No.
But I didn’t know what else to do. Marco shook his head and picked up the two bags of drugs. “What are you doing?” I barked.
“Let me take these to the club with me. I’ve got to get over there and help set up. If you come tonight, just find me and I’ll hand ’em over.” He stopped and looked down at the pills, an odd expression on his face.
“And if you don’t, I’ll give ’em back to Gash, no harm, no foul.”
“He’ll get pissed, Marco, you know that,” I argued.
Marco dropped the bags into his satchel and shrugged.
“I can deal with Gash.” He really was in a weird mood tonight.
For an instant I had the violent urge to tackle him and take the drugs back. They’re mine! the dark voice snarled inside of me.
But I forced myself to ignore the self-destructive whispers.
“Yeah. That’s cool,” I agreed.
Marco started heading to the door and then turned around to look at me again. “Dude, I really hope I don’t see you tonight.”
And then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a bang.
What the fuck?
I hadn’t expected Marco of all people to give me a way out. I just didn’t know if I really wanted to take it.
chapter
thirty-six
aubrey
i broke several speed limits getting to Maxx’s apartment. My heart was beating angrily in my chest. I was feeling out of control as I pulled up across the street from the Quikki Mart.
I grabbed my purse and ran down the narrow alleyway. I took the steps two at a time, practically running over Maxx’s meth-head neighbor, who was going down as I was heading up.
“Whoa, lady, where’s the fire?” he asked, scratching at a sore on the side of his mouth. I didn’t bother to answer as I rushed past him.
My hands shook as I fumbled with my keys, finally locating the one I was looking for.
What did I hope to find by coming here? I asked myself as I made several unsuccessful attempts to unlock the door.
Proof that he lied? Proof that he was being honest? Confirmation that I wasn’t a total idiot for finally starting to trust him again?
I finally unlocked the door and went inside, noting that the place was dark and it was obvious he wasn’t home. I turned on the lights and stood in the middle of his living room, wondering what I should do next.
What was I even looking for? I didn’t honestly think that he’d leave a note saying “Out doing drugs, be back later.”
I marched purposefully back to his bedroom, throwing open the door with enough force that it bounced off the wall. I was raging on suspicion. These feelings were dangerous. I looked around, but nothing stood out.
I walked across the room and sat down on his bed, my heart in jagged pieces at my feet. I stared up at his painting of us, which now hung above his bed, wanting to trust that he wouldn’t throw away the possibility of that future.
Because Maxx loved me. I loved him. That should be enough for me to believe in him. But it was hard to overlook what I had seen and heard tonight: the painting for the club. April’s innocent admission that she had seen Maxx at the club. The growing concern over his attitude and unwillingness to tell me about his mysterious job.
I got to my feet and walked to the center of his room. I clasped my hands behind my neck, doing a slow circle as I took everything in. Nothing looked different. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t something hidden. Something he didn’t want me to see.
Compelled by distrust, I started opening his dresser drawers, rooting around in T-shirts and boxer shorts. My fingers clawed their way through his clothes, looking for the source of my unrest. I felt a momentary pang of guilt for violating his space like that.
What else am I supposed to do?
When I didn’t find anything there, I began to rummage through his bedside table, searching. Dreading what I thought I might find. But as I continued my search, coming up empty with every drawer and crevice I searched, my heart began to feel lighter.
I started to chastise myself for not giving Maxx the benefit of the doubt. I felt angry at how quickly I had rushed to the worst possible conclusion.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Aubrey Duncan,” I muttered under my breath.
As I began to talk myself into leaving, I ran my hands along the spines of books lining his shelf. Old, tattered copies of Tolstoy and Dickens. Some Jane Austen and Robert Browning thrown in for good measure.
Then I saw it. The white envelope was wedged inside a worn copy of Jane Eyre, barely poking out of the top. I didn’t really notice it at first, but something drew me back to it.
I pulled the dusty book off the crowded bookcase and carefully opened it to where the envelope was squished between the pages.
It was lumpy, and I could tell something was inside of it. I tore it open. Several small, round objects fell out, scattering across the floor. I bent over to retrieve them and froze, my fingers less than an inch from the offending objects.
Because it wasn’t empty.
It was full of tiny, hateful pieces of betrayal.
I was staring at what I was sure was the source of Maxx’s absence tonight.
Drugs.
I looked up at my painting over his bed, numb with the realization that that seedling of trust that had only just started to grow would never be able to take root. It started to die a painful death on Maxx’s bedroom floor.
I picked the bag up with a shaking hand. I noticed that the envelope was still sealed. The pills hadn’t been touched.
Maybe they were from before. My thoughts echoed with excuses and denial.
Then why were they still here? Why hadn’t he gotten rid of them?
I wrapped my fingers around the pills I gathered off the floor, holding them tight in my fist, and walked over to his dresser. With my other hand, I picked up the framed photograph I had given him and stared down at the innocent face of Maxx as a child.
