Stain (12 page)

Chapter 13

Maddox

She’s got ass for days, and I’m an ass man so I’m liking the view. Sitting on the futon in the living room, she’s on my dick, riding and grinding on it like a stripper at last call. Her ass bounces against my groin after every time she goes up and drops back down. She’s soaking wet, dripping all over me. Her stepsister’s there too, kneeling in front of her, sucking and squeezing her tits. At this point, I’ve stop asking for names. Sister 1 is the one with the fat ass. Sister 2 can deep throat like no one else. It’s a good time right now. You’d think with me balls-deep in this chick and her sister on deck for another round, I’d be more focused on what the fuck is happening here and now, that I’d be feeling like the happiest fucker on earth. You’d be fucking wrong. I’m the farthest thing from focused. My dick is still hard as fuck, but my mind is on some other shit.

Aylee
. Haven’t stopped thinking about her since last night. I rarely ever have a girl on the brain for this long, and if she is, it’s because we’re fucking. Aylee comes to mind and I’m not thinking with my cock. Well…not entirely. When I saw her old man last night, I instantly recognized him as that piece of shit cop Dro had me do the drop to last week. And I’m thinking that’s the main reason why I’m bothered right now. That asshole is trouble. The fact that he’s her father makes it even worse. I know he’s laying into her. It eats me up inside thinking that I might’ve made it worst for her by going to the door. Suddenly my mind goes into overdrive. I know he’s going to beat her. If he hasn’t already. But how badly? Will she be in school? I never was when it was that bad. There’d been a lot of missed school days when that sperm donor kicked my ass. A surge of anger fires off inside me, it clenches my muscles and pulls me straight up sending the chick on my dick stumbling to the floor into a heap on top of her sister.

“Hey—what the fuck, Max?” She glares at me, obviously pissed. I don’t give a fuck, though.

“Got somewhere to be.” I head to the kitchen to throw away the condom before hopping into my jeans. “Get the fuck out.”

Once they have their clothes on, I rush them out the door and follow suit, closing the door behind me. I head down to my truck, hop inside, and gun it down to the school.

***

Aylee

Seated around the kitchen table the next morning, Tim, Rachel, Sarah, and I wordlessly eat our breakfast. The events of the previous night aren’t mentioned. The sounds of silverware clinking are the only noises that break into the tense silence. Just before everyone gets up to go about their day, I add fuel to the fire by telling them I lost my bike. The only reason why I say anything at all is because I don’t have a way of getting to school.

“What happened to it?” Sarah asks, sipping her glass of milk. It’s an innocent enough question and knowing Sarah as well I do, I know there’s no malicious intent there. Just simple, blithe, childish curiosity.

I shrug. “Someone stole it.” I don’t go into detail.

“Will you give me a ride, Mom?”

“I’ll take you,” Tim interrupts with authority that no one at the table will dare contest.

I’m on edge the instant I hop inside the passenger seat of the Durango. I hold my backpack on my lap and focus all my attention outside the window. I’m press so close to the door that I’m sure I’ll tumble out. But I don’t care. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.

“Who’s the kid who came to the door last night?”

“No one.”

He stays silent. Nothing for a while and then, “Keep it that way.” It’s a clear warning. I’m ready to jump out of the car when we pull up to the curb of the side of the school, but his hand slides beneath the weight of my backpack to rest on my upper thigh. When he squeezes, I reflexively jerk away but his grip is strong enough to keep me from moving. I let my head hang, my hair falling in a curtain around my face, hiding my revulsion. “You know he only wants one thing from you, Aylee.” The hand moves slowly up and down, massaging my thigh. “Guys like that only ever want one thing. When they get it, they’ll leave you so fast your head’s going to spin. I’m not going to let that happen.” His voice is low, he’s close now, leaning over the middle armrests to whisper in my ear. “I’m not going to let him take your sweet little cherry, baby girl. I’ll kill him first.”

Sickness claws violently at my throat. It’s acid, bitter and scorching as it bubbles up my esophagus. I have to swallow hard, one, two, three times, before it slithers back down, but it’s there. It doesn’t go away completely even as I shove the car door open, grab my backpack, and stagger outside.

