Lead Me Not (28 page)

“Now, Aubrey,” I whispered, my voice shaking with anger. Aubrey’s lips trembled, and I could see she was trying not to cry. I didn’t care. There was only one thing I cared about right now.

She held the bottle out to me and hurriedly crossed the room to the door. I snatched it up and shook it. It was deafeningly silent. I ripped the top off and turned it upside down.

Empty.

“Where are they?” I roared. My rage was white-hot. Aubrey was shaking. But she didn’t leave the room. She didn’t run from me. She faced me on unsteady feet.

“They’re all gone, Maxx,” she said quietly.

No, I couldn’t have heard her right.

“That’s not possible,” I bit out, throwing the bottle across the room.

Aubrey shook her head, her hair flying around her face. “I swear, they’re gone. There’s nothing left,” she said.

I clenched my fists. I was going to fucking lose it.

And then Aubrey did the strangest thing. She walked back toward me and grabbed my face between her hands.

I tried to wrench myself away from her confining grip. I took hold of her wrists and squeezed them hard enough to crunch bone. Just then, I hated her. I wanted her to hurt the way I hurt.

Yet . . . I wanted
her . . .

“Maxx, you don’t need that stuff,” she told me, with such confidence that if I were in my right mind, I would have believed her.

I yanked her hands off my face, still squeezing her wrists. “Don’t tell me what the fuck I need!” I yelled.

Then she kissed me. That crazy, delusional girl kissed me.

As if that would make me forget what it was I wanted.

As if she could ever replace what my body craved.

I pulled my mouth back from hers, infuriated. Enraged. She was breathing heavily, her eyes glassy with tears.

“Please, Maxx. Don’t do it. Be here. With me,” she begged. And then she was kissing me again, and she was telling me “I won’t leave you. I won’t ever leave you.”

And there was something about those words and the feel of her lips on mine that broke through the red haze of my anger, the inconsolable need that plagued me.

She wouldn’t leave me.

How could she know how desperate I was to hear that from her? From
anybody
?

And then I was kissing her back. Devouring her as though she were the drugs I hungered for. And for that brief moment she was something even better.

“Don’t leave me,” I sobbed against her mouth, my teeth bruising her lips as I punished her with my tongue. I meant it with every fiber of my being. I couldn’t survive without her. What a terrifying thought that was. But it was the honest-to-god truth. In that split
second she had become the most vital thing in my world. She was the thing that could keep me sane. Keep me here. Keep me from diving off the cliff after the drugs my body wanted so badly.

She was the string holding me together. She was the only person to stay by my side even when I hadn’t asked her to. I hadn’t demanded a thing of her, yet she had given me everything. How could I not latch on to that like a parasite? How could I not try to suck every last drop out of her to keep myself alive?

How could I not begin to live in a fanciful delusion where she would be all that I needed and everything would be okay?

But she wouldn’t leave me. Those words held a promise I’d cling to.

The kiss began as the pinnacle of every hateful emotion, every negative, self-loathing thought. It wasn’t hearts and flowers and skipping through the sunshine. This was soul-filled angst shit that no one should ever want but delusional people chase after anyway.

But somewhere, somehow, it morphed into something else entirely. Aubrey took control and gentled the kiss. Her lips softened, her tongue an inviting caress. Her fingers curled into my greasy, filthy hair as though she never wanted to touch anything else ever again.

And then I wasn’t assaulting her mouth but worshipping it. Loving it. Tasting and enjoying it.

I knew I needed Aubrey. I needed her in the worst way possible. I was selfish and frantic, and I honestly didn’t care if I took her to hell with me because she would make the trip the sweetest thing I had ever experienced.

She was mine.

And I’d never let her go.

chapter

nineteen

aubrey

t
wo days.

That’s how long I had spent with Maxx at his apartment.

It was two days since I had driven him home after he had been beaten nearly to death at Compulsion.

It was two days since he had lost his mind as he went through the most intense and agonizing withdrawal I could ever imagine.

