Page 23

23

MADDOX

I blare my music and don’t say a word to Bae the entire ride back to my place. Clitblocking on the most oblivious level, and it is one hundred percent her style. She sits there, little rainbow pigtails not even three inches long hanging from the top of her head while she bops along to Cray on the radio.

The song is catchy, but it doesn’t take away my annoyance.

We aren’t the first to get to my place, and the door is already unlocked. It looks like Ira turned my dining room table into a poker setup, and DreadPool is trying to organize some sort of social media dance move to film on their phone with Feral and Baggins. I’m not trying to find them , though. No, my eyes are darting back and forth across my living space for the girl with the burgundy red hair.

It’s just a knotted clump of hair above her head that’s so wild and unkempt, it reminds me of Helena Bonham Carter. She’s leaning against a window, talking to K with a forced smile on her face. I’m finding myself walking in their direction, hoping that, along the way, I’ll stumble into an excuse, or someone else to talk to who won’t make me feel or seem so desperate for her.

Venice slides in ahead of me, handing both her and K a beer. Vera gives Venice a grin when she says thanks, but K-Otic frowns. “Should you be drinking?”

“What do you mean?” Vera pops the tab anyway and takes a swig.

“You’re on pain pills.” K takes the can from her hand and, for some reason, that irks me.

“Yeah, and they’ll work twice as hard now.” She tries to snatch it back, but they don’t let go, and the beer spills all over Vera’s chest.

Her nostrils flare, and she lets out a shrill, frustrated noise without even opening her mouth before running to the bathroom.

Venice looks between the two of us with wide eyes, feeling the awkward tension between the three of us. “Oh, look it’s…” She tries, but her brain glitches before she can come up with an excuse to leave, so she doesn’t bother with more effort. She just lowers her voice to silent and walks away.

K and I don’t break from the staredown we seem to be locked in.

“She’s a big girl. You can’t control her.” I don’t know why I say it, but the words come out of my mouth anyway.

“I’m looking out for her.” K crosses their arms, annoyed that I’m suggesting otherwise.

“Sure, but someone like Vera doesn’t respond well to having her choices taken away from her.” I take a drink of my own beer.

“Oh, suddenly you know a lot about Vera, do you?” They suck something through their teeth and push away from the wall, walking past me and heading out the door.

I guess that’s as long as they can bear to socialize.

I won’t apologize. They can’t force her to make the right decision. They can’t take her choice away.

I don’t check to see if K actually left for good. Instead, I hover in front of the bathroom door, unsure if I should knock, if I should go in, or if I should just leave her the fuck alone. She’s said nothing to me, barely a thank you after I gave her car a jump the other night.

Vera Havik is officially the hardest puzzle I’ve tried to solve. I’m starting to think she has no idea what she looks like when she’s whole, so how the hell is she supposed to put herself back together?

After ten minutes pass and she’s still in the bathroom, I rap my knuckles lightly against the door.

“What?”

I wait to answer. I don’t know what to say, and I’m not quite sure what I’m doing. “I live here.”

There’s no response for a solid minute, but then I hear the click of the door unlock. Nothing else, no call to come inside, no sign from her on the other end. I open the door anyway to see her there, sitting on the closed toilet.

Her shirt is drenched in beer, her eyes red, her war paint from Bout Night streaking down her cheeks. There’s a hundred things I could ask her; she looks miserable, in pain, and not just physically. Instead, I opt for skimming the surface.

“Dry shirt?” I offer.

She doesn’t look up, but she nods and then lifts her arms, almost childlike, as she waits for me to help take hers off. It makes me wonder how she’s getting by at home, if K is helping her, if she’s hurting herself to get her basic needs taken care of. I raise the shirt and toss it into my hamper before pulling my own off and then sliding it over her head. She closes her eyes, shimming into the oversized thing and inhaling hard as it comes down.

“You look like shit.” I immediately regret my choice of words, the hurt on her face feels like barbed wire in my throat. “I just mean, it doesn’t look like anyone has been helping you. With anything.”

She scratches at the side of her arm, and it lasts too long for me to think it’s just nerves. “I just don’t like to be a burden.”

“You need help.” She knows I mean more than just with the wrist.

“You don’t say,” she whispers.

I lay it out for what it is. “You’re a mess, Mayhem.”

She winces. “I know.”

