Lead Me Not

by A. Meredith Walters

  Maxx swallowed; I watched his Adam’s apple bob. He wouldn’t look at me. He seemed suddenly wary and skittish and ready to be rid of me.

  “Good night, Aubrey,” he said, turning his back and heading toward the parking lot.

  I picked my pride up off the ground and turned to leave, a rush of emotion settling like a thick blanket of unease over my heart.

  chapter

  ten

  maxx

  i sifted through the pills in the plastic baggie, my fingers lifting, then dropping them. I wanted one. Just one.

  One would be it.

  That’s all I’d need to feel good.

  At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

  I didn’t consider myself an addict, though that was the label the court system wanted to give me.

  They said I needed help, an intervention.

  What I needed was a new fucking life.

  I picked out two pills and set them in my palm.

  I stared at them, as if waiting for the mysteries of the fucking universe to be answered.

  Come on. You know you want me. We’d have such a good time together, they whispered.

  “You know how to make me feel better,” I murmured, rubbing the smooth surfaces with my thumb.

  Yeah, I was freaking crazy. Talking to my drugs was a sure sign of a serious mental break.

  I had homework to do. I was struggling to stay above water. I was so damned close to graduating. I had made it this far. I made sure I did just well enough that I wouldn’t flunk out.

  I owed it to Landon to try to make something of myself. I owed it to my dead parents, who had thought the boy they left behind was worth something.

  The problem was I had lost all taste for the life everyone thought I should have.

  The only taste I had was for the two tiny pills in my hand.

  Never one for prolonging the inevitable, I popped the little pieces of happy in my mouth and crunched them with my teeth before swallowing.

  I loved that moment when my arms went slack and my feet sort of disappeared. My mouth hung open, and my eyes drooped. My head stopped buzzing, and I stared at the TV, which wasn’t even turned on.

  I’m not sure how long I sat there in my shitty apartment, staring at the dark screen, when my phone started ringing.

  Ring, ring.

  Ring, ring.

  I patted the cushion beside me, but the phone wasn’t there. My head rolled to the side, and I tried to open my eyes, but they weren’t cooperating. My lips stretched into a smile. Damn, I felt awesome.

  Ring, ring.

  There it was. My phone sat on the coffee table, just by my feet, which were propped up beside it. Maybe my arms could stretch out and I could reach it, because right now they felt abnormally long.

  I wished it would stop ringing. It hurt my ears, and I just wanted to lie there and think about nothing. Do nothing. Be nothing.

  But it wouldn’t stop. It kept fucking ringing.

  Didn’t the person on the other end realize I had more to do than answer the fucking phone?

  I hoisted myself up and ever so slowly grabbed at the phone that just wouldn’t shut up.

  I fumbled with the buttons as though my fingers had forgotten how to work. I laughed at how ridiculous it was.

  Finally I connected the call and lifted the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?” My voice sounded strange. No, it sounded like I was trying to have a good time. Fuck this fucker who was interrupting it.

  “Fucking hell, man, I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour! Don’t you fucking know how to answer a goddamned phone?” the voice yelled into my ear.

  I frowned.

  “What?” I asked belligerently.

  “What? Are you fucking serious? You were supposed to be here two hours ago! Gash is pissed. You know how he fucking gets when he’s pissed. Get your ass here now!” the voice roared.

  “Is this Marco Polo?” I asked, sounding garbled.

  “Are you fucking high again? That’s the only reason you’d risk an ass-kicking by calling me that. You’re supposed to be selling that shit. Gash is gonna shove it up your ass if you come here fucked-up. You were supposed to have the new location sorted already. It’s fucking Thursday, man. Please tell me you’ve found a place,” Marco begged, sounding panicked.