***

Maddox

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and that becomes clear when I park my truck in the student parking lot but can’t figure where to find her. I haven’t been to school yet today, and if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t step foot on campus. Skipping is an art form for me. And I had no intention of being here today. Had better plans. And it’s not like I know her damn schedule. Shit, I barely know mine. Classes don’t start for another fifteen minutes and Noah typically hangs out in the quad every morning. I head over there, hoping she’s with Noah and his friends, so I can stop worrying and get back to business. I spot Noah sitting on top of a lunch table.

Obviously he looks surprised to see me. “You’re…here…? You just came to school yesterday. This must be a record.”

“Where the fuck else would I be?” I take a seat on the bench, turning my back to him to look out into the crowd.

“Expanding your porn empire for one,” he jokes. Funny guy, my twin.

“Decided to take the day off. My dick needs a break.” I’m not really paying attention to him, but I’m also trying to look like I’m not looking for her.

“Looking for someone?”

Guess being subtle isn’t one of my strengths. “Yup, new piece of ass. Want to help me?” When my eyes finally catch a glimpse of her, I jump up.

“Max! Where are you going?”

Didn’t realize I took off until I’m halfway down the quad, taking the concrete staircase leading to the school two stairs at a time. I’m bumping into people, and pushing them out of my way to get to her. She walks pretty damn fast for a midget. “Hey, wait up,” I call when I’m close enough for her to hear me. And I know she hears me, because for just a second, she pauses. But then she keeps going, putting a little more speed into her every step. “Hey!” Too fucking bad my legs are longer than hers. I close in on her just as she pushes one of the double doors to the first-floor staircase. “Didn’t you hear me call you back there?” I ask as I grab her elbow to pull her around. She has her head down, her hair, which I’ve noticed has always been in two braids, falls in loose waves around her face.

She nods. “I did…” Her voice is soft and so quiet. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” I say. “Look at me.” I don’t wait for her to lift her head. Instead, I cup her face and do it for her. The anger from earlier hits me like a blow to the gut and the only thing keeping me from raging is the softness of her skin on my hands. I’m gentle when I slide my thumb across a dark purple bruise on her cheek, but she winces, her bottom lip curling between her teeth in an attempt to either keep her pained moan at bay or show me that it isn’t as bad as it looks. She’s stupid for doing either. I’m so fucking angry for her I can feel the rage pounding through me. It’s a white-hot anger that has me seeing red, and the only thing that’ll make it better is beating the shit out of someone. The cop would do nicely.

“I know it hurts.” That’s really all I can say right now. “I’m sorry.” That too. It comes out pretty damn easy, too.

When she sets a hand on my wrist, I thinking she’s going to push me away, tell me to leave her the fuck alone. It’s what I would’ve done. I never allowed anyone close enough to see how much it hurt when I was going through it. But she’s not me. She doesn’t push me away, in fact, her hand remains like a warm, soft band of flesh around my wrist and when she squeezes, I let her. I take the silence of her pain that feels too damn much like my own.

Jesus fucking Christ!

I’m stuck between wanting to hit something right now and rolling a joint, and popping some SKY to numb me to the balls.

“I’m okay.” When she answers, it’s with a breathy whisper clogged with tears she doesn’t let fall. She sniffs and attempts to smile. “A pig is probably somewhere getting some pretty awesome air mileage right now.”

She lost me. “What?”

“You know, pigs flying,
you
actually being here,
in school
. I’m thinking you gave a pig some wings,” she jokes quietly, and when she actually produces a genuine smile, I’m struck for a little bit with how much I like it on her. It’s a little shy, a flash of pearly-white teeth between a set of lips, her pink pout grabbing my attention. “You can let go of my face now,” she says, trying her best not to meet my gaze.

Another thing that strikes me suddenly is how unwilling I am to let her go. It’s such an insane mind-fuck that I have to take a few steps away from her to keep myself from losing it.

“So…are you staying?”

“Nah,” I say, “I got someone waiting for me.” I put enough out there to make her think it’s a girl but it’s actually a customer who hit me up earlier this morning for some SKY. I’m not even sure why the lie is necessary right now. But I don’t want her getting ideas. “I’ll be seeing you, Aylee.”

