“Aylee, right?”
I blink, curious as an odd, unfamiliar sensation fires through me at the sound of my name on his full lips. “Yeah.”
Something unexplainable crackles in the air between us, or maybe it’s just my imagination going on overdrive, as I become too aware of my hand still firmly held within his grasp. He lowers his head, his hair falling across his forehead, and the urge to smooth it back is an impulse I have to wrestle down.
“You’re bleeding.” I blink twice—it’s my mind’s attempt to catch up to what he just said. He turns my hand so that my palm faces the ceiling. I’ve lost the scalpel somewhere in between my fall and him helping me to my feet, but the evidence that I’d been holding something sharp is in the smear of blood coating my palm. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to hold sharp objects by the blade?” My attempt to pull my hand away is futile as he retains his hold. “Or maybe you meant to.” His pointed stare eviscerates all pretenses and for an infinite moment I’m left naked to him, exposed in the way it touches the most vulnerable part of me. I can’t—I can’t let him see the ugliness. Can’t let him see that terrible, terrible stain. Wrenching my hand away, I stumble back a few steps. My eyes flick to his face just in time to see him recover from a slight dose of shock at my sudden movement. Curiosity molds his expression as he fixes astute, penetrating gray eyes on me.
“A bit of advice?”
I make it a point to look at everything but his face.
“Don’t cut too deep.”
He walks away then without a second glance back, his words hanging heavy in the air in front of me as I watch him disappear behind the double wooden doors at the end of the hallway. I’m unsure of how long I stand there but it takes the shrill ring of the bell to pull me out of my trance. Students exit their respective classrooms filling in the hallway like one huge thunderous wave. Out of my peripheral vision, I spot the blade to my left against a row of lockers and quickly pick it up. Shoving it into my pocket, I stand up straight and prepare to discreetly glide past the hallway mob.
“Aylee!”
I only notice Mallory when she breaks through the throng lugging my backpack and canvas bag as she hurries toward me.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Tell me you’re okay?”
That question should be branded across my forehead. What’s people’s definition of ‘okay’ anyway? And are they asking because they’re genuinely concerned or is it something you ask just to be polite? I always assume it’s the latter. I don’t think people want to hear you answer any other way than optimistically because it saves them the trouble of actually caring.
Taking my bags from her, I force myself to smile. “Thanks, Mal. And yes, I’m okay.”
“I was so worried! I had to postpone my after-class talk with Hammond just so I could run after you. God, did you see him today?” And that is essentially the end of her concern. Once again putting the art of selective hearing to good use, I tune her out and find my mind drifting to the brief interaction with Maddox. His words, just like the last time, have an impact. They stay with me, playing over and over inside my head, while imprinting themselves inside my memory bank to scrutinize later.
***
Astronomy is my last class of the day. It’s also one of my favorite classes. But Mr. Solomon has a tendency to ramble and given my short attention span, I only listen with half an ear while he talks about the latest induction of Pluto as a planet again. What I’m really focused on is the front entrance of the classroom and how I find myself staring almost too neurotically at it. I know it’s stupid of me to think he’ll actually do something completely unexpected and show up to class but I can’t help the small surge of hope that keeps me tethered with futile expectation. I wait and wait the stretch of a small eternity only to end up with my hopes curdling inside me like blood from a fresh wound. Forty-five minutes into our fifty-five minute class and I’m forced to pay attention when Mr. Solomon gives us our latest assignment. Group project. Fun.
Luckily he splits the class into groups of two. Whoever you’re seated with is your partner. The girl who usually sits next to me, Mina, has been out sick since last week. I don’t have a partner. But that’s nothing new considering I do most of the work when I do end up partnered with someone in class. The bell rings and everyone picks up their things to leave. I trail behind. When I walk by Mr. Solomon’s desk, I stop. He’s hunched over a pile of papers, his red grading marker moving like a sword down the sheet in front of him, leaving a trail of bloody X’s behind.