  I knew I should probably be panicked too. Gash was not a guy you messed with. Marco was one of the doormen at Compulsion and had been a buddy of mine for a long time. He was also the guy who shaved a bit of extra cash off the intake every Saturday—cash that nicely lined our pockets. Between my drugs and his sticky fingers of stealthiness, we had created a nice little side business that was proving pretty profitable for both of us.

  And the truth was I hadn’t found a location for the club yet. There were a couple of promising prospects. An old factory the next town over, a field on the outskirts of the city. But I had been busy. Between school, community service, and making sure Landon was taken care of, I was strapped for time.

  But Compulsion was my bread and butter. It was how I made the money to stay at school. It’s where I sold the drugs that kept me afloat and put food in my baby brother’s mouth. I shouldn’t be shitting where I slept.

  But I just didn’t care—not when I was feeling so fucking awesome.

  “It’s all good, man. Stop stressing,” I slurred, rubbing at my bottom lip. My mouth felt numb. I could barely feel my tongue in my mouth. I stuck my tongue out and poked it with my finger.

  I laughed. It was hysterical!

  “Damn it! You need to get over here now! You need to tell Gash where we’ll be on Saturday. If you don’t, he’ll staple your balls to your ass,” Marco threatened, and I knew he wasn’t being dramatic. He was telling the fucking truth.

  Gash was one scary dude.

  I dropped the phone on the floor. The oxy had really kicked in, and my hands couldn’t hold the device anymore. I leaned over and tried to make my fingers pick it up.

  Finally I was able to get it back to my ear.

  “I’m coming over there,” Marco stated, and I snorted.

  “Sure, come and get me. I sure as fuck ain’t driving,” I mumbled, hanging up the phone.

  I closed my eyes, hoping I could enjoy the rest of my high in peace. I just needed a few minutes. That was it.

  That was all I needed, and then I’d be fine. Perfect, even.

  Screw the consequences.

  My phone started ringing again, and I thought about ignoring it. It was probably Marco again with some lame-ass threat. He was such a cock blocker.

  Again, the stupid thing kept ringing.

  “What?” I barked into the phone, my hazy, happy feeling becoming harder to hold on to.

  “Maxx?”

  I sat up a little straighter and rubbed my face with my hand, trying to clear my head.

  “Landon, what’s up?” I asked, trying not to sound as messed up as I was. My younger brother had no clue that his hero was such a fuck-up. I had so far managed to keep my arrest and probation a secret, but keeping him in the dark was getting harder all the time.

  “Why do you sound so weird? Did I wake you up?” he asked. Even though Landon would turn sixteen in a few months, he acted years younger. Maybe that was my fault. I still treated him like he was a kid.

  It made it easier for me to pretend he didn’t see me for who I really was.

  “Uh yeah, that’s cool, though,” I lied effortlessly. It was quite a talent, the way I could slip in and out of roles. I could play the good big brother when I needed to. I had so many parts to play, I wasn’t entirely sure which one was real.

  “Sorry, I can call back later,” Landon apologized. I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake myself up. But the drugs were weighing me down, and it was hard to give a shit about anything.

  I didn’t want to give a shit about anything. It felt too good not to.

  “Did you want something?” I asked, sounding like an asshole.

  “I just thought you cou
ld come over sometime this week and help me fix up the car,” Landon said. I was supposed to be helping him fix up Dad’s old Mustang for when he got his license. But I hadn’t been to my uncle’s in over a month.

  He sounded so goddamned hopeful. Fuck hope. It was a worthless bitch.

  “I don’t know,” I answered noncommittally. Truth was, I had the time, just not the inclination. I didn’t want to put on my smiley face. I hated that fucking face.

  Because I didn’t have the energy to be that other Maxx.

  The one with way too much responsibility.

  The Maxx that would fail miserably each and every time.

  The Maxx I was trying to be didn’t fail at anything. He was on top of the goddamned world, and nothing would bring him down. People wanted him. He was the center of the fucked-up universe.

