Lead Me Not (43 page)

Why couldn’t I for once paint something that wasn’t fucked-up?

I sagged to my knees in front of the portrait of my despair.

I had painted the broken shards of my face. My mouth was open and screaming. It was obvious it was me in the shattered glass.

And then there was Aubrey, with her long blond hair, sweeping me into a heap of dust, gathering my pieces as she prepared to dump them in the trash.

This was Maxx.

And this was X.

This was both of us, bled out on the sidewalk for Aubrey to see.

Maybe she would finally know how much I wanted to give her all of me. Even as I fought it, the desire was still there. I didn’t want her to throw me away. I needed her to not give up on me.

And maybe one day I’d be able to give her everything she wanted.

I had fallen asleep quickly after I had gotten home from my late-night painting excursion. I woke up a few hours later sick and achy, but with a clearer head than I had had for some time.

Aubrey had been right. I was fucking up everything. The club, Gash, the drugs, they were taking over. There was little room left for anything else. Let alone Aubrey.

But I couldn’t let
her
go. The pills. The high. They felt too good. I had become too attached. How could I say good-bye to the one thing that kept me sane?

But I hated my need for it. I hated that when things got rough, that’s what I turned to. I looked into Aubrey’s eyes, and I saw myself as she did, a sad, pathetic excuse for a person.

But I couldn’t give
her
up. My habit was my truest love. The one I couldn’t live without.

Could I give up Aubrey?

No.

My obsessive painting last night should prove that.

I was in a bind. I couldn’t do without either of the things vying for my love, my attention, my soul.

Yet my relationship with Aubrey wasn’t the only thing falling apart.

I was spiraling. Worse than ever. I was losing the control I thought I was holding on to so tightly. My probation officer was breathing down my neck. It was costing me an arm and a leg to keep stocked with the herbal supplements I needed to fool the piss tests I was required to take every week.

That afternoon I was called into my academic adviser’s office. Dr. Ramsey was a stuffy dude who had the bulbous red nose of an alcoholic. I had a good idea of exactly what he kept stashed in that locked drawer in his desk.

He sat me down and looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “You’re failing everything, Maxx,” he said in his nasally drone.

I knew I hadn’t been doing that great, but I hadn’t thought I was actually
failing.

“Well, shit,” I said, tapping my foot on the floor, already feeling antsy and agitated. I needed to get home. The pills I had taken before I had come to campus were already wearing off. I tried not to think about how it was starting to take more and more drugs to keep me on an even keel.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Dr. Ramsey said mildly, his brows furrowed in disapproval.

I knew he hated me. Just like I hated him. It was a match made in hell.

I took in the diplomas and certificates hanging on the wall. It was obvious Dr. Ramsey liked to show off, probably because he didn’t have anything else going for him but his modicum of success. Guys like him bugged the crap out of me.

Dr. Ramsey crossed his hands on top of his desk and pursed
his lips. “Maxx, are you aware that you will need to get an A on every single exam in order to pass with a D?” he asked in that condescending way of his that deserved a punch to the throat.

“Well, I am now,” I told him dryly.

“And is that
okay
with you? To end up on academic probation with no chance of graduating? You’ll be lucky to still have a place at Longwood after this semester,” Dr. Ramsey remarked, curling his lip in disdain.

I was up to my eyeballs in disappointment. I sure as shit didn’t need it from snot for brains with too many diplomas and no dick in his pants. I got to my feet, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“I hear ya, loud and clear, Dr. Ramsey. Thanks for the pep talk,” I sneered, slamming out of his office without waiting for a comeback.

I left Dr. Ramsey’s office fuming. Sure, I hadn’t been as focused on school this past semester as I should have been. The club was taking up a lot of my time.

My failing grades had absolutely
nothing
to do with the tiny white pills that I was already obsessing about, the drugs that I couldn’t wait to get home to.

I was in complete denial that I was about to lose everything.

As if my day didn’t suck enough, my phone rang as I walked in the door of my apartment. I answered it, hearing my brother’s enthusiastic voice on the other end.

“I’m applying to an art school in Philadelphia,” Landon said excitedly. I barely heard him. I was searching through my drawer for the baggie I had put there the other night. Finally finding it, I shook out the pills I wanted.

Before I could take them, I registered what my brother had just said.

“You’re what?” I asked, knowing that I should be more supportive, that I should be excited for him. But all I heard was the
sound of more money. More money I would need in order to take care of him.

The noose around my neck tightened.

“Uh, yeah. My guidance counselor says I have a good shot at getting in. She wrote me a letter of recommendation. My SAT and ACT scores are really good, Maxx,” Landon rambled on.

“How much does the school cost?” I asked, bursting Landon’s bubble.

Landon was quiet for a while before answering. “I can get scholarships, Maxx. I can get a job. I’ll make it work. You don’t have to help me,” he said, with more defensiveness than I had ever heard from him.

