down. I compel it to stop, but it keeps going and going and going.
Grabbing my wallet from my pocket, I threw down a one-hundred dollar bill. Rising to my feet, I grab Clayton’s hand tighter and drag him out of the restaurant behind me.
“What about the food?” He tries to ask.
“I’ll get you something else.”
“I don’t need you to keep paying for my things.”
Shoving my way through the restaurant, I slam the door open; it hits against the building with a loud bang. Wood threatens to splinter, but doesn't. The fresh air outside hits me, but it cools nothing off. My body is warm and heated with the rage thrumming through me.
Amberlyn raped Clayton.
Amberlyn. The one I have been in bed with over and over since sophomore year. The casual hook-ups. The giggly smile. The long waves of hair. Everything that I thought was good and pure was everything wrong and evil.
I pace around the parking lot, hands running through my hair, feet stomping beneath me. Pulling a cigarette pack from my pocket, I take one out with my teeth and light it, sucking in the poison. Still pacing, I stare at Clayton.
He grips onto my shoulders, stopping me in place.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“I didn’t know.”
“No one does. I never told anyone else. You are only the second person I’ve told,” he explains but it isn’t what I mean.
“No. I didn’t know she was like that. I didn’t know she was a shit person. She was always so nice and we always got along.”
God, I need to scrub my dick for four years.
“It’s okay.”
“No. I’ve fucking slept with the slut,” I say. Just the other night. I slept with the girl who raped Clayton after kissing him.
What a fucking joke.
“Oh.”
“If I had known, I never would have touched her. Never would have been with her. Okay? Do you know that? I want you to know that.”
“Max. Calm down,” Clayton says, his hands rubbing over my shoulders. Soft, caressing.
“I’m going to change the rules at my parties. No cups. Closed cans only. You’re going to be able to have fun again. Okay? This isn’t ruined for you. I’m going to fix that, okay?”
“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Sure.”
I don’t believe him. I think he is trying to make me feel better, but it isn’t working.
God, I want to put her head through a wall.
She doesn’t get to just live with this. How does she get to ruin who he was? Change him? And she gets to what? Run around campus like a good girl. Fuck. That.
My hands fist in my hair again, wanting to rip it out of my skull. Instead I grip my own wrist and dig my nails into my skin, hoping the pain will distract me from the onslaught of anger.
It doesn't.
Clayton takes my hands, stopping me from hurting myself.
“No wonder you didn't like me. Probably suspected I'm some asshole at parties, always doing what I want.” I laugh, but it's humorless.
“No. Stop. Look at me, at my face.” I do.
I stare right into those emerald pools of his.
“You're everything I could have been but was stripped of.
I was jealous. It doesn't matter though.
In the short time I've known you, I've learned so much.
You give to others, you care, you're so fucking smart.
You live life. Okay? Do you understand that I'm not mad? You need to calm down, alright?”
I try to suck in deep breaths, but they're sloppy and stuttering out of my throat.
Clayton pulls my body into his, wrapping his arms around me.
He's a couple inches taller than me and it makes me sink into him just right.
Falling into all of his muscles and feeling like everything could just melt away.
Leaning more into him, wrapping my arms around him, everything inside of me softens.
The anger. That absolute rage at that fucking girl.
He's okay. He's adapted, but he shouldn't have had to.
I'm going to make Amberlyn pay.
Clayton
The anger pouring out of Max is concerning, but I can’t deny how impressed I am by the way he keeps his cool. He isn’t lashing out, throwing or hitting anything.
My arms open, letting go of him. I hadn’t known what to do and I thought that hugging him would help. I was right. Hugs prompt the release of serotonin and endorphins, so naturally, it made him calmer.
He steps away, looking me in the eyes. I see his wrist, the crescent moons that he embedded into his own skin.
“Why do you do that?” I point at his wrist.
“Sometimes tugging on my hair isn’t enough. Sometimes when the emotions inside of me are too big, I have to cause pain to myself,” he admits, booking a little sad.
“That’s not healthy.”
“It’s that or violence to others.” He shrugs. “Sometimes it’s both. I can’t promise that if I see Amberlyn I won’t ring her neck like a wet towel.”
“I’m oddly flattered.”
“I wasn’t kidding either, you know? As long as I’m around you, you’ll be safe.”
I give him a small smile. I believe him, but I try not to either. I don’t want to trust him because if I do, I might fall. The worst part? I think I might anyway and he’s not going to catch me.