Two days, and my life had changed completely.

The shower was running. It was thirty minutes since Maxx had gone into the bathroom to clean up after I had forced him to eat some soup and bread. He had looked a sickly green after swallowing my less-than-palatable attempt at cooking, but he had kept it down.

We had done very little talking after I had kissed him. I don’t know why I had done that. It was such a stupid thing to do. My only excuse was that I had been at my wits’ end and terrified of the crazed glint in his eyes, as he demanded that I give him his drugs.

His withdrawal was bad. I knew that without ever having seen one firsthand before. I had read enough case studies to know that he was feeling the worst kind of physical and mental pain imaginable. His cravings had to be unreal.

And there were definitely moments when I didn’t doubt he’d hurt me to get what his body wanted so desperately.

But I stayed. Because I cared too much for the messed-up boy and his fucked-up life to ever walk away.

So while he had been railing against me, hurling threats that I was all too sure he’d keep, I had used the only weapon in my arsenal. My mouth and my hands.

And it had worked.

Well, sort of.

I’m by no means proclaiming a miracle. This wasn’t some sort of cheesy romance where the love of a good woman saved the boy from his demons.

If only it were that easy.

But my actions had shocked him. They had stayed the nastiness spewing from his lips. He hadn’t expected me to do that.

And afterward, it wasn’t as though we had fallen into each other’s arms and hugged while I told him everything would be all right.

Nope. Maxx had taken the bowl of soup and started eating. He hadn’t looked at me. No eye contact was made. No mention of feelings or futures. But damn it, he was eating.

And that small success was enough.

“Christ!” I heard Maxx yell from the bathroom. I jumped off the couch, where I had stationed myself like a sentry, waiting for him to emerge. I knocked on the door.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

The door swung open as steam rolled out into the living room. I tried not to fixate on the fact that Maxx wore only a towel draped around his narrow hips. His chest, while not overly muscular, was defined. He was tall. Much taller than me. So my eyes were at just the right height to get a good, long look at the lean body in front of me.

My gaze traveled up to Maxx’s battered face. His blond curls were slicked back, and his one good eye was glinting in anger.

“What the fuck happened to my face?” he demanded.

Maxx’s fingers touched the red, raw skin on his face. He winced, a hissing breath sucked through teeth.

“I followed you to the back of the club and found you getting your butt kicked by two guys,” I told him.

Maxx’s shoulders tensed. “What did they look like?” he asked. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or scared. Maybe it was a combination of the two.

I tried to remember his assailants, but the memory was fuzzy after forty-eight hours of very minimal sleep. My instinct had been to help Maxx, not to identify the guys who had hurt him.

“I don’t remember much about them. It was dark. I was focused on you bleeding all over the place. Sorry,” I muttered.

“How in the hell did you get me home? There’s no way you were able to drag me to your car by yourself,” he continued. Why did I feel like I was being interrogated? Where was the thank-you?

“Some guy helped me. I recognized him from working the front door,” I offered shortly, annoyed with his curtness.

“Marco,” he prompted. Yeah, Marco. That sounded right, so I nodded.

Maxx pushed past me and walked to his bedroom. He was still weak, his steps slow and clumsy. I followed him and froze.

Maxx stood stark naked in the middle of his room, the towel fallen at his feet while he rooted around in his drawer for clothes.

I swallowed thickly and averted my eyes while he dressed. The urge to chance a peek was overwhelming, but I refused to give in. It wasn’t right to ogle the guy after everything he had been through. Sure, I had crossed every boundary in our relationship, but I had some lingering morality left.

“Have you seen my phone?” he asked a few minutes later. I turned to look at him and squelched my disappointment at finding him fully clothed. I pointed to his desk.

“I put it over there. It was in your jeans pocket,” I told him.

Maxx grabbed it and put it to his ear. He looked up at me, and I knew that currently I wasn’t welcome. It was time for me to go.

