Recovery (2 page)

* * * *

Springfield High school, 1997

Maxim shuffled his way from the office to his first period French class.  The title of new guy could be the kiss of death in high school.  He’d realized right away Seattle style didn’t transfer well to Springfield, Ohio. His worn black jeans, black combat boots and a Ramones T-shirt stood out against the sea of loose fitted khaki, baggy jeans and polo shirts. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, releasing a heavy sigh as he continued down the hallway.

Ever since his mom died four years ago, his father had become a complete stranger and life had gone to shit. He was thankful his father had thrown himself into work instead of the bottle like his grandfather, but after all this time the loneliness was hallowing out his sorrowful soul. In Seattle he’d kept busy with friends and his music to hold the frayed ends of together.  Here, he had no friends and no idea where to find the music scene. Things looked grim. Music was the grace that had saved him many times over. The deep connection he felt to his guitar, and the songs he composed, took him to a world where no pain could enter. Music was also the path he’d chosen to follow post high school. Yet another decision his father didn’t understand or approve.  

Max paused in front of the classroom, knocked and entered. He held his head high and straightened his spine to stand to his full height as the whispering began. Maxim handed his paperwork to Mrs. White, hooked his fingers into his belt loops and balanced on the balls of his feet as he waited for her directions.

“Mr. Wajda it’s nice to have you, welcome to French class.” Every word she spoke was in French and he knew she would be just like his last teacher, expecting him to be ‘on at all times’ in class. He didn’t mind, French was a subject he excelled in.

“Class, we have a new student. This is Maxim,” Mrs. White said. “According to your school work, you should be at the same place as we are.  Here we work in partners so you’ll be with Miss Dubois.”

He opened his mouth to ask her who that was, when an angelic voice spoke in perfectly accented French. “C’est Moi.” The wave of a café latte hand brought his attention to a face that stopped his heart dead in his chest.

“Bonjur Maxim.”

“Bonjour Mademoiselle Dubois,” Maxim said with a smile.  As he made his way over to sit at the desk beside her, he thought,
Things are starting to look up
. “I think I already know why you didn’t have a partner.” Her accent was flawless so it stood to reason her knowledge of the language must be vast.

“Oui, my pere is from France and my sister and I grew up speaking English and French.”

“So why take it now?”

“It’s an easy A. Which leaves me time to concentrate on what I really love.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Ah, that’s for me to know and you to find out.” A playful wink accompanied her sassy response and made Maxim want to know everything about this enchanting girl.

 “Okay class, get out your workbooks and turn to page one-hundred and fifty seven. Maxim, you’ll have to share with Miss Dubois for right now.”   

“Don’t worry, Maxi, I’ll make sure you learn the ropes.”

 The nickname instilled him with a fresh dose of hope, penetrating the chill that had set in his bones.

* * * *

Present Springfield, Ohio

O had kept her promise and then some. She took him under her wing, warmed him with her laid back artist’s soul attitude and showed him the ropes of school. Then she introduced him to her family. By providing him with the love he’d been missing, O had filled the yawning black hole that had threatened to consume him and turn him bitter. It hadn’t been easy, but she had a stubborn streak a mile long that’d kept her from walking away when he screwed up.  This was often; as a teenage boy, it was a birthright to fuck up.

Their relationship had been a joining of souls most adults never found. With Oceane he had a place to belong. It had been O, and her Maman, who’d truly supported his dream of being a musician. Together they had urged him to practice, gone to his shows and encouraged his dreams. O had even written his band, M.A.D, their first popular song. She’d always had a way with words.

As her set crept to a close, he stood.   Maxim wound his way around the rounded wooden tables towards the exit and slipped out before she could spot him.  His high had him jittery and he knew that the shameful addiction that his music had brought him would just disappoint her. If he wanted to see her he needed to have his shit together. A better man would leave her alone, but that was never a label he’d never claimed to wear.