I’m down the stairs when she calls, “Maddox…?”

I’m at the bottom of the stairs looking up at her standing on top of it. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you came.”

Four little words softly spoken slide under my skin like a needle full of shit I shouldn’t be doing but the aftereffect might just be the best fucking high of my life. This girl is not someone I should be fucking with. She’s got neon yellow hazardous signs written all over her slim body clearly warning me to stay the fuck away and yet all I seem to be doing is stupidly running towards it. Towards her. At full speed.

Yeah, I need to get the fuck outta here.

“Put something on that cheek.” And then I turn and leave.

Chapter 14

Aylee

The week drags on at a snail’s pace. Each morning I wake up with a renewed hope that I’ll see Maddox at school again, but by the end of each day that hope burns to embers of despair. There’s a strange weight on my chest that only seems to grow heavier with each passing day. It feels like a boulder stopping my heart from finding its proper rhythm. He doesn’t show up to group therapy either, so by Friday night all I want to do is curl up in bed with a blanket over my head with a Netflix marathon of Audrey Hepburn movies to watch until I fall asleep and pray that I’ll forget him. Forget about his piercing eyes. Forget the way he’d touched me on Tuesday, and held my face so tenderly in the palm of his hand while trying to comfort me. Forget about the effect his words have on me, and how much I quake inside when he tells me to do something. Forget about his athletic frame, the broadness of his shoulders, the rise and dips of his abdomen adorned by all those tattoos. Forget that all too distinct line of toned muscles that cuts down his slim waist and leads to his groin where his long, thick, perfectly-veined penis springs up from between his lengthy, powerful legs like a masterfully-crafted pillar. Forget him, and forget everything. But I can no more forget every wickedly beautiful aspect of him than I can forget my own name.

“Would you do it?”

I blink. “Do what?” I’m in Mallory’s room. No movie for me this Friday night. Not only is it Halloween, but I’ve been given permission to spend the night at Mallory’s house. I’m not sure how she did it, but after telling her I wasn’t going to be able to spend the night at her house like we’d first planned two weeks ago, she had me call Tim and took the phone from me to talk to him. It took her less than two minutes to get him to agree for me to have a sleepover at her house.

“Let Maddox Moore fuck you on camera.”

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. If I’d been drinking something right now, I would’ve spit it out all over myself. Giving her a bemused look, I try to figure out exactly when and how we got into this conversation. “What?”

She turns to look at me from where she stands in her walking closet and rolls her eyes. “Don’t play stupid with me. That whole ‘I’m so innocent act’ is only going to get you so far. I saw you with him the other day, you know. And Danielle and Alecia said they saw you at his apartment the day you totally ditched me. So I want to know, are you going to let Maddox fuck you for his website?”

I’m concentrating so hard on the screen of my phone that I’m sure it’s going to go up in flames any second now. That, or it’ll just be me who spontaneously combusts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mal.”

“Fucking spare me, Aylee. Why are you keeping stuff from me? I thought we were supposed to be best friends.”

I look at her. “We are,” I insist.

“Then why the hell didn’t you tell me you’re fucking Maddox?”

God. This conversation is spinning out of control. “I’m not! I’m not doing anything with him. I just wanted to ask if he would pose for me. I told you I needed three new and different pieces for my portfolio.”

“So what, you’re going to just…paint him?” Despite the skepticism in her voice, she sounds utterly confused. Like the thought of doing anything other than ‘fucking’ Maddox Moore was inconceivable. She wouldn’t be wrong. The idea of being intimate with Maddox didn’t just cross my mind, it lingered there. It brought baggage and made a nice, comfortable home inside my brain and in the inferno-hot place directly south of my stomach.

With a shrug, I shift from side to side on her bed before bringing my legs to my chest. “I don’t think he’s going to do it.” I’m referring to the drawing. Resting my head on my upraised knees, I’m grateful my hair is able to cover my hot face. She saw the bruise, briefly asked me about it, and bought the ‘I walked into an open cupboard’ excuse I gave her.