He turned his back, shutting me out as surely as if he had slammed a door in my face.

I bristled at his rejection, infuriated by his dismissal.

Even more humiliating was the burn of tears I felt in the back of my eyes. I
never
cried anymore. I hated tears.

I stood there for another moment listening to Maxx leave a frantic message on Marco’s voice mail. He was talking in quiet, quick sentences that I couldn’t quite hear. One thing was obvious: Maxx was agitated.

I quietly closed the bedroom door and made my way back to the shabby living room. I had made an effort to clean up while Maxx had been in the shower, but not much could be done to make the space comfortable.

I thought about leaving a note, but then decided against it. What was the point?

I grabbed my purse and dug out my car keys, ready to make my escape.

“Where are you going?”

I looked over my shoulder to find Maxx walking toward me. He looked drawn and tired, but some of the spark had come back to his eyes.

“I just thought I should head home. You know, get out of your way,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly.

Maxx put his hand flat against the front door, barring my exit. His face, which had been hard and anxious a few moments earlier, was now troubled and vulnerable.

He leaned down until his face was a mere few inches from my own. I could smell the mint from his toothpaste on his breath. His eyes drilled into mine, piercing me.

“What you did, how you helped me, stayed with me . . . I don’t know why you did it. But thank you,” he said quietly.

And there it was, the acknowledgment I had wanted. But now
that he had given it, I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me. Or what I wanted from him.

I leaned back against the door, his proximity overwhelming me.

“It was nothing,” I replied, shaking my head.

Maxx brought his other hand up to rest on the wood beside my head. I was captured between his arms, no room for escape.

“It wasn’t
nothing
,” he argued. “Why were you at the club?” he grilled.

“I don’t know . . . ,” I started, but he interrupted me.

“You do know, Aubrey. Why were you there?”

“For you, Maxx. I was looking for you,” I admitted breathlessly, my heart pounding in my chest. “I was worried about you.”

“You don’t even know me, Aubrey. Why would you concern yourself about me at all?” he pressed.

I closed my eyes, needing some distance from the intensity of his gaze. “I just . . . I wanted to help you.” I opened my eyes and looked unflinchingly up at him. “I care about what happens to you. You seem to need someone to give a damn. And I do, Maxx. So much,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Maxx swallowed, his lips trembling at my admission. His bruised face twisted with an emotion I couldn’t quite read. He dropped his face and pressed his forehead against mine, our noses brushing.

“You shouldn’t. I’m not worth it, Aubrey,” he pleaded in a strangled groan.

I slowly moved my hands up to gingerly touch his face, my fingers sliding down the length of his cheek. He leaned into my hand and seemed to be at war with himself.

“You
are
worth it, Maxx. You need to learn that and believe it,” I said. Maxx captured my hand, his eyes opening and blazing into mine.

“You need to know that if you decide to do this with me, I’ll never be able to let you go. Not ever.” His words quivered. A small part of me was terrified by his promise.

But a larger part of me hoped he would hold me tight . . . forever.

I pulled my hand from his and touched his face again. I brushed my thumb along the curve of Maxx’s mouth. He parted his lips, kissing the soft pad of flesh, his tongue tentatively tasting.

I shook at the tidal wave of emotion that simple touch unleashed in me.

“Maxx, let me help you,” I begged, knowing I was slowly climbing over his wall.

His hands were around me in an instant, pulling me to his chest. I could hear the thudding of his heart beneath my ear. “You already are,” he said, his voice vibrating in my head.

I pulled back slightly to look up at him. He looked grieved, as though he hated himself for what he was doing but couldn’t help it.

“What are you doing to yourself?” I asked, cupping his face with my hand, gently touching the bruised skin.

Maxx didn’t answer me. He grabbed my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm before resting it over his heart. And then we held each other tightly, neither of us willing to let go, neither wanting to upset the tenuous beauty of the moment with the ugly reality he lived in.

Because for now, we had
this.