19. Chapter 19 #3
“Maddox?” I call out hesitantly. Nothing.
I step further in, shoes squeaking against the wooden floor.
The lamp by the couch is on, painting the room in a dim golden light.
And there he is, sitting on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, staring unfocused at the floor.
His hair’s still a little damp, and he's changed into an oversized hoodie, but the sleeves are shoved up, hands restless, thumb picking at the edge of a bloodied bandage on his knuckles. There’s a bag of frozen peas abandoned on the coffee table, so I’m sure tomorrow I’ll find some fist shaped hole in the wall.
He looks up when he hears me approach, eyes rimmed red from more than exhaustion. “ Have fun?” His voice is flat, like he’s trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
“Not really.” I kick my shoes off and move past him heading for my bedroom, but he stands too fast, trying not to lose his resolve.
“Rylen, wait—we need to talk what what happened," he pleads. I sigh, coming to a stop just shy of my door. My hands begin to shake as I turn my head to gaze over my shoulder.
"Don’t. Don't do this. Please just let me go.
Please don't fucking do this right now," I murmur, my entire body feeling like lead. Maddox is a storm of frantic, feral energy that’s pulling me under. His feet slam against the floorboards as he paces, a rhythm of pure agitation. His voice is just as loud, filling the small space of the living room until the walls feel like they’re vibrating with it.
“I just don’t get it, Ry! How can you just fucking walk out after that?
” he demands, throwing his hands up. The motion is so fast it’s a blur at the edge of my vision.
“I mean, what the fuck have we been doing for the past few weeks?
We've kissed more times than I've kissed any other person in my life, and you've painted me in your fucking cum, for fucks sake," he stops pacing, eyes unfocussed.
"And now you’re... you’re acting like it was all in my head.
I feel fucking crazy because of you. My brain is on fire, it’s been on fire for hours, and yours is just..
. what? Off?” he snarls, beginning to pace again.
I watch him, my hands clasped so tightly in front of me that my knuckles threaten to split through the skin.
I'm anchored to this spot on the floor, feeling like if I move even a muscle, his hurricane will suck me in and tear me to pieces.
He wants me to talk about it— Us.
I try to, I honestly, physically try. I close my eyes and look for the file in my head, for the folder labeled 'The Kiss ' or ' Feelings About Maddox' or anything at all, but there’s nothing. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just..
. it’s a void; A vast, quiet, empty-darkness.
It’s like a black screen on a computer that’s been unplugged.
The event happened, and my brain, instead of processing it, just..
. shut down the whole program. There are no words, no emotions, no analysis. Just a flat, dark, humming emptiness.
“I don’t know what to say because there is literally nothing in my head,” I murmur, eyes trained on a ring stain on the corner of the coffee table.
“Seriously?” Maddox scoffs, and the sound is wet. I look up, and his eyes are bright with a frustration that’s boiling over into tears. Fuck. I’m fucking this all up.
“Maddox,” I try, but my voice comes out as a croak.
“No, Rylen. Just... how ?” He stops pacing and finally looks right at me, and honestly that’s so much worse.
The focused intensity is like a drill boring a hole into the side of my skull.
“How can you have nothing going on in there? That’s not possible.
People think things, Rylen. They feel things.
I’ve been thinking about it so much I can’t even see straight; I’ve thought about what it meant, if it was good, if you hated it, and if you'd want to do it again, and if you’re mad, and if it changes us.
.. My head never shuts off, Ry. It never stops .
So how the fuck can yours be empty?” His voice cracks on the last word, and it’s a blow that pushes the oxygen from my lungs.
I can see the narrative he’s writing in that non-stop brain of his: Rylen doesn't care. It meant nothing to him. He doesn’t understand that my silence isn’t a choice, it’s a system failure.
I finally manage to unlock my hands. My throat feels thick with things I can't name. “Please. I can't talk about this right now, sorry,” I whisper. Maddox just stares at me, his chest heaving. “Sorry for what? For not talking? Just talk to me, please!” he sobs.
“I can’t,” I say again, and the admission is so painful I have to look away, fixing my gaze on the grain of the wood on my door frame.
“I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry I’m a fucking emotionless robot.
” The words taste like bile on my tongue.
“I wish I could fix it,” I whisper to the open bedroom door.
“I wish... I wish I could. But I can’t. It’s just..
. it’s not there. I can't talk about it because it’s not there . ”
I force myself to look at his face as the admission sits like a toxic living breathing thing in the air between us. I'm watching him, the most important, vibrant person in my life, shatter himself against the blank wall of my head. And I can't do a single fucking thing to stop it.
Maddox stares at me with disbelief, his piercing blue eyes turning into a frozen lake before me. " Well isn't that convenient?" he snarks, devastation turning into malice.
“Don’t do that,” I say quietly.
“Do what?” he challenges, huffing out a bitter laugh.
" You kissed me , Maddox," I snarl, whirling around to face him fully, a wave of ice slipping down my spine. His throat works over.
"Yeah, I did." He shrugs, as if that’s all there is to say about it. The nonchalant attitude makes me see red, I don’t give a shit if it’s a farce, he can’t toy with me just because he’s bored.
"You knew I had a date, and you fucking lured me into a threesome.
Then when I rescheduled it, you fucking kissed me and you told me that it should be you that I date.
" My voice grows more thunderous with each word.
He flinches, shoulders curling like he's trying to make himself smaller.
"I know" is all he has to say. The air between us feels fragile, like one wrong word will make it all shatter.
"You don't get to drop something like that on me and then blow up my phone all night," I spit. " You don't get to decide when I'm ready to talk."
"I just—" He stops himself, fists clenching at his sides. "You just, what? Can't stand the thought of me being with someone else? Even though you've never shown any interest in dating me before Bry did."
His mouth opens and closes for several seconds, a tormented look cripples his features. When his words finally find their footing, I have to strain to hear them.
“...can't you see that I'm in love with you? "
My stomach plummets. That’s all I’ve wanted to hear for so long, and now he’s using it as a means of control. My nostrils burn with unshed tears. I need to get the fuck away from him.
"I didn't ask for that," I say, voice cracking despite myself. "And you don't get to use that as an excuse to screw with my life."That lands between us like a shard of glass. He flinches, just barely, but he says my name again—softer this time, almost pleading.
“…you shouldn’t have gone out with him,” he whispers.
It feels like he just drop-kicked me in the gut.
I stop in the doorway, hand on the frame, my head is slung low.
I can’t bear to meet his eyes, so I scowl at his feet, his words sting like a dull rusted blade twisting in my chest. “And you never should have kissed me,” I state, my voice barely loud enough to hear through the storm roaring in my head.
For a second, I think he’s going to argue, only he doesn’t. Just stands there in the dim-light, breathing hard, eyes dark with everything he can’t say. I leave him there, walk into my room, and push the door closed behind me.
On the other side I can hear his shaky breathing crumble into sobs, but I don't open it again. I inhale and exhale slowly as my forehead presses against the cool wood of the door, the effects of the night now fully setting in. I want to grab him, rip him off the floor and drag him into my arms, but I’m so filled with pent up fury that I might actually kill him in the process.
I sink onto my bed and finally check my phone. Dozens of unread messages glow on the screen, all from him—some angry, some desperate, and one that just says “please.”
I turn the phone face down, lie back, and stare at the balloons still floating along the ceiling until the sun starts bleeding through the blinds.
I haven’t slept a wink all night. My body feels stiff when I try to move and my throat is dry and my head is pounding.
When I open my bedroom door, I'm faced with Maddox's sleeping body, curled in on itself outside my door.
I've never wanted to die more than I do in this moment.