She takes out a black skater skirt and holds it in front of her while keeping her eyes glued to the mirror. “Well yeah, no shit. The guy fucks and sells drugs for a living. I don’t think he has time for your little art project. And no offense, but he’s kind of out of your league. I just figured he wanted to fuck you on camera, is all. Because
that’s
his
little project
. How about this one?” She turns to me for an opinion I’m sure she doesn’t really need.

Choosing to ignore her comments, I answer, “It’s nice, you should wear the thigh-high stockings with it.”

Turning back to the mirror, she scrunches her nose before tossing the skirt on top of the mountain of clothes on the foot of her bed. “Not hot enough. Damn it, I hate that we can’t wear a Halloween costume to a fucking Halloween party! It would’ve been so much easier!”

“What did the text say?”

“Just the address of the party and ‘no costumes.’ Masks will be provided at the door.”

“Then just wear one of your party dresses. Lord knows your closet is full of them.”

She disappears inside her closet and says something I don’t quite catch.  

“What? I didn’t hear you.”

She comes back out. “I said, ‘I’d do it with you.’”

I frown. “Do what with me?”

“Fuck Maddox.” Her response is casual. This isn’t a big deal for her. So it’s understandable she doesn’t even realize the impact her answer has on me just now. “I heard he’s really into having a ménage à trois. I’d let him fuck me if you came along.”

No. No, I do not want that. I don’t want any of that. I don’t want her near him. I don’t want her to even look at him! And I especially don’t want her nasty, old man-touching hands on him.

I’m completely shocked at how vehement I become. The very thought of Mallory with Maddox not only makes me ill, but it conjures a thick, black cloud of such menacing fury that I can taste my own jealousy. I want to tackle her to the ground and repeatedly claw at her face. “He doesn’t want you,” I murmur darkly.

Her laughter rings out loud and it’s sharp enough to distract from the tension. “Oh my god, Aylee, you like him!” she says, in between breaths, still laughing like I just told her the funniest joke in the entire history of jokes. “Aw. You’re so cute. I wish you could see your face right now. You look like a kitten who got its favorite toy taken away. God, sweetheart, relax. It’s not even that serious. Yes, I’ll give you that he’s gorgeous as hell, and people tell me he can fuck until you can’t see straight. But honestly, Aylee, at the end of the day he’s just a glorified asshole who wouldn’t give you the time of day. He’s into experienced girls, like me. I mean, do you
ever
even go out? And therapy doesn’t count,” she adds, giving me a patronizing smile. “He’ll come, probably all over your pretty little face, and he’ll go. If anything, it’s best to just enjoy all of his fuckable qualities, ride his cock, and then put him out of your mind when you’re done. Sweetie… Girls like you don’t date boys like Maddox Moore.” She has the audacity to look at me with synthetic concern. It’s sickening how much of a bitch she’s being right now. “I personally don’t bother with his kind,besides, even if he did want me, he’s not really my type.
”

“Yeah, he’s actually age appropriate.”
I want to say those words so badly they burn at the tip of my tongue. But in typical Aylee fashion, I say nothing. I fume silently, calling her every bad word that comes to mind. Wishing her the worse venereal disease known to man.

“Stop pouting, Aylee,” she orders with a sigh, like she’s talking to a toddler. Walking around to the right side of the bed, the queen-sized mattress dips when she takes a seat next to me. Taking my hand, she says with a smile, “You know I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just want you to be careful. We’ve been best friends for five years now, if I don’t look out for you some asshole is going to come along and think it’s okay to mess with you. You
need
me to look out for you. And that’s all I’m doing with the whole Maddox thing. If he wants you, we can both have him.” She touches my cheek, the one without the fading bruise. “I bet you wouldn’t even know what to do with yourself if he pulled out his dick and told you to suck it. That’s why you need me, Aylee. I’ll show you all my best tricks.” She says all this like it’s supposed to be the most reassuring thing in the world when really it’s just Mallory being her typical manipulative self.

