Текст книги "Follow Me Back"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

chapter

eleven

maxx

i was going home. I couldn’t decide if I was glad or freaking the fuck out. Part of me was ready because I had to be. But then I thought about what leaving meant. All the old temptations, all the old impulses, would be there, ready and waiting to pounce. I hoped I was strong enough to resist them this time around. I had spent the last thirty days convincing myself that I needed to stay, and now, here I was, convincing myself that I needed to leave.

Escape had always been my vice, and in many ways rehab had been just that. Clean and sober escapism. Now it was time to man up and face the music of what lay out there . . . in that place I couldn’t avoid forever. I folded my shirts into neat piles and then put them into the duffel bag I had brought with me. Dominic sat on his bed, looking morose.

“I’m really gonna miss you, man,” he said, his head hanging low. I had gone out of my way to not make any connections, knowing that wasn’t what I was there for. But my roommate had latched on to me anyway. He wasn’t a bad person. He was just more than a little oblivious.

“You’ll be all right. You don’t have much longer in here yourself. You’ll be out in no time,” I said, trying to be nice, even if I really wanted to tell him to stop being such a pussy and suck it up. But then I looked at Dominic. Really looked at him. He was that kid in high school who hung on the fringes, wanting to be liked and taking the teasing even though he knew people were laughing at him and not with him. This was a person who didn’t need anyone else giving him shit. Definitely not me, who wasn’t in a position to look down on anyone.

“I don’t know. My parents want me to do the full ninety days. They say I’m not ready to leave. That I’ll relapse,” he said miserably.

I rolled my eyes, wanting to smack the shit out of his ridiculous parents. They hadn’t a clue what real addiction looked like. If Dominic was addicted to anything, it was Ding Dongs and Doritos. The only thing his drug of choice had done was to make him gain about fifty pounds and fanatically watch reruns of South Park for hours at a time.

I zipped up my duffel bag and threw it over my shoulder, determined that I would never make the Barton House my home again. “Look, Dominic, you seem like a decent guy. Don’t let anyone decide your future for you. You’re in charge of what happens, no one else. If you think you need to be here, then stay. If you don’t, then check yourself out. And good luck. I mean that.”

Dominic gave me a watery smile. “Thanks, Maxx. That means a lot coming from you.” He sniffled.

I turned and headed down the hallway, my steps lighter than they had been in a long time.

I stopped outside a closed door and knocked loudly and with purpose. I squared my shoulders and stood up straight. I was ready for this.

I had to be.

“Come in,” a voice called from the other side. I pushed open the door and walked into Stacey’s cramped office. It smelled like blueberry muffins and was filled with enough frilly shit that made me wonder whether she farted rainbows.

“Maxx. Come in, have a seat.” I did as I was told, choosing the only option available, a chair covered in bright orange upholstery. “I see that you’re all packed and ready to go,” she commented, indicating the duffel at my feet.

I kicked it with my shoe and nodded. “Yep. Just here to get the official sign-off and then I’m out of your hair.”

Stacey typed something on her computer, and then papers started coming out of the printer. She looked up at me as she waited for the last of the paperwork to finish. “You’re sure you’re not interested in the full ninety-day program? Thirty days, while a great start, isn’t nearly as effective as the more intensive in-patient treatment plan,” she said, giving me the same shit she had been forcing down my throat for the last week.

I knew that she and the other counselors at Barton House thought I was making a huge mistake by not staying on for the longer program. And there was that small part of me that agreed with them. The whispering in my ear that told me that I wasn’t ready. The self-doubt was almost crippling. But the truth was that the longer I stayed, the harder it would be for me to fix what I had messed up out there.

There was one thing I knew for sure, deep in my bones: I was going to take my newfound sobriety seriously.

“I’ll call on Monday and set up an intake at the clinic downtown. I’ll stick to the outpatient treatment plan,” I promised, taking the pile of paperwork Stacey handed me.

