17. Clayton
Clayton
I’m sitting in Anatomy early as I always do.
Staring at the door, I wait and wait and wait to see if Maxwell is going to show up.
If he does, this will be the first time in the last week.
His visit to my room last night gave me light on what he was doing when he wasn’t sitting in his seat between Maverick and Dax.
Every day in class I could feel their eyes in the back of my head, but I sat looking straight and taking notes. I refused to look at them because if I did, I was afraid they’d see the pain all over my face.
I’ve tried my hardest to mask it, to not let anyone see how much I’m suffering.
Maxwell didn’t help that. Seeing him twice over the weekend has me feeling…
confused. The apology made it worse. It looks like this is killing him more than it is me, but I refuse to break because my heart can’t take a hit from Maxwell Levine again.
The door opens and he walks in, two coffees in his hands and a pastry bag with friends trailing behind him like a shadow.
Wherever you find Maxwell, you’ll find Maverick and Dax, too.
He walks right over to me and places one of the cups of coffee and the bag on my desk.
“Black with two pumps of caramel. Gluten free croissant.”
“Why are you bringing me this?”
“A treat.”
“I don’t need it,” I say.
“Just take it. I got it for you.”
“I didn’t ask-”
“I know you didn’t. I got it for you because I wanted to.” He doesn’t say anything else or take it away from me, but he takes the seat next to me.
Ever since he had sat next to me for weeks, no one sits there now. It felt like a ghost of a presence the entire time he was skipping. Now, it feels like there’s too much too close to me.
“Why are you sitting there?”
“I can hear Professor Adams better from here,” he lies right through his teeth.
“Lying won’t get you any points, Maxwell.”
“I’m not lying,” he smirks. That same boyish one he’s always had.
The rest of the students file in and Professor Adams does his lecture.
While he speaks, I look at him and only him, refraining from turning to my right to see the boy sitting next to me.
I try to ignore his presence, but it’s hard when his leg keeps touching mine and it sends a tingling sensation through my body.
Taking notes with my pencil, I grip it so tight that I snap it in half. One piece falls to the floor and it echoes loudly in the mostly silent room.
“Easy there, pretty boy,” Maxwell drawls.
“Shut up. Go away.” He laughs at me and bends down under my desk to pick up the broken pencil piece, but when he comes back up he grazes his hand over my thigh. I clench my teeth and keep in the noise trying to squirm its way out.
Saved by the bell, Professor Adams announces that class is over. I shove my belongings into my bag and book it out the room, leaving the undrunk coffee and uneaten pastry.
The kid I am trying to tutor is hopeless.
Every question I ask, he gets wrong. I’m starting to believe he’s doing it on purpose.
I don’t know how he is going to pass his finals.
We are sitting in Becky’s, and I'm drinking a coffee seeing as I didn’t have the one Maxwell gave me.
I didn't drink it more out of spite than not wanting it.
We are sitting in the opposite corner than where Maxwell and I would sit.
I’ve been here a handful of times in the week and I avoid that corner like it’s the plague.
I hate that he’s ruined such mundane things for me.
The bell over the door chimes and, lo and behold, in walks Maxwell.
He scans around the room and finds me quickly, but his calm, resting face turns to anger the second he sees the guy sitting in front of me.
“Uh oh,” I say.
“What?” The guy says.
Maxwell rushes through the tables and comes up to us.
“Leave,” is all he says.
“We are studying,” I inform him.
“No more. Leave.”
“Don’t go anywhere, Riley. You’re fine,” I say to him. “Just excuse me for a moment, would you?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
I get up and drag Maxwell down the hall behind the table I'm at and slip into the bathroom. I know that I'm going to regret this.
“Who do you think you are?”
“Running round leaving scars..” He sings.
“Are you quoting Jar of Hearts to me right now?”
“Maybe.”
“Seriously, though. What the hell, Maxwell?”
“That’s my spot,” he says, agitated.
“You don’t have a spot.”
“My spot is wherever you are.”
“Stop! Whatever we were is over. Don’t you understand that?”
“No,” he shrugs.
I sign, leaning my back against the wall and looking at him. I’m tired. So completely exhausted. I'm over running. I’m over pushing him away. I’m over it all, but I refuse to cave.
He steps in front of me, closing the space between us. Our chests are just a hair apart, his forehead begging to lean against mine. He is so close I can feel his breath fanning over my skin. Maxwell’s hand runs up my arm, over my shoulder, and he grips the side of my face.
“Do you still like me?” He whispers. He’s so close that it sounds like he’s screaming into my ear.
Of fucking course I do. More than anything.
Maxwell is the only thing that has been on my mind the last seven days.
I knew that if this happened, if we were a breath away from one another, I'd say fuck my feelings because I can't resist him.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Then what’s the problem?” His other hand comes up, mirroring the other.
“I don’t trust you.” I shake my head.
“I can earn it. Trust is earned.” God, his voice is so husky right now. Deep and wanting and everything I don’t want to be hearing because I’ve been fighting trying to not run to his door step. But he is here. In front of me. Begging and pleading and wanting me.
No one ever wants me.
“I own my mistake, Clayton. I want to make this right,” he murmurs, and he’s even closer now. His lips are almost at mine.
“What if you can’t?” I suck in a sharp breath. My chest rising and falling, faster and faster.
“Does it hurt to try?”
“It might.”
“Does this hurt?” He asks right before putting his lips on mine.
I lean into him, my back coming off the wall and I melt into the kiss instantly. This is what I’ve been waiting weeks for and I thought that this moment would be gone forever, but now I just opened my heart to another world of heartbreak.
But right now, I don’t care about that.
His tongue slides into my mouth, ours dancing together until we can’t seem to tell where I end and he begins.
There’s a knock on the door, breaking us from the spell we are under.
“Clayton? Uhm.. I think I’ll just head.”
“Shit,” I mutter, pulling away from him. Pulling open the door. The one I was trying to tutor is standing there with his thumbs in his front pockets, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet. “I’m sorry. We can continue,” I say.
He looks over my shoulder, seeing Maxwell standing there like a guard dog.
“I think I’ll reschedule. See you later,” he says and walks away.
Turning around to face Maxwell, I gave him an are you kidding me look.
“What?” He questions.
I shake my head with a chuckle. Walking away from him, I hit myself on the forehead because why did I cave that easily? One moment alone with him, with tension filled stakes, and it was enough to make me break.
Pathetic of me, but hopefully, I won’t regret it.