“You know I’ll always help you out, Landon. I just wanted to know,” I explained, and it was true. Even if it meant selling my fucking kidneys on eBay, Landon would go to school. Even if I had to drop out myself and become the biggest drug dealer on the East Coast, my baby brother would have his future.

“I don’t want you to think you
have
to do anything, Maxx. I know you have it in your head that you need to take care of me. But I’m almost an adult. I’m not helpless. I can do this stuff on my own, you know,” he told me firmly.

I never gave my brother enough credit for the man he was becoming. He was a fighter. He was a survivor. Just like me.

“Just let me worry about paying for it. You worry about getting your ass accepted,” I said lightly, not admitting to the full-out panic the idea created.

Then we ended our conversation and I swallowed the pills.

And when I felt mellow enough to handle what needed to be done, I did the only thing I could think to do.

I called Gash.

“I’m glad you called, X,” Gash said, sitting in his spot behind his desk.

I propped my ankle over my knee and leaned back in the chair as though I didn’t have a care in the world. Too bad I had way
too much
to care about. My life was one big, never-ending pile of fucking worry.

“I told you a few weeks back that I was expecting a shipment from Mexico. It just came in. This is grade-A shit, X. We’re going to make a killing.” Gash pulled three freezer bags out of his drawer and dropped them on his desk.

I picked one up and opened it, finding it filled with smaller baggies containing a fine, whitish-brown powder.

I looked up at my boss. “What is it?” I asked, sounding stupid. I knew what it was, I just wanted the confirmation.

Gash grinned. “Some of the best Black Pearl I have ever seen.”

Shit, Gash was peddling heroin now.

Okay, so I was being a massive hypocrite, but I had my standards. Selling pills was one thing, but slinging fucking heroin was something else entirely. If I made that leap, I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive myself.

There was something about the way heroin was taken. Snorted or injected. Needles gave me the heebie-jeebies, and snorting anything up your nose seemed like plain old stupid.

“I don’t know, man,” I said slowly, trying to think of an excuse so I wouldn’t have to sell that stuff.

Gash frowned, obviously not liking my less-than-enthusiastic response.

“Do you understand how much money this could make me? Could make you? Are you a fucking moron?” he asked incredulously, looking at me as though I had been offered the Holy Grail and was turning it down.

“It’s heroin, Gash. That shit is a bit too hard-core for me,” I said
lamely, knowing that I sounded like a complete pussy.

Gash leaned back in his chair and let out a loud laugh. He gripped his beer belly as though he feared splitting his gut. “Are you kidding me? A drug dealer with a conscience? Give me a break!” he wheezed between guffaws.

Fuck him!

I got to my feet. “Look, I’m not going to sell that shit. Find someone else,” I said, heading to the door.

“I’d rethink that if I were you,” Gash called out before I could leave.

I froze. His words were a threat.

“I know what you and Marco have been doing. You think I wouldn’t notice the door coming up short almost every single weekend? I’ve been in this game longer than you’ve been alive, X.”

I closed the door and sat back down. This asshole had me exactly where he wanted me.

“And I know you’ve got some sticky fingers when it comes to my drugs. But you’ve made the money, so I haven’t begrudged you your fix. As long as it doesn’t impact my business, I don’t have a problem. But don’t confuse my silence with ignorance. You have your uses, X. Just as Marco does. And you’re going to sell my shit. And you’re going to sell all of it.” Gash wasn’t open to an argument. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I was stuck.

I needed the money.

I needed my drugs.

I needed each of those things more than I needed my self-respect.

And Gash was the one pulling all my strings.

I picked up the freezer bags and put them in my book bag.

“How long do I have?” I asked, my acquiescence making Gash
very pleased with himself.

“Two weeks. Not a day more. You get ten percent like always. Make it work, X,” he said, dismissing me.

I left his office, pounds of illegal drugs in my bag—and my soul up for grabs to the highest bidder.

“Please come over,” I found myself begging again. It had been days since I had seen Aubrey. She was making herself scarce. It was killing me.

The heroin sat like a lump of stone in my bedroom closet. The pills were quickly becoming not enough. The temptation to try
just a little
was getting harder and harder to ignore.

I needed Aubrey.

“I can’t, Maxx. I have a lot of work to do,” she said, making her millionth excuse of the week.

“Did you see the picture? The one I did outside your building?” I asked her. She hadn’t mentioned it. It drove me crazy that she hadn’t said a thing about my soul splattered in paint on her doorstep. I had really thought she’d get it. That she’d understand.

But it was like she didn’t give a fuck.

I heard her take a deep breath. “Yes, I saw it,” she said softly.

“Did you like it?” I needled, trying to get a reaction from her. Anything. I just needed
something.