* * * *

Maxim knocked on the door to the apartment they used to share, shifting his weight from side to side. She often let him in if he wasn’t high out of his mind, so he’d been sure to drink a few beers to bring him down to the point of normalcy. After all he’d done, she should tell him to never darken her door step again. At times he thought O must be out to earn sainthood. His stomach lurched as the memory he spent half his time avoiding threatened to surface. The distraction she provided by opening the door was a welcome one.

“Oceane,” he whispered. His sky blue eyes drank in the picture she presented with a black AC/DC tank top and a pair of grey- black- and white plaid boxers that were once his. He loved her like this. All soft and sweet with her face scrubbed free of makeup, her dark chestnut strands framing her face, her chocolate eyes  a gentle caress as she gave him a measured once over.

Oceane knew the smartest thing to do would’ve been to ignore him. But when she peered through the peephole she saw a man who looked a lot like the one she had fallen head over heels with. The worn black jeans hugged his thin frame like a second skin. The sleeveless black T-shirt showcased his sculpted arms. His golden brown hair fell across his brow and down his nape in the disheveled manner she’d always found endearing. His tan made his crystalline blue eyes appear luminous. It’d been a while since she’d seen him look so clean; however, she knew better than to believe he had stopped using.

“Maxi, you look good.”

The use of the pet name wasn’t lost on either of them. She opened the door and stepped back. Her stomach filled with butterfly wings. Maxim Wajda had always made her knees weak and her pulse race. From the moment he stepped into her life out of the blue he’d been gravity and she the earth, unable to resist his pull.

 “Thanks, O.”  He ducked his head to give her an almost shy smile as he moved inside.   

 “Vous regardez beau, comme toujours.”

The words of her native tongue melted the icy demeanor she attempted to maintain. She could never stay mad at Max for long. Without him her creativity had dried up and all but died.  Writing the simplest of poems was hard to stumble through. Dry spells were normal, but this was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It was an unquenchable drought that no amount of brainstorming or soul-searching had been able to end. That she’d been so close to completion of her manuscript for submission made it all the more painful.

“Always the charmer, no?”

“Only when it comes to you, Oceane.”

A brief silence fell between them. “Would you like something to eat? I have some leftover Duck a l’Orange Maman made.”

She padded over to the kitchen, busying herself with the process of preparing him a plate. When she was around Max she lost the ability to think straight. Even now he was just too… male. He was always crowding the usually-sufficient space with his persona. His frame might be thin and lanky, but his personality burst forward like a tidal wave. His oval face was comprised of a button nose, regal jaw line and full pink lips that could appear angelic one moment and devilish the next. It was why he was so good in the role of front man.

“You don’t have to go to any trouble O. I just needed to see you.”

She placed the plastic container into the microwave and turned to find the body of her ex-fiancé directly behind her. Her hands came up to rest on his chest as her head grew light. He stepped closer until he backed her into the counter.

“Max—”

He laid a finger on her lips. “Shh,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

 It had been almost a month since she saw him last and he hadn’t been like this then. He’d chattered insistently, his eyes darted back and forth, his fingers tapped on whatever surface they could find. It pained her to see him laid so low by white powder he didn’t need. He was convinced the creative process went better when he was under the influence. But she knew the true genius lay inside him, not in outside forces.

“I’m sorry for all of this, Oceane; I really am trying to get better.”

He wrapped her in his arms and she was lost. Oceane closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of ocean breeze and musk that clung to his skin. Just for a while she could pretend things were back the way they used to be when she still bore the two karat diamond he’d placed on her finger and they shared the small but cozy space they’d created together over the years. Her fingers itched to touch him and she yielded, allowing her arms to move up and return his embrace.

 “I missed you, too.”

His hands began a gentle massage on her lower back then crept up her spine and into her hair. The growing bulge in his pants pressed against her stomach and her panties grew moist. It had been so long since she’d felt him move inside of her. His width and girth were almost too much to take and his thick cock occupied every inch of space inside her walls. He was just too male. The thought of it made her face heat.

“God, Maxi.”