“Mr. Solomon.” He stops grading and looks up with curious, teary hazel eyes.
“Yes, Aylee?”
I want to ask if I can bring the packet that outlines our project to Mina’s house and see if I can work on our assignment with her. What comes out of my mouth is something completely different. “I’d like to have Maddox as my partner…if that’s okay, I mean…” I trail off, my burst of impulse dying with my sentence.
Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows shoot up to a receding hairline in obvious surprise. And I’m thinking we’re sporting the same expression because even I can’t believe what I just said.
“You do realize Maddox Moore hasn’t shown up to class since the beginning of the year, yes? We’re now nearing October and he’s missed a lot of assignments.”
I nod in agreement ready to tell him I agree and that this is a bad idea and that he should just forget it because I’m a crazy person. And crazy people generally don’t think things through. “I know, but I was thinking I’d be his partner for this assignment and that maybe if he was willing, I’d help him catch up with everything else he’s missed so far.” See, crazy talk from an extremely unstable girl.
Leaning back into his chair, he says, “Can I ask why the sudden interest in wanting to help Maddox?”
I shrug, unsure of how to reply. “I want to ask him to pose for me for my portfolio and I kind of figured if I help him he’d be more inclined to say yes.” That’s the basic gist of it. I want to capture the aesthetics of his dark beauty to a canvas in acrylic. That’s all there is to my obsession.
At Mr. Solomon’s pointed look and wry chuckle, my cheeks unexpectedly flame. “You’re one of my best students, Aylee. You’re extremely bright and you have a lot going for you. While Maddox...that kid is on a path to destruction. I’d hate to see you get mixed up with him.”
“You’d be surprised just how much a smile can cover up,” I say, with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. There’s a pause to his expression, like he’s trying to read more into what I just said. I don’t give him the opportunity. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Solomon.” I add just enough cheer to dissuade his confusion. “If it’s okay with you, then I’ll just bring him the project outline packet…?”
Pushing his chair away from his desk, he nods slowly as he reaches down to the drawer next to his left leg. “I don’t expect much, but if he agrees to work with you, then give him this.” He hands me the twenty-page, stapled packet for our project. “I’ll even consider letting him make up what he’s missed if you can get him to come to class. Bonus points if he actually stays awake for it.”
I let out a small laugh. “I don’t make any promises.”
Chapter 8
Aylee
What the heck am I doing? This isn’t me. This is the complete opposite of me. This is me taking my stalking to a whole new, completely psychotic level. These thoughts however seem to matter very little as I continue to pedal my way to Maddox’s house. The minute track practice finished, I stopped Noah to ask him for his home address only to learn that Maddox didn’t live with him.
“He lives in the housing projects in Trenton, near the old fire station on Fletcher. Apartment 5A. Why do you want to know?” he’d asked with a frown.
“We have a project for astronomy class and he’s my partner…”
He’d laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, Aylee, but astronomy—school in general, is the last thing on Max’s mind. As you can probably tell,
he’s not really focused on passing his classes, let alone working on a school project. Trust me, I think you’d be better off asking Mr. Solomon to give you another partner, or better yet, just do it alone.”
Another person discouraging me from pursuing this thing with Maddox should’ve been reason enough to have me turning around and heading back home, because clearly this is a bad idea. But despite my better judgment, I keep going. It’s nearing five o’clock when I finally arrive at his apartment building. The gravity of what I’m doing doesn’t fully settle on me until I park my bike a few feet away from the building teeming with occupants who stare at me with full knowledge that I don’t belong here. Ignoring the heavy weight of their stares is a huge task that has my hands trembling as I fasten my bike lock to the black pole of the Tow-Away Zone sign.
