Текст книги "Follow Me Back"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

chapter

two

aubrey

monotony.

Routine.

Blasé consistency.

That is what my life had deteriorated to.

At one time I had wanted these blissfully mundane adjectives to define my life. I had sought out the plain and unassuming. But after losing my sister, Jayme, in my senior year of high school, I hadn’t been in a position to be spontaneous or exciting. Impulsivity scared the shit out of me.

Jayme had danced on the edge and had fallen over. So I wanted my feet firmly on the ground. I needed to know what came next. That there was a B after A. That when I walked out my door every morning I knew exactly what to expect. So I became boring. And that was A-OK.

Until Maxx had stormed into my life and turned everything upside down. His intensity had scared me. He pulled me under by the force of his passion, and when I threw myself into his wild world, I found a piece of myself that had lain dormant for entirely too long. In a way, Maxx had brought me back to life. And I had loved him for resurrecting the girl who’d disappeared long ago. But when we lost control, when he hit rock bottom and I tumbled along after him, I made the decision that spontaneity and chaos simply didn’t have a place in my life anymore.

But I missed it. Life on the edge of the blade had been exhilarating. Now that he was gone I found myself trying to fit back into a life that I had so obviously outgrown. To become a woman I no longer knew how to be. And no matter how much I tried to force my feet back into those shoes, they didn’t seem to fit anymore. That piece of me that Maxx resurrected was there, lurking beneath the surface.

“Dude, are you still breathing?” Brooks asked, poking my arm from his spot beside me on my worn-out couch.

I focused on my friend, who was peering at me with a mixture of concern and blatant incredulity. My mouth stretched into a mildly lunatic caricature of a smile, and Brooks blinked, clearly disturbed by my psycho grin. “Just spaced out for a minute, sorry,” I said a bit too brightly, reaching into the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

I felt like Brooks and Renee spent most of their time on “Aubrey watch,” waiting for me to crack and lose my shit. And to be fair, it was an honest concern. I was one giant, waving red flag of impending doom.

Brooks gave a disingenuous laugh and it was obvious that he, too, was trying desperately to force himself back into a role that wasn’t necessarily his anymore.

“So, are you ready for graduation?” I asked, steering the subject into what felt like “normal” territory, and immediately hoping that he wouldn’t point the question back at me.

Where is your life headed, Aubrey? Abort! Abort! Scary life planning ahead, detour into blissful ignorance!

“I guess. I won’t hear about grad school for another month or so. But I think I’ve got all of my ducks in a row. What about you? Have you thought about what you’re going to do after you graduate next year? Are you still thinking of applying for the LPC program?” Brooks was referring to the Licensed Professional Counseling program at Longwood. Six months ago, that had been my plan, which was why I was putting in all of the volunteer hours—essential for graduation and it looks great on grad school applications.

I took a deep, calming breath. “I’m not so sure that’s an option right now, considering everything that has happened. Hell, I doubt Dr. Lowell or anyone else in the department would be in a rush to give me a recommendation anytime soon,” I said, with only the teensiest bit of bitterness.

“Eh, you don’t know. Just ride out the suspension, do what you need to do and keep your nose clean. You’ll be Dr. Lowell’s darling again in no time.”

“We’ll see, I guess. But what about you? Is Longwood still your first choice? Haven’t you had enough of our boring little campus?” I asked.

I had been surprised to learn that Brooks had plans to pursue his graduate degree at Longwood University. The graduate counseling program was decent, but with his grades he could go anywhere. I knew my reasons for wanting to stay had always been about putting down roots in a place that felt comfortable. But that was back before staying at the same, tiny campus hadn’t meant facing the aftermath of your screwup every day.

Now change didn’t seem like such a bad thing, and the idea of leaving no longer left a bad taste in my mouth. In fact, it seemed like the best option I had.

“I don’t know. I like it here. I like the professors. I think there are a lot of benefits to staying.” Brooks’s eyes flickered over to me, barely making contact.