  He was a guy who wasn’t alone.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re busy and all. You can’t be some hotshot doctor without putting in the work. Hey, maybe Aubrey could help you study or something,” Landon teased, attempting some good-natured brotherly ribbing.

  His unwavering faith in me made me sick. The mention of Aubrey put me on edge.

  What the hell was I playing with her? And more important, was I really playing at all? Because being with her after group earlier in the week hadn’t felt like an act.

  She had told me about her sister, and it made me . . . feel.

  My heart had hurt. For her. For her pain.

  And I had shared my own pain. My own hurt. Things I spent a lot of time denying even existed.

  And for a brief moment, it had been real.

  Comforting.

  Safe.

  I didn’t have time in my life for real.

  It pissed me off.

  My mellow high dissipated the angrier I became.

  “Look, I gotta go, Landon. I’ll try to come by over the weekend,” I said quickly. I didn’t wait for Landon to say good-bye before I hung up the phone. I didn’t want to hear the disappointment in his voice.

  I couldn’t handle his expectations. The weight of his dependency was like a noose around my neck.

  I gripped the phone in my hand and then threw it across the room. Surprisingly, it stayed intact as it fell to the hardwood floor.

  I felt like I was suffocating.

  I needed numbness.

  I needed to escape this shit reality I lived in.

  I needed . . . nothing.

  I picked up the baggie of pills on the coffee table and shook out three 30 mg tablets of oxy.

  I heard a pounding on my door, followed by Marco yelling.

  I ignored it.

  I crushed the pills with the end of my Statistics textbook, swept the powder into my palm, then dropped it into my mouth. The bitter dust tickled the back of my throat and caused a loud coughing fit.

  Marco could hear me, so he kept pounding on my door.

  Too bad for him, I kept ignoring him.

  The moment the drugs hit my system, everything was better . . . calmer.

  They never let me down.

  The high was my only constant.

  When I needed it, it was always there, unconditionally. It didn’t need me. It didn’t weigh me down with unrealistic expectations. It was the most perfect relationship in my life.

  It gave without expecting anything in return.

  It was the best friend I had.

  chapter

  eleven

  aubrey

  i felt like a kid who had gotten caught by the principal smoking in the bathroom. Dr. Lowell had called me yesterday and asked me to come to her office after classes. I knew what this was about. Kristie had warned me she would be calling my adviser. But in the wake of my strange run-in with Maxx and the insanity of my course load, I had somehow forgotten about how badly I had messed up in support group.

  Repression was a glorious thing.

  Well, it was time to pay the piper. Face the music. Eat my goddamned words.

  “Aubrey, come on in,” Dr. Lowell said from the doorway to her office. I picked up my bag and followed her inside. I took a seat in front of her massive desk after she closed the door.

  “You know why you’re here,” Dr. Lowell said without preamble, getting straight to the point. I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “Would you care to explain what happened last week in support group?” my professor asked, sitting down at her desk and folding her hands in front of her. Dr. Lowell was an attractive woman, one of those people who were aging gracefully. Her brown hair, which was only now starting to gray, was cut short and held back with a clip, and her face was wrinkle-free.

  And I appreciated that instead of jumping to conclusions, she was looking at me thoughtfully, expecting a good explanation.

  “I messed up, Dr. Lowell. I ended up sharing things I shouldn’t have in group. I got angry. These people are there to learn ways to change their lives, and they act as if they couldn’t be bothered. I guess I was sick of it. But what I did was wrong, and I understand if you think I need to leave the group,” I said quietly, ready to take my licks.

  Dr. Lowell regarded me intently. She didn’t say anything for a long time; the only sound in the silent office was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

  She slowly pushed her chair out from behind her desk and got to her feet. She crossed the room and filled her coffee cup from the fancy Keurig she had in the corner.

  Why wasn’t she saying anything?

  Maybe Dr. Lowell was a secret sadist and enjoyed watching her poor, panic-stricken students squirm.