I thought for the thousandth time what his life would have been like had he not been tragically abandoned by the people in that picture. I knew you couldn’t control death, but it was hard not to rail against a universe that orphaned two small boys and left them to fend for themselves.
I’m trying really hard not to be that guy anymore. The one who hurt you. Who disappointed you. Will you let me be that guy for you? Please?
Maxx’s desperate pleas bounced around my head, goading me with their dishonesty. In a fit of rage I dropped the pills and stomped on them, digging my heel into the floor. The pills gave a satisfying crunch as I smashed them to dust.
When I was finished I looked down at them, wishing I could feel something. But I wasn’t entirely sure what I was even supposed to feel. All I knew was I needed to face the man who had obliterated my heart—again.
And I knew exactly where I had to go.
I walked back through the apartment, slamming the door and heading down the stairs. Once back in my car, I sat there for a moment trying to gather my tattered thoughts.
I wouldn’t curl into a ball and cry about my betrayal. I was going to get answers.
And that meant going to the club.
chapter
thirty-seven
maxx
three hours earlier
after Marco left, I wasn’t sure what I should do. I pulled out my phone and dialed Landon’s number.
“Hey, Maxx,” he said after answering on the second ring. It was nice not having long conversations with his voice mail anymore.
“Hey, how about I come by for a bit and we can work on some random shit in the garage?” I suggested. The club didn’t open for a long time yet, and I couldn’t sit around my apartment thinking about my horrible choices.
“Yeah, okay. I’ve got a scooter I’ve been putting together if you want to help me,” Landon offered.
“Sounds good. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
I absently pulled an envelope of pills out of my pocket. I had begun car
rying it around with me. In my mind, I thought of it as both a test and reassurance. If I didn’t succumb to the urge, I’d be able to go to bed feeling like I had won a small victory. But I also liked knowing they were there if things got too tough. If the effort to live this life I had been carving out for myself became too much, I had my old friend to fall back on.
It was fucked up. I walked back to my bedroom, pulled out the old copy of Jane Eyre that had been my mother’s, and stuck the envelope inside before putting it back on the shelf.
I’ll throw them out later, I promised myself, not wanting to think about the reasons for not getting rid of them now.
“Pass me the wrench,” I said to Landon, holding my hand out. I was covered in grease, but it felt good to keep my mind busy. It kept me from thinking too hard about exactly what I was going to do later that night.
“So what’s with the impromptu visit?” Landon asked, handing me the tool I had asked for. I started messing with the tiny engine, trying to fit my fingers in the tight space.
“I had some time to kill,” I said dismissively.
“Time to kill before what?” he asked, hopping up on a stool and watching me work.
I wiped some sweat off my forehead. “Isn’t this supposed to be your project?” I asked, avoiding his question.
“Yeah, well, you came in here and took over.” Landon snorted.
I handed him the wrench and we swapped places. Landon easily fit his smaller hands into the space to loosen the gasket.
I hated lying to him about what was going on with me.
So why are you? I asked myself. The answer to that question wasn’t making a whole lot of sense anymore.
“I’m gonna go grab a drink. You want anything?” I asked Landon, heading toward the kitchen.
“Nah, I’m good,” he answered, focused on his task.
I went inside and grabbed a soda and then headed into the living room. I sat down and propped my feet up on the coffee table, needing a minute to myself.
I had to leave soon and head home to get ready for tonight. My stomach clenched with dread at the thought.
“Get your feet off my fucking coffee table.”
My uncle David walked into the room, dropping his keys onto the same coffee table and glowering at me. Of course I didn’t listen. I would never give David the satisfaction of making me do anything.
David kicked my feet off the table with the heel of his boot, and I tried to control my temper, but it was always hard to do when it came to my uncle.
“What, no threats to kick my ass? No big and bad posturing?” David sneered down at me.
I slowly got to my feet and looked him in the eye. We were the same height, but I had a good twenty pounds on him. We had had enough physical altercations over the years that I knew I could take him. David was a dirty fighter, but I was better. I had to be. Knowing exactly where to punch was what had kept me alive over the years.
“What is your problem with me, David? I get you’re just an asshole, but you want to tell me what it is about me specifically that gets your panties in a bunch?” I said, low enough that my brother wouldn’t hear me out in the garage.
David snickered. “I don’t think enough about you one way or the other, kid, to get anything in a bunch.” He tried to walk past me, but I grabbed ahold of his arm and stopped him.
“Get your hand off me,” he growled.
“I don’t get it. You were my mother’s brother. Shouldn’t that mean something? Why the fuck do you hate me so much?” I finally voiced what I’d wondered for years.
David glared at me through narrowed eyes. He chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t hate you, Maxx. I feel fucking sorry for you.”
I reared back as if he had hit me. “Excuse me?”
“Because you’re exactly like me,” he sneered.
“I’m nothing like you!” I said through clenched teeth.
David leaned in close, his face contorted with anger and bitterness. “You’re exactly like me, Maxx. A waste of skin. Making the same stupid mistakes I did. Look around you, because this will be your life.”
