Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
So, I’m not dead yet. Surprise! Logan hasn’t hunted me down and strung me up by my toes or even said anything. No police department has contacted me. Which is even creepier, right?
No. Of course they haven’t contacted me. Guy probably fessed up to attacking Logan–no need for a random witness.
Still, I’ve been avoiding the news like a plague, terrified that the guy will pop up murdered, and somehow I’ll get wrapped up in it. I know, I’m dramatic. Logan wouldn’t kill anyone. Fudge, even saying that feels wrong. What is wrong with me? Logan is my friend; he’d never kill anyone.
As evidence of that, no murders pop up in my feed. Still, I find the crazy part of myself questioning every part of my relationship with Logan. Am I going to end up belly up in some runoff ditch somewhere?
No, of course not. ‘Cause the guy isn’t dead, and Logan and Dakota are totally above the bar people.
Despite all that, I get to go see Maddox! Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I take a stop sign way faster than I should. I should have grabbed Maddox a bottle of sparkling cider or something. Maybe made him cookies?
Wait, is that weird? That’s definitely weird, right? I mean, I’m going to his house for the first time. Of course, we aren’t together or anything, but when–if–we are, this is an important milestone! First anythings are important!
I know almost nothing about Maddox, other than he’s scared and thoughtful and kind, although he doesn’t seem to be kind to himself. I wonder why? It’s okay though, ‘cause I can be kind to him.
As the thought enters my mind, something in the back of my head screams that I’m doing it again.
That I’m idealizing someone I don’t even know, and I’m going to get hurt when they inevitably reject me, but I can’t seem to stop.
I try to kick my heart back down to earth, but it’s floating so high I can’t reach it.
I want to know Maddox. I want to know every detail because something tells me this is different.
Like I just know deep down in my soul that Maddox and I are meant for each other; he just doesn’t know it yet.
I pull into Maddox’s lot, and the excited butterflies beat their wings against my chest. This is it!
Maddox lives in a brown brick apartment building I’ve driven by many times. Was I passing my soulmate, and I didn’t even know it? The thought makes me inexplicably sad. All those memories we missed out on!
I see Maddox step outside the building, and great heavens, the way the sun cuts his high cheekbones and his pretty pale skin makes my heart stop for a second. Then he turns that gaze on me, and it sucks the air from my lungs because he looks scared. Just like he did last night.
I’m out of the car and up to him before I can think better of it, and I’m right in front of him, smacked with the smell of alcohol.
“You okay?” Maddox’s voice is harsh, and I stop, looking up at him. His eyes are no longer strained; now they’re harsh, hard even. It makes me pause. Did I see the look I thought I did? Maybe it was a trick of the light.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” I rock back on my feet. Man, it reeks of alcohol. Maybe someone dumped a can of beer near here? I glance around the sidewalk.
“Is this your car?” Maddox breezes by me, and I catch a whiff of alcohol again, and my stomach ices over. He drinks?
Suddenly, I’m a teenager again, watching Dad crush beer after beer while Mom yells at him.
I’m in the hallway in my socks. They don’t notice me over the sounds of the game on the TV, Mom’s hair illuminated by the glow.
They yell, and each word makes my heart race faster.
Always. They’re always like this, and they never change.
It’s always the yelling and screaming every freaking night.
Where are the parents who would take me out for cupcakes every Sunday–‘Cupcake Sunday’–and then let me stay up late watching movies?
Where’s the Dad who would steal all my green M they just pour out of me.
“This life? You mean the life where no one pays attention to me? The life where he’s at work all day, and you’re in bed all day? Oh, but sure, tell me about the life he’s providing.”
“You ungrateful brat!” She spits the words at me. “He should have never gotten you that car.”
The venom she’s looking at me with makes me feel sick, and I catch the smell of alcohol on her breath, too.
“I don’t care about the car!” My eyes are burning with tears.
“Fine, we’ll sell it! I’ll use the money for my medical bills!”
“Fine!” I struggle to keep the tears from slipping down my face. It’s not about the freaking car. Why can’t she hear me?
I run to my room as the tears escape, and I cry angry tears. Snatching my pillow from the bed, I slam it down again and again. And then the angry tears turn to sad tears.
I don’t want Dad to kill himself for our lives. I don’t want to be a burden. Maybe I can do more. Get a job. Help pay for bills. They can sell my car; I don’t care. I just want them to be okay. If they’re okay, I’m okay. I just need to do more. I just need to help.
I stride from the room and past the living room. Mom continues to cry, and Dad continues to drink. I’m in the same house but invisible. Because I’ve always been invisible. I’m the one people look through to get to their loved ones.
Maybe if I helped more, that would change.
“Micah?”
I blink. In front of me is a parking lot and a familiar car, my car, and next to that is Maddox. He gives me a look that, for a second, almost looks soft. Then it’s gone again, and dang, I really must be seeing things.
I jump into action, darting around the front of the car and starting it. “Yeah, it was just the battery, no biggie,” I say with a big smile on my face.
Maddox is stiff next to me as we drive before his deep, quiet voice says, “I can pay you back. Just give me a week.”
“No, no, don’t worry about it.” I wave him off, the feeling of being able to help wearing off some of the odd feelings from my memory.
“No.” His tone startles me so much I almost miss a stop sign. I glance over at him, and there are bags under his eyes. I wonder how much he drank last night.
“It’s really not a big deal.” My voice is soft, wavering almost, and I don’t know why I keep pushing it. I just want to help. Maybe if Maddox had some help, he wouldn’t feel like he had to drink to escape whatever demons he’s running from.
It’s quiet except for the rumble of tires on the pavement. Then, Maddox’s deep voice says, “Just take it out of my next paycheck.” Then he’s turned to the window, and for some reason, I feel like I’m not good enough. Like I’ll never be good enough.
My gut feels weird, and I turn on some pop-punk music to break the silence. Soon, the upbeat music has me tapping my fingers to fill in the space, although Maddox stays silent.
The drop-off in my driveway is silent. Maddox hesitates, like he’s going to say something, and then he’s gone to the sounds of pop music.