She clutched the back of his shirt. Her nipples strained against the cotton that teased them. The material was an annoyance to the heavy mounds that ached to be fondled. She fought the need to grind against him as her body trembled, begging her to relieve the tension that made her pussy pulse as her cream continued to flow like a hot fountain.

“Oceane,” he whispered. God, how did he manage to make her name sound so damn sexy? “I want you mon ange.” His nimble fingers stilled in her hair and slid down to cup her face as he bent to meet her gaze. “I long for you. Please don’t deny me this.” She remained silent as his soft lips met hers. All rational thought abandoned her as she permitted the passion that flared between them to scald her.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips before it plunged inside her moist cavern. Each swirl felt like a possession as he claimed her mouth in the name of Maxim. Her shaky knees weakened and she clutched his shirt tighter while leaning her weight against the counter. Mews left her mouth and she sucked his tongue deeper. Her legs crept up to wrap around his waist as he lifted and set her on the counter. She spread her legs wide and he wedged himself between her thighs. When they finally came up for air she rested her head against his chest and used the rhythm of his heart beat to steady herself.

“We can’t do this, Max; I won’t go back to the way things were.”

“Why not?”

“Because when you’re using you’re a lunatic, you go on rants, you disrespect me and every time I leave I worry that I’m going to come home and find you overdosed.”

“I’m not using like that anymore, baby, I’ve cut down a lot.”  He attempted to soothe her with gentle strokes through her hair and butterfly kisses along her jaw, up to the sensitive area behind her ear.

“A lot isn’t good enough, Maxi! You’ve been using on and off for years, what about kindling? The little bumps you think of as harmless could easily spell your death!” Her voice broke as she looked up at him with watery brown eyes. She fought down the urge to let his charm sway her and continued her rant. “And then what would I do? Life without you is unthinkable. I feel like a zombie as it is. Like my life has been placed on hold for the past six months.”

“Then why do you keep us apart?” he asked before he delivered a nip to her neck that made her gasp.

“B-because I refuse to let you think it’s okay to continue to do this.” Her brain had started to feel like it was coated with molasses. Her thoughts slowed, her focus grew dull. She was losing the battle.

“I know it’s not okay, O.” he said. The suction on her neck added more to the pool of liquid that had formed between her legs. Desperate to break the sensual spell he weaved she brought up the white elephant in the room. 

“Don’t you remember what happened six months ago!”

“How could I forget?” Max’s body grew rigid. His hands stilled and dropped to his side. His shoulders slumped as he moved away.

“I came home and found you laying on the floor unconscious with blood pouring from your nose.”

“If I could take it back, I would. That memory haunts me on a daily basis. God, your face when I came to…” He shuddered and shook his head. His blue eyes clouded over with a cocktail of pain and self loathing.

“I can tell it’s eating you up.” She said. “What I don’t understand is why you won’t just stop.” She lowered herself down from the counter knowing she’d dodged a bullet. The vivid memories, doused the flames of desire he’d stoked.  She rushed to door, gripped the metal knob, and kept her eyes downcast and turned away from him. “You need to leave now.” One more look into those azure jewels and she’d be fall back under his spell.

“Oceane—”

“No, it’s easy to forget what’s happened when you come here like this and you’re so much like your old self. But zilch has changed.”  Oceane flipped the latch and spun the lock, desperate for him to leave.  She jumped when Maxim’s heavy hand came down against it the door to keep it shut. He pressed the length of his body against her own and bent to nibble his way down her neck to nip at her shoulder.

“Tell me you don’t want me.”  

His large hands cupped her breasts as he ground his hardened cock against her ass. The skin on the back of her neck was caught between his teeth. The slight pain sent an electric pulse straight to her core. Her hips gyrated back against him of their own accord.

“That’s my girl.” His husky whisper was accompanied by the tweaking of her pert nipples and the continuous nudging of his rigid cock between her ass cheeks finally wore her down.  She widened her legs and gasped when his stroke extended to hit the area that needed his attention most.