He pulled his arm out of my grasp and slammed out the front door. Landon came in from the garage a minute later, and I was still standing in the middle of the living room, hardly able to believe that my jackass uncle had just given me the ultimate wake-up call.
“Was that David? Is he home?” my brother asked.
“Uh, yeah. But he went out front. I think that’s my cue to bounce,” I told him, my chest uncomfortably tight.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m almost done with the scooter anyway,” Landon said, wiping his hands on a towel and tossing it onto the table.
“I’ll come by next week and see how it turned out, okay?” I said, picking up my keys to leave.
“Sure. Text me or something,” Landon said.
I looked around David’s house again before I left.
Look around you, because this will be your life.
I walked out to my car, but my uncle was nowhere in sight.
I pulled out my phone and tapped out a quick text to Marco.
I’m going to have a look at some other options.
I went back home and started going through the pile of canvases that sat in the corner of my bedroom. Shit, I sure had done a lot of painting in the last few weeks.
Going through them, I realized that these were the best pieces I had ever done. I pulled out two paintings that caught my eye. One was of Aubrey standing on a bed of snakes that was done in long, vivid strokes. The second was a self-portrait I had only finished two days ago.
I didn’t make a habit of putting myself in my art. I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to do it. But when I had sat down in front of the canvas, this is what had formed.
In the painting, I looked sickly and tired. Strung out on drugs and dying on the inside. Miserable and weak. The shadowed image of my skull was visible through my wasted skin.
Looking at this painting, I saw death. A glimpse of what might have been.
I had exposed myself completely in this picture. It was raw, it was gritty, it was harsh.
Without thinking twice I grabbed both paintings and headed back to my car.
“These are unreal!” A squat, bald man named Dandy Veers held up my self-portrait and stared at it in awe.
I had ended up leaving my apartment and driving into the next town, Blackham. From there, I had driven until I found an art gallery still open at this time on a Saturday evening.
If I had any common sense, I’d wait until Monday and make some calls. But the truth was, I was terrified that if I waited, I’d end up going to the club and find my way back to the Maxx in that painting.
I walked into a small gallery in the center of town. I carried my two paintings under my arm and asked if they’d be interested in purchasing my pieces.
The gallery owner had looked at me like I was a nut job. Which was understandable, given the impulsive nature of my visit.
But I had shown him my paintings, and then his entire demeanor had changed.
“And you’re the artist?” Mr. Veers asked, peering at me as though he didn’t believe it.
“That’s me,” I answered.
He stared at the self-portrait for a few moments, making indecipherable noises in the back of his throat before picking up the painting of Aubrey.
“This is incredible. The depth of the colors, the level of intimate detail . . . You actually have the aesthetic of that street artist X. His portraits share this . . . intensity.” I couldn’t help but grin.
“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” I told him.
“You’re X? And you’ve never shown your work in a gallery?” Mr. Veers asked incredulously.
“Yeah, things haven’t really worked out.”
The man looked at me in disbelief. “I can’t believe you actually walked into my gallery tonight. This is amazing ! I’m . . . I’m a huge fan!”
He took another moment to examine my work. “Are you interes
ted in setting up a show here? I know several people who’d likely be interested in these pieces, and they’d pay a handsome price for them.”
“Really?” I asked, hardly able to believe my luck.
I hadn’t expected anything when I had walked in. The idea to take my art into the city had been a whim. Mistaking my silence for hesitation, Mr. Veers waved his hands rapidly as he spoke, attempting to convince me.
“Look, we can keep it small. You choose which pieces you want to display, and I’ll sell them for you. We can decide together what to sell your work for and I’ll add my commission fee on top of that. How does that sound?”
I made a show of thinking about it. I pointed to the more colorful Aubrey portrait. “How much do you think I could get for that?”
Dandy Veers rubbed the back of his balding head and stared down at the painting thoughtfully. “I think it could easily bring between five and ten thousand. This kind of art is in high demand right now. And your talent is unquestionable.”
I almost swallowed my tongue. “Are you fucking serious?” I laughed, hardly able to believe it.
Mr. Veers nodded. “I’m very serious. X—is that your real name?”
“No, my name is Maxx. Maxx Demelo,” I told him.
“Okay then, Maxx, you’ve built quite a following. And street art is huge right now. There are major collectors out there wanting to be the first to discover the next big thing. And you could be the next big thing. I mean, to my eye, you already are.”
Dandy Veers might have been a little quirky, but I liked him. And he was willing to take a huge chance on an unknown artist who had literally wandered in off the street. It was more than I could have hoped for.
“Sure. Yeah, let’s do it,” I said, nodding.
Mr. Veers grinned and held his hand out. I shook it. “Great! Let me go get my calendar and we can talk about scheduling a date.”
chapter
thirty-eight
aubrey
on the drive to Compulsion, the numbness wore off and the anger resurfaced. It felt good to be pissed rather than annihilated.
Follow Me Back Page 30