“Yeah, well, I think you’re kind of crazy, Brooks. I’m beginning to see a lot of merit in getting the hell out of Dodge,” I stated.

“Give yourself some time to get over all of this, Aubrey. And then you may feel differently,” Brooks argued.

Give yourself some time to get over all of this. The words bounced around in my skull, tattooing themselves on my brain. It had been my mantra since I had left Maxx. I was convinced that time was all I needed. Even if there was a niggling of doubt that I was deluding myself.

“Sure, maybe you’re right,” I agreed, working to convince both of us. Even though I knew how ridiculous it was to tell someone to give it time. No words in the history of words were less helpful. When you were going through something horrible, the last thing you wanted to hear was one day, down the road, you’ll feel better again. Not when you wanted to feel better right now!

My phone started to ring, and I looked down to see the number that flashed across the screen. It was a phone call I had been avoiding for the past three weeks. The phone call that could turn my sort of crappy day into a full-blown shit fest. I heard the melodramatic booming of drums in my head as I stared down at the vibrating phone.

“Ugh,” I groaned, picking up my phone, my thumb hovering over the ignore button.

“Your mom again?” Brooks asked.

I nodded. He had seen me send her calls to voice mail multiple times over the past few days.

“Have you spoken to your parents since your hearing?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nope.”

I’d been startled by a call from my mom a few days earlier. Apparently Dr. Jamison had called them in advance of my disciplinary panel, and to say my mother had been unhappy to hear about all that had taken place was a drastic understatement. I then had to endure forty-five minutes of hearing about her disappointment. It had been the first time we’d spoken in months, which doubly pissed me off. I felt like my parents had lost the right to vocalize any opinions on my life, given that they hadn’t taken the slightest interest in it since Jayme died. So having to sit silently and take the acid oozing from her mouth had almost tipped me over the edge.

As much as I tried not to let my mother get to me, it was impossible to ignore how much it hurt to hear her ugliness. She had gone straight for the jugular. She had been merciless and hateful. Jayme would never have done something like this. You should do better for her if you can’t do it for yourself.

How quickly my mother had forgotten the truth of who my fifteen-year-old sister had been. She had turned a complete blind eye to the grief Jayme had put our entire family through. And even though I loved my sister and missed her every day, I hadn’t forgotten about why she was no longer with us. But it seemed as though my parents had reframed her death in their minds and turned it into something they could live with.

The counselor side of me understood and accepted this. The daughter side, not so much. It made me resentful and angry and less than willing to revisit that particular brand of heartache by answering my mother’s calls.

“Don’t you think you should answer it? You know she’ll just keep calling until you do. Might as well get it out of the way. Like ripping off a Band-Aid,” Brooks advised, and I rolled my eyes, hating his calm rationale.

“Well, you’d better go, then. Because this won’t be something I need an audience for,” I said just as the phone stopped ringing. I knew she would call back in a few minutes, as had become her habit this week.

“Are you sure? I can stay if you need me to,” Brooks offered. Even though I appreciated his thoughtfulness, I knew that nothing would help me deal with whatever my mother had to say.

“Nah. You go on. I’ll meet up with you at the commons for dinner, okay?” I suggested just as my phone started ringing again.

Brooks looked down at my phone and then into my face, his eyes softening. “Okay. But you know how to reach me if you need to. I’m always here. Don’t forget that.”

“Thanks, Brooks,” I said as he leaned down to kiss my forehead, his lips lingering. I ignored the implications of his less-than-innocent gesture and gave him a shaky smile, lifting my phone up to indicate that I was about to answer it.

“Good luck, kiddo,” he called out as he left.

I blew a noisy breath out of my nose and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said cheerily.

“I got a letter in the mail about the outcome of your hearing. I wanted to talk to you about it,” my mother said by way of greeting, getting right to the point.

“Why?” I asked, knowing my attitude would piss her off. But I wasn’t in the mood to really care.