Sometimes, like now for instance, I wonder why we’re even friends at all. She and I are so different. I think what initially drew me to her was her bravado and just how unreserved she was. There really was no filter with Mallory. She didn’t necessarily process her thoughts before she said them. That still hasn’t changed. I remember thinking how nice it was when I first met her that she was everything I wasn’t. Everything I wanted to be. Sociable, smart, sexy, and above all else, uninhibited. Her small bouts of narcissism and shallowness never bothered me before. But now I’m finding it harder and harder to ignore them. With a sigh, I sweep my hair behind my ear and resignedly take her for what she is. She’s Mallory. She’s always going to be Mallory. Rude, selfish, and self-absorbed, but deep down beneath all that she’s still my best friend. She’s still the girl who befriended me in eighth grade. She’s still the girl who makes me laugh at the stupidest things. Besides, who am I to judge her just because I sin differently? I have my own horrible qualities. My own ugliness is buried just beneath the surface. The only difference is that Mallory is more transparent about hers.

“He doesn’t want me like that,” I say, after a moment.

“Well, who cares? I’m going to find you some much better prospects at this party. But first, you’re changing your outfit.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

She rolls her eyes. “Only everything. You dress like a fucking sister wife. You’re eighteen. You’re pretty. So let’s just thank fucking Jesus first of all that you don’t belong to some lecher named Jim Bob who lives on a compound somewhere. Now come on,” she finishes, giving a tug on my arm as she pulls me off the bed and drags me to her closet when I’m on my feet. “I know exactly what you should wear.”

Fifteen minutes later, I come out of Mallory’s bathroom fully dressed. Although I’m sure what I’m wearing barely constitutes as nothing at all. It’s a typical Mallory outfit. And if Rachel saw me now, she would undoubtedly ban me from ever seeing Mallory again. As I slip and wiggle my left foot inside the black bootee Mallory lends me, I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I’m not usually fond of mirrors, but this one…

“I look…”

“You look good.”

She isn’t wrong. It’s odd seeing myself in these clothes. But I can’t say it’s a bad thing. I can’t say I don’t like how I look in them. When she’d pulled me to her closet, Mallory tossed clothes at me she expected me to put on. Including the short skater skirt she had looked at a bit ago. And although she is my best friend and I assume girls undress in front of each other, I’ve never felt comfortable enough to do so in front of anyone, not even her. Nonetheless, she’d taken it for another one of my countless eccentricities and while I hurried to the bathroom, she waited patiently. Once I was behind the closed door, I breathed better, silently grateful that she wouldn’t see my scars. While I dressed, I worried the skirt she wanted me to wear would reveal just that. But the stockings were long enough to cover my healing wounds.

Now here I am loving my reflection. With an objective eye, I take inventory of my appearance. I’m wearing the same outfit I suggested she wear. And while she thought it wasn’t hot enough, I do. I like the way the black skater skirt falls about mid-thigh just a few inches higher than the pair of burgundy red thigh-high knee socks I’m wearing. It’s indecently…sexy. I blink in silent shock. Me and sexy are a combination of words I never thought I’d use to describe myself. But here and now, it fits. The skirt is paired with a scooped-neck, short-sleeved white lace shirt that shows just a sliver of midriff. It’s a tantalizing flash of my skin. Modest Aylee is nowhere to be seen.

“Do you want me to do your makeup?”

I shake my head before turning my back to the mirror. “No.” I have to draw the line somewhere. Tucking a few strands of my unbound hair behind my ear, I drop back down onto Mallory’s bed to wait for her.

When she emerges a little later from her closet, the dress she has on flirts on that precarious line between sexy and trashy. The crimson red micro-mini-fit bandage dress is the furthest thing from subtle. But then subtle isn’t what she’s going for. Stopping just a few inches above mid-thigh, the dress clings to her lithe frame like it’s a second skin leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It is so tight that it squeezes and lifts her breasts nearly to her neck, displaying an ample amount of cleavage.

She rakes her fingers through her layered locks, turning a few times in the mirror to admire herself before returning an expectant gaze at me. “Well?”

Well indeed. “Very hot.”

Her eyes brighten. “I do look hot, don’t I?

“Muy caliente.”

She tosses a wry grin my way before turning back to the mirror. It appears her reflection is far more giving than my brief Spanish comment as she proceeds to make pouty faces and again raking her fingers through her hair over and over. It takes her another fifteen minutes to reapply her makeup.

“You need to let me put this vampy red lipstick on you, at least.” She heads my way, holding the aforementioned tube of lipstick. “I promise it’ll look really good.”