  “Would you like a cup, Aubrey?” she asked, holding one out.

  I nodded, never able to say no to coffee. I took a sip of the gourmet blend, refusing to allow myself to appreciate the taste when I was most likely going to be seriously reprimanded. But damn, this stuff was tasty.

  “I don’t want you to leave the group,” Dr. Lowell said finally, after I had polished off half of my coffee.

  I blinked in surprise. “Really? Because when I spoke to Kristie she seemed to think my presence in the group wouldn’t be appropriate anymore,” I said.

  Dr. Lowell rolled her eyes. Yes, my hard-as-nails professor actually rolled her eyes.

  “Kristie is an excellent counselor, but she can be a little rigid sometimes. We’re all human, Aubrey. Part of this process is for you to learn your boundaries, to understand the limits in a group dynamic. You will only ever learn those things with hands-on experience. I would be doing you an extreme disservice if I were to remove you from the group. We all make mistakes. That’s not to say you didn’t act inappropriately. Because you did.” She looked at me levelly. “I just don’t think you need to be raked over the coals for it.”

  Dr. Lowell returned to her seat behind her desk. “When I was first out of grad school I had just gotten my license, and I was running a court-mandated anger-management group. All of those attending were known abusers; they had all been convicted of assault, usually on family members. They were a nasty bunch of men. And they treated me like I was a joke. To say I didn’t take that too well, particularly since I was a lot more hotheaded in my younger days, is a bit of an understatement.” She laughed, and I found myself smiling too.

  I just may escape this meeting in one piece. Hallelujah!

  “I dumped a glass of water on a group member’s head. He apparently hadn’t liked what I had to say and had called me the B word.” I gaped. I would have done a hell of a lot more than dump water on his head.

  “To say my superior was unforgiving was putting it mildly. You have to remember, times were different then, and women were only just starting to be accepted in the workplace. This was the seventies, and while advances had been made in gender equality, it still felt like the stone ages. I was put on professional probation for three months, and I wasn’t allowed to facilitate another group until I attended my own anger-management classes.”

  Dr. Lowell chuckled. “So you see, you’re not the only one who has ever had to learn to co
ntrol her emotions and remember to act professionally.”

  Dr. Lowell sobered. “Now, we both knew going into this that it would be difficult. It’s hard under typical circumstances, but given your personal experiences I knew it would be doubly so. Would it be helpful if you and I were to meet weekly to process how group is going and to assess your participation?” she asked me.

  I tried not to be offended. My behavior was what landed me here. But I couldn’t help but be insulted. It felt as though she were telling me I was too cracked to be able to function.

  “No, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I responded stiffly, forcing a smile.

  Dr. Lowell nodded. “Well, if at any time you’re having trouble, please don’t hesitate to come and see me. You know my door is always open. Now, let’s talk about where we go from here. Kristie was far from happy when we spoke. And I can’t afford to have her questioning this department. The community-services board works closely with the university to assist with the training and volunteer hours for our students. She’s going to expect some action to be taken.” Dr. Lowell rolled her eyes again, and this time I had to laugh.

  Her opinions regarding Kristie Hinkle were pretty clear.

  “So I think for the next few weeks, dial it back a bit. Contribute, but don’t take over unless she asks you to. I’ll explain to Kristie that you and I have talked, and I will have her compile weekly progress notes. I have no doubt that if there are any further issues, you’ll hear about it. So will I,” Dr. Lowell finished drolly.

  “I’m sure,” I agreed.

  “Okay, then, I think we’re finished here. Enjoy the rest of your day,” Dr. Lowell said, already turning back to her grading.

  I picked up my book bag and slung it over my shoulder, relieved that the meeting was over and I hadn’t lost a limb or two. Only my dignity had been dinged.

  I had the rest of the day to finish up my research paper for Social Psychology. I headed toward Longwood University’s rather impressive library, my steps lighter than they had been when I had left the apartment that morning.