“What is wrong with you, Bre? This is serious. What in the world are you going to do now?” Her use of my sister’s nickname for me made me cringe. It always did.

“Major in basket weaving?” I said dryly.

I could practically hear my mother grinding her teeth. “I think you should come home for a visit. It’s clear that things have gotten out of control up there. You’ve lost sight of what you’re doing and where you’re headed.”

“And what exactly am I doing here?” I countered, knowing damn well my mother had no clue what my plans were for my future. She had never once asked me about what I wanted to do with my life. Those sorts of discussions had gone off the table once my sister’s casket had been lowered into the ground and the heart that had once loved both of her children had shriveled up and stopped feeling anything at all.

“Maybe that’s what we should talk about. You need to come home. Just for a few days. Your dad and I would like to see you.” There was a slight quiver in my mother’s voice that threw me. She sounded, for the briefest of moments, like the woman who had held me after my first breakup when I was fourteen. The woman who had cleaned my scrapes and tended my bruises. The woman who made me sausage gravy on homemade biscuits for breakfast every year on my birthday because it was my favorite.

But I couldn’t let myself be deluded into thinking she had changed. That maybe, just maybe, she was trying to be the mother I needed her to be once again. I had experienced enough crippling disappointment to last me one lifetime.

“I can hear about how I’m failing Jayme’s memory just as easily over the phone, Mom,” I said quietly, trying to speak around the lump in my throat.

My mother didn’t say anything for a while, which surprised me. I was prepared for a hateful comeback. I was on edge waiting for the next barb.

“Aubrey, we’re worried about you,” my mother said, her tone altering into something resembling concern. Which couldn’t be genuine. My mother had stopped expressing anything other than furious displeasure a long time ago.

“This thing with that boy in the support group, being almost kicked out of the program at school—it’s not like you,” she continued.

“And what do you know about what I’m like anymore, Mom? It’s not as though you have bothered to know anything about me in years!” I shouted, losing control of my emotions. I wasn’t used to having this sort of conversation with my mother. I didn’t know how to talk to her anymore.

“Stop yelling, Bre!” my mother snapped, and I was almost relieved to hear her usual irritation. This woman I could deal with. The concerned maternal act was one that I couldn’t stomach. Not now. Not when things were already so off-kilter.

“I’m not coming home. If there’s something you or Dad need to say, then say it to me now.” I sounded petulant, but I couldn’t help it. Clearly my mother brought out the best in me.

“Why do you have to make things so difficult?”

“I’ve got to go, Mom. I have a life to screw up,” I said, ending the call before we could spend any more time making each other miserable.

I threw the phone onto the couch and picked up a pillow, covering my face. I screamed as loud as possible into the plush fabric, letting it drown out the strength of my anger. After I had exhausted myself, I got to my feet feeling jittery and uneasy.

“I’m just one big, fucking mistake,” I muttered, grabbing my keys and leaving the apartment, knowing that if I stayed there I’d end up throwing stuff. And as much as I loved to clean, I had had enough of sorting through my impulsive actions.

I got into my car with no clear idea of where I was headed. I just needed to drive. To find a place where I could unwind.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I ended up outside of the Quikki Mart. The dark alleyway to the side that led to Maxx’s apartment was shadowed and ominous. In some strange way, I guess it made sense that I came here. This was the one place that I had been able to let go and be myself. To be loved by the only person to accept all of me. Despite the dark, complicated nature of my relationship with Maxx, his home was a place that I felt safe.

I put my car into park and was suddenly hit with a paralyzing thought.

What if . . . what if Maxx was home?

I hadn’t contemplated that during my mindless drive here. And now, sitting in my car outside of his apartment, I was itching to go inside . . . but I couldn’t stomach the thought of facing Maxx.

I imagined thick, blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Strong arms that so easily wrapped around me. Full lips that fit against mine perfectly. Everything about him was irresistible. Combustible. How would I ever be able to resist his magnetic pull?