I head inside the building nearly gagging at the terrible smell that seems to stick to my taste buds. Shallow breaths make it tolerable, but barely. There’s so much noise coming from almost every door I pass. Arguing, pounding footsteps, and the muffled wails of a baby filter in from the paper-thin walls. When I finally get to apartment 5A, I’m suddenly overtaken with the overwhelming urge to flee. But my desire to see this through is so much stronger, it’s what drives me to raise a fisted hand ready to knock. Only there’s no need. The dark brown door has been left slightly open.
Deliberating on whether to go in or stay where I am to wait, I choose the former and push the door open a little further. Before proceeding inside, I give out a call. “Hello?” Tinged with nerves, it comes out too soft.
So I’m not surprised when there’s no answer. What does however take me off guard are the laboring breaths and heavy, guttural moans and grunts from inside that sound too much like a struggle. If it were anyone else, they would’ve probably gone in the opposite direction, clearly to avoid a possibly dangerous situation. I’m hurtling toward it without even a single thought to my own safety.
But I wish I did. I wish I’d taken a moment to consider my action. To listen more carefully and realize that the sounds could be something else. If I’d put more thought into it, I would’ve spared myself the scene I’m left to witness.
Maddox and two girls. They’re at a partial angle, but Maddox has his back facing the front entrance of where I’m currently rooted. He’s naked. In fact, they’re all naked. Except it’s on Maddox that my eyes lock on. Greedily, I take him in, feast on every inch of his fully-decorated, sinewy physique. There’s a massive tattoo of a geometric stag head on his back. It’s a breathtaking piece of work. Everything from the line work of the antlers running up his shoulder blades, to the shadowed details of the face, especially the eyes, is utterly astounding. Even the three simple black triangles that form the stag’s jawbone ending at the curve of his firm buttocks is something to behold.
“Oh, God, oh, God, right there…” That breathless voice forces me to pry my gaze away from Maddox’s beautiful back tattoo and take in the scene as a whole. “Fuck, so good…God, Max, harder…gonna come…” I can’t see the face of the one who’s talking because her head is thrust back in obvious pleasure. The second girl is between her parted legs, and while she’s on her hands and knees, Maddox has a firm grip on her hips as he furiously moves back and forth, his butt cheeks clenching with every forward thrust.
It’s lurid and obscene and way too much for me to witness. I know I should be getting out of here, turning and leaving as quietly as I came in before they notice me. I know all of this. I’m screaming it inside my head and yet I’m unable to pull myself away. Unsure of how long I stand there, I die a slow, mortifying death when they finish and turn to find me as their unwanted audience. I can’t even express how badly I want the floor to open up and drag me down. I’d be willing. Right about now, even hell felt like a good place to be. I nearly swallow my tongue when he turns around. Not even the large, intricate tattoo of a Hindu deity covering his torso can keep my eyes from involuntarily trailing down…
His chuckle carries across the short distance of space; it’s a dry, mocking sound that makes me want to curl up and cease to exist.
“Enjoy the show?” There’s a slight lift of his left eyebrow as he keeps his sharp, gray eyes on me. Following the path of his hand, I turn my head away when he unabashedly pulls off the slick condom.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” the one who’d had her head thrust back asks with a smile while slipping on her panties. She looks familiar but I can’t recall her name.
“I think it’s Aylee, she’s Mallory’s friend,” the other girl replies, seated casually on the hardwood floor. “Wow, Max, how’d you convince her to be a part of the site? Whoa, are we having a foursome?”
“I don’t know, are we, Aylee?” he mocks, “are you going to join us, little stalker?”
He makes it sound so crude. “I…” I lick my lips nervously. “I’m not here for…that…”
“Then why the fuck are you here?”
Chapter 9
Maddox
It comes out harsher than I intend. But shit, I didn’t expect to see her here. I don’t shock too easily, but the fact that she’s actually standing in my rathole is fucking with my head. People like her don’t crawl down to these parts. Unless, of course, they’re looking to score. I look at her, standing there, nervously shifting her weight from one leg to the other and I can’t see it. What the fuck is she doing here?
