Page 62 of The Cruelest Chaos

At first, I roll over and clamp a pillow over my head, thinking it’s my mom and the moaning is about to start. But then I realizethis bedis way bigger than mine.

I throw off the pillow and bolt upright, straining my ears.

Another person laughs.

And there’s something in the air...

I inhale deeply, my heart kicking into overdrive. Marijuana.

I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s three in the morning. Thursday. I think about the fight last night, just a few hours ago. The glass on the floor Maverick cleaned up in silence after I pulled my clothes back on.

He left me in here, threw me one of his shirts to wear, and went downstairs. We didn’t speak after that fight. After he almost…

I close my eyes shut and hear someone laugh again. I think about staying here in the dark, about trying to go back to sleep. But I want to talk to him. And I want to know who’s here.

In the past three weeks, I’ve spent more nights here in his house than in my own. And I know it’s stupid and childish, but I can’t help but imagining this house being…my house too.

My face burns as I think that, and I would never say it out loud to him, but still. I want to know who he’s letting invade our little bubble.

I take a deep breath, steel my spine, and walk out of the double doors of his bedroom. I hear a few voices, none of them Maverick’s, and it suddenly occurs to me that maybe he’s not down there at all. Maybe he has friends over, and he went to sleep in a guest room or maybe…

Then I hear his laugh. It’s a barking laugh, almost carefree. So unlike the boy I know. Even still, despite our fight, it makes me feel better to hear him. To know he’s here.

I head down the stairs, not being overly quiet, so he’ll know I’m coming. I round the staircase, head down the long hallway to the living room.

And when I stand in the doorway, I freeze, thinking this was a terrible idea.

Immediately, my eyes lock on the boy straight across from me, sitting on the couch beside Maverick. He has dark blue eyes, black curly hair. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s just as beautiful as Maverick is and I can’t look away from him as I cross my arms self-consciously over my chest.

Music is playing from somewhere,MoodSwingsby Kamaara, and it gives this entire room, with its dim lights and the bottles of alcohol on the table, a cloud of marijuana hanging around the place, an uncomfortable feeling. Like it’s in my best interest not to be here.

“Well, well, well,” the boy with curly hair says, a glass of something clear in his long, pale fingers. “I’m not surprised you hid her away, Mav, but you know sharing is,” he glances over at Maverick, whose eyes are narrowed on me, “a good fucking thing to do.”

I wrap my arms tighter around my body, forcing myself to look at Maverick. Beside him, a guy that looks vaguely familiar is knocking back a shot. He winces, sets it on the coffee table alongside a bottle of vodka.

He smiles at me, gesturing toward Maverick as he folds his arms. “This the girl from New Year’s Eve?” His voice is deep, and I see dimples flashing in his brown skin.

They’re all wearing black, and I realize I’m in Maverick’s white t-shirt and my leggings. My face flushes from all of their eyes on me.

Maverick is slouched on the couch, feet flat on the floor, hands on his knees. I see the vape on the table, and I knows he’s high.

Especially as he crooks his finger at me, doesn’t bother to introduce me to his friends and instead says, “Come here.”

My mouth goes dry and I shake my head, a lock of hair falling over my face. “I’m just gonna go back to bed—”

“Ella.”

I hear the boy with deep blue eyes give a soft laugh.

My spine tingles at the way Maverick says my name, but the way we left things last night—just a few hours ago—and all the glass on the floor, the way he didn’t come back to bed...

They’ve all obviously been drinking or smoking, and I don’t know anything about the other two. I’ve seen one before but don’t remember his name, and the boy with devil eyes I’ve never seen in my life. He seems like trouble.

“Let her go,” the guy with the deep voice says casually. “I’m sure you’ve worn her out.”

I stiffen but make to turn back toward the stairs.

“Ella,” Maverick says again, his tone hard. “I said come here.”