Yet I impulsively got out of the car and walked down the narrow space between buildings and quickly climbed the staircase that led to the apartment door I had walked through so many times before.

The hallway smelled of stale urine and garbage. I could hear the thumping of club music from the apartment next door. I sorted through my keys until I found the one I had never given back.

I felt suddenly guilty for invading his space like this. To expect that my presence would be welcomed. How could I possibly explain showing up like this?

I’ll just stay for a moment. See if he’s okay. Then leave. No big deal. This is just about my closure. If I know what he’s up to, it’ll be easier to get over this huge bump in my road.

I didn’t want to acknowledge how delusional I sounded, even to myself.

Walking into the darkness of Maxx’s home was like a punch to the gut. I closed the door behind me and leaned back against the wall, trying to get my breathing under control.

Why had I come here?

Why would I do this to myself?

How could I ever make myself leave again?

I felt along the wall until I found the light switch and turned it on. Light flooded the small, cramped apartment and I put a fist to my mouth to stifle the sob that crept up my throat.

He wasn’t there. And by the looks of it, he hadn’t been there in a long time. Nothing had been touched in quite a while. The space felt empty, devoid of life. Like listening to the echo of the person who used to inhabit it. The wave of overwhelming disappointment almost brought me to my knees.

But honestly . . . what had I expected? What had I hoped to gain by unceremoniously walking into his apartment only weeks after telling him good-bye?

Maxx’s T-shirt was strewn across the back of the tattered couch. A Styrofoam cup sat on the coffee table. A plate with a half-eaten sandwich covered in something fuzzy sat beside it.

The air was ripe with the smell of rotten food. I slowly walked through the rooms, turning on lights as I went.

My heart tripped over in my chest as a realization hit me. If Maxx wasn’t here, then where was he?

Maybe he was visiting his brother. Or staying with friends.

Yeah, and maybe he ran away and joined the circus.

Each scenario seemed equally unlikely. Images of Jayme as she had looked when I was called in to identify her body flashed through my mind, and I almost crumpled into a heap.

If something had happened to him, I would know, right? Landon, Maxx’s younger brother, would have contacted me. I frantically thought of every reasonable explanation for his absence and tried to calm down. I couldn’t allow myself to imagine the worst. I’d lose what was left of my good sense and run off trying to find him.

Because my life wasn’t about Maxx anymore. It couldn’t be.

And yet . . . I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I walked down the hallway and pushed open the closed door in front of me. Light from the street filtered in through the window. This room didn’t smell of rancid garbage or stale air. It smelled like him.

Like Maxx.

I didn’t turn on the light. I walked carefully over piles of clothes until I reached the bed. I slowly sat down and let my hands fall between my knees. It was crazy that despite everything, despite all this man had put me through, his home, his space, felt so right.

Almost against my will, I picked up his pillow and buried my face in it, inhaling deeply. His scent clung to the fabric. Behind closed eyelids I saw Maxx’s desperate face, blue eyes pleading, blond curls in wild disarray from my fingers. I remembered words fraught and needy.

And I want you, Aubrey. All of you. Every tiny, perfect part. I want you to belong to me, only to me, so that you’ll never leave. Please don’t leave.

But I had left.

I threw the pillow back onto the bed and abruptly got to my feet. I stomped back out to the kitchen and opened the cabinet beneath his sink. I was glad to see several bottles of generic cleaner. I grabbed the paper towels and pulled the trash can over from its spot by the wall.

I started scooping the trash off the counter and into the bin. I began to spray down the counters and scrub them clean. I found a broom and systematically swept the remains of food and garbage from the floor.

When I was done, I began to attack the piles of dirty dishes, washing and drying them, then putting them away. I wouldn’t allow my mind to ask the questions about where he was and what he was doing. I couldn’t let myself consider how much not knowing bothered me.

I just kept cleaning.