“Uh…” The pink flush in her cheeks deepens and she scrunches her face in what I can only take on to be concentration. Searching for an answer to a simple question shouldn’t be this damned difficult.
There’s no evidence of a junkie. What she is, however, is the same scared little woodland creature that follows me around school with those otherworldly eyes. She thinks I haven’t noticed but I’ve seen her more times than she even knows. How could I not when every time I turn around there she is. Like now for example. I should be concerned that she’s taken her stalking this far but I’m more curious to find out what the hell she wants.
“Cat got your tongue?”
She frowns. “I’m sorry…I’m going to go…” And she turns to leave.
“Stay right where you are.” She stops like my words are the absolute law, and I find a perverse pleasure in that. “We’re done here, ladies.” I don’t look away from her when I say this, “I have your PayPal emails, expect a deposit in a week or two.”
Danielle and Alecia don’t linger. In and out, just how I like it. They know the drill by now. They waste my time, we don’t fuck again, and they don’t get paid. Pretty fucking simple. They dress quickly, grab whatever shit they came with, and after saying their good-byes find the nearest exit all with the proficiency of trained amateur porn stars.
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here? Or are you just going to stand there and stare at my dick?” I ask at the click of the door closing. Heading over to the tripod, I turn off my camera and walk back to stand where I was, only a few feet away from her.
She huffs, and her plump bottom lip ends up curling between her porcelain-white teeth. “I’m not staring.” Her reply has bite and for some reason I find myself smirking at that. I laugh when her eyes flick down for a second and then back up again. “I’m not,” she states firmly with a glare.
I snort. “Right, keep telling yourself that.” Heading to the fridge, I open it to grab a bottle of beer. Fucking is thirsty work. Setting the ridged edge of the cap firmly against the edge of the counter top, I give one swift, forceful tap to pop it open. The cap ends up on the floor somewhere, while I bring the cold bottle to my mouth and down it. Some ends up dribbling down my chin and neck, and trickles a path down my chest.
“Forget touching, Aylee, I’ll let you lick it off.”
Her hands ball into fists at her sides as she ducks her head to hide the redness of her face. “Can you please put some pants on?”
“Why? I’m perfectly comfortable.” I push the issue only because it gives me a little high seeing her squirm.
She lo
oks at me through a veil of thick lashes, and something in her mismatched eyes puts me on edge. “Please.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “Jesus, fine.” Annoyed, I search for my jeans and hop into them, purposely leaving the fly and button undone. She’ll fucking take what she gets. “If you’re going to cry, get the fuck out now.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Whatever. Why are you here?”
She fidgets for a moment before shrugging off the black straps of her backpack. Falling to a knee, she tugs the zipper open and rummages through it until she finds what she’s looking for. Leaving her backpack to slouch on the floor, she takes three steps toward me, not quite closing the distance between us but close enough that I can see the splatter of freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose. She’s a little skittish, a little hesitant when she wordlessly extends the thick stack of stapled papers in my direction.
I make no movement to take it. “What the fuck is it?” I snap, tired of her acting like I’m going to jump on her and rub my dick all over her face or some shit. Never mind that she’s the one intruding on my space here.
“It’s…astronomy…” she murmurs. When she clears her throat and swallows, my mind automatically goes to her drinking my load. Wrong, I know. But considering my upbringing, this is pretty mild thinking for me. Besides, she has nice lips. “Mr. Solomon wanted,” she begins, then shakes her blond head and sighs. “I wanted to bring you the homework from astronomy class. It’s actually a group project. We’re supposed to be working in pairs on it. I skimmed through it earlier and it’s essentially us trying to figure out how much light pollution there is in different locations in the sky and take pictures...” Her explanation sputters to a stop. Letting her hand drop to her side when I still don’t take the stapled stack of papers from her, she glances at me. “I feel really stupid right now.” A small, tight smile follows her softly-worded confession. It tugs at the corners of her too-pink mouth. “So, I’m going to go…I’m sorry I bothered you.”
Stain Page 8