“You need order, systems, routines. Your type can’t function without it.” She’s offended now, and it’s obvious on her face

Vera laughs, but it’s not from amusement. “My type?” She looks like she’s about ready to go a round with me.

“Yeah. Forgetful. Impulsive. Dopamine seeking.” She backs down once I name all her most apparent qualities. “I know because it’s my type too.”

“You seem pretty fucking together.” Her arms cross over her chest.

“It’s that, or get swallowed by the chaos. We can figure out what works for you,” I tell her.

Her sigh is exhausted. “Nothing works for me.”

I crouch down in front of her. “Stay the night.” It’s the closest I’ve ever come to begging in my entire life.

“You’re asking?” She’s finally looking at my face now.

“I’m telling.” My hands are at the tops of her thighs again, just like earlier tonight. I give the same gentle squeeze with my thumbs, and her breath hitches.

“What are you doing to me?” That anxious tone laces through her words, those dark brown eyes burning into mine.

“What do you mean?” I tilt my head, just the tiniest of a curl to my lip.

“I mean, you spend a lot of time getting me off, not much time talking and—” She laughs, but it's anxious, her gaze drifting to the side. “I’m not even quite sure if you stopped hating me yet.” I squeeze harder now to get her attention, but it doesn’t work. She keeps rambling. “I guess it should all be the same to me because, in a way, I’m the one using you …but I think I’m just trading one thing out for another.” She shakes her head, finally meeting my eyes. “What happens when you get tired of me? Or worse, when you realize you can’t fix me because I’ll never love myself enough to stop, and the only person I loved enough to care to stop for is now dead?”

I start to laugh, but I clear my throat so she doesn’t think I’m antagonizing her. “You think you’re using me?” I can’t help but sound smug.

“It feels like it.” She says it like a confession.

It doesn’t offend me.

“You’re mistaken.” My tongue darts over my bottom lip.

“You’re saying if I asked you to get me off right here, right now, you wouldn’t do it?” She’s challenging me.

“You asking nicely, Mayhem?” I slide my hands up her thighs, and her pupils swallow all the brown in her eyes.

Her chest moves with her breathing. “See what I mean?”

I shake my head instead. “Unless you’re at risk from coming to death, I don't think I’d call this trading addictions, Vera.”

“What do you know about addiction?” She huffs.

That offends me. “I know that it’s the only word I can use to describe the need I have for you.” My fingers carve deeper into her thighs, her frown sharpens, but she doesn’t say she’s in pain. “That I’m itching for you every goddamn day, waiting for you to ask me for help, to need me in some way. That the luckiest I’ve gotten all week was when your car broke down.”

“You haven’t talked to me in days.” She’s looking away, like my stare is too much.

“That’s a double-sided problem. Have you talked to me ?” My fingertips are white; there’s no way she can’t feel it.

Vera finds my gaze again. “What are we doing?” she asks once more, but there’s so much desperation in her voice, I’m compelled to answer this time.

I trace my thumb and index finger along the corners of her mouth. “I’m keeping you busy” I lie, my only defense left to protect myself from her.

She scoffs before pushing my hand away. “So this is nothing to you?”

I bite my cheek to fight the twisted grin from forming. “Nah. It’s too much fun to just be nothing .” My hand slides past her ear as I cradle the side of her head in my palm. She relaxes into the touch, melting, relaxing, until she realizes what it’s doing to her. Then, that scowl forms again.

“Stop fucking with me, Maddox.” Her eyes are welling with tears, but she leans harder into me, like it comforts her. Her voice breaks. “I can’t handle it.”

“You’ve been using.” I don’t say it with judgment; I just state it plainly.

It’s all over her face.

“You’ve had my number this whole time. I told you to call me, didn’t I?” Her eyes widen with realization.

“I figured you meant it in the way everybody says it. Call me if you need anything . Anytime , or my favorite, You’re always welcome here . I can’t decipher that shit, especially when it's coming from the girl who was kicking my ass just last week.”

She’s spiraling, so I grab her chin once more to gain her focus. “Hey. That’s them, out there. That’s how they live with their weird societal hoops they jump through and codes they talk in that only they understand. Me and you? I’m always going to be straight with you. If I say you’re a pain in my ass, it’s because you’re acting like a pain in my ass. If I say call me, then you dial my fucking number , do you understand me? If I say anytime, then I want you here without thinking twice. If you need me? Then I better already be around.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when I sink into the realization that I’ve lost at my own game.

And

Now

I’m

Hers.