After half an hour the kitchen was spotless, but I wasn’t finished. I moved on to the living room, gathering up dirty clothes and putting them into the hamper. Maxx didn’t have a vacuum cleaner, so I made do with the broom.

I straightened the couch cushions and wiped down the coffee table, trying not to gag as I disposed of the moldy food. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was doing it. Cleaning had always had a calming effect on me. It was the best way I knew to find some control in a world that had lost all sense of order.

And maybe there was a part of me that wanted to make this space clean and safe again. That maybe by scrubbing the dishes and washing his clothes, I could get rid of the remnants of the chaos that had defined both of our lives. That putting things in order would allow me to rid myself of the ghosts of this recent past. Erasing and removing the hurt and persistent longing.

And maybe if and when Maxx came home to his pretty, clean apartment, he’d be able to turn his life around.

Stop thinking about what-ifs, Aubrey! It doesn’t matter! I chastised myself.

With an armful of cleaning products I went back to his bedroom. Turning on the light, I could only stand there and look around as I was assaulted by a thousand memories that threatened to gut me all over again.

The nightstand was overturned; empty bottles were strewn across the room. I could see Maxx, in my head, searching desperately for his drugs. And then when he couldn’t find them, turning to the stuff that had almost killed him.

He had nearly died from a heroin overdose. I never realized he was messing with hard-core stuff. The pills had been bad enough, but shooting dope into your veins was something else entirely. How hypocritical it was of me to turn the other way when it came to him swallowing a few prescription meds but drawing the line when it came to a syringe full of smack.

The guilt flooded me with the excruciating memory of our last conversation. Of Maxx’s anxious pleas for me to stay. And how I had denied him the one thing he wanted so much.

I started carefully gathering the empty prescription bottles and tossing them into the garbage bag I had brought with me. There were at least thirty littering the floor. Thirty dirty little reminders of how deep into his addiction Maxx had been.

The cold plastic bottles practically burned my fingers as I picked them up. They disgusted me. Maxx disgusted me.

I disgusted me.

I turned my attention to the clothes that lay in piles everywhere. Some I put into the hamper to be washed. Others that appeared to be clean I put back in neat, tidy piles in his drawers. I straightened the clothes, my hands digging among the socks and shirts. My fingers brushed against a cool smoothness.

Knowing what I had found, I pulled out the crumpled photograph of Maxx with his family. Looking at the innocent smile on his boyish face hurt too much to bear. I quickly shoved it back into its hiding spot, unable to deal with the sight of a family that had been torn apart and the boy who would grow up to be a man hell-bent on destroying himself.

When I was finished with the clothes, I finally made my way to the bed. The disheveled sheets looked as though Maxx had just gotten out of them. With shaking hands I started to pull up the covers and line up the pillows.

Images flashed in front of my eyes. Memories of being tangled in these sheets, Maxx wrapped around me. Whispered words of love against sweaty skin.

I’ve been waiting my entire life for you. Maxx’s words had enfolded my heart and squeezed mercilessly. I had become addicted to those moments of sincerity and vulnerability that, to me, seemed to reveal the real man beneath the mask.

I blinked, clearing my head before another memory assaulted me.

He was on his side, his face pressed into the floor. His left arm was bare and stretched out beside him with a thin white strip of plastic tied tightly, just above the elbow . . . I laid my ear against his chest, listening to the strained beats. My tears soaked his shirt as I watched his chest stop moving and the beat of his heart fall into silence.

Then I lost it.

I fucking lost it.

I collapsed into a heap onto his bed, curling into a fetal position as I hugged his pillow tight to my chest.

When would it ever stop hurting so much?

Love was ruthless.

Love was pitiless.

Love was cruel.

Love fucking sucked.

Finally, when I had no more tears left, my body started to unclench, and I found that after the violence of my despair I could be soothed into relaxation. Because no matter the anguish Maxx had unleashed on my world, I felt the strongest sense of peace in his space, with his scent around me.

And there in the bed of the man I had loved and lost, I fell into an exhausted sleep.