She nodded, handing me a pen. “That’s good to hear, Maxx, though you understand that coping with addiction triggers is much harder once you’re back in your own environment. You have to make sure you have strategies in place to deal with them. It’ll be tough. There will be days you will want to use. So it’s extremely important that you keep those numbers on that last sheet handy, if you ever feel like you’re about to turn to drugs.”

I flipped to the last page of the pile she had given me. There was a list of numbers, including the statewide hotline and a crisis number at the rehab facility. Christ, she acted as though my failing was inevitable. Which sort of pissed me off. Because there was that voice again telling me that it was inevitable.

I’ll be there waiting for you. You can’t stay away from me forever.

I clenched my fists and worked on breathing through the sudden paralyzing apprehension. Maybe I should stay. Maybe I couldn’t do this.

I can do this! For Aubrey. For Landon. For myself.

I folded the paper and tucked it into my pocket and finished scribbling my signature on the required forms. When I was done, I handed them back to Stacey with what I hoped was a confident smile. “Thanks for everything,” I said, picking up my bag and getting to my feet.

“Don’t be afraid to admit you can’t handle things, Maxx. You can’t control addiction. Addiction controls you. The second you forget that, you’ve lost,” she said ominously, and I felt myself bristle defensively. But I didn’t bite her head off. Because her words were ones I had thought a thousand times already.

Stacey gave me a wan smile and shook her head. “I really hope we don’t see you again, Maxx.”

I chuckled. “Well, thanks,” I replied blandly.

Stacey patted my back. “If we don’t see you again, then that means you’re doing all right. I really hope you succeed, Maxx.”

“Thanks,” I said again, wanting to get the hell out of there as fast as my legs could carry me.

Stacey walked me toward the front door. Hal, the security detail on duty, handed me a bag with my cell phone and a set of keys, the things they had confiscated when I had checked myself in.

“Take care, Maxx,” Stacey said, holding the door open for me.

“You, too,” I replied, actually meaning it. I walked down the front steps and out into the driveway, where a cab waited to take me back to the real world. I slid into the backseat of the cab and gave the driver my address. He grunted in acknowledgment, and then we were driving away from Barton House and I refused to look back as we left.

I was ready to put that part of my life behind me.

I turned on my cell phone and it started to ding loudly in my hands. My screen lit up with a hundred texts and missed calls. Most of them from Marco and Gash.

Shit.

That was one piece of my world I wasn’t eager to have to deal with. Because I couldn’t go back there. That was obvious. It would be too easy to fall back into everything I had vowed to stay away from.

I was five minutes out of rehab and I was already hit with the strong urge to go back. Because fuck if Stacey wasn’t right. It was harder out here. Inside you could pretend these things didn’t exist. It made it easier to ignore the cravings. The desire to lose yourself all over again.

I erased every single text message without reading them. It felt good to do that. I thought about calling Landon, letting him know I was out of rehab. Maybe try to bridge that gap, but I didn’t think a phone call would erase the weeks of bad blood that had built up between us. And truthfully, I didn’t have it in me to be rejected all over again.

The cab pulled up in front of my apartment building. I gave him my last ten-dollar bill and got out, duffel bag in hand, and walked up the narrow steps to the place where I lived but had never really been a home.

I dreaded going inside, knowing it was probably a mess. I had been in a rush when I got out of the hospital. I had come home, grabbed some clothes, and left, checking into rehab before I lost the nerve. I unlocked the door and was hit by the smell of lemons.

Lemons?

I turned on the light and looked around in shock. I had never seen my apartment so clean. The floors had been swept and the furniture dusted. All of the clothes I remembered being strewn across the floor were gone and there were even pillows on my couch. I didn’t even realize I had pillows.

I dropped my bag and walked into my kitchen, where the shock continued. The dishes had been washed and put away. There were dishrags folded and hung on the hook by the stove. The cabinets had been scrubbed and the refrigerator gleamed white. Further inspection revealed that the rest of the apartment was the same. The bathroom was spotless, the tub had been cleaned, and the mold that had been a permanent fixture in the corners was gone. I could eat off the floor, it was so damn clean.

Only two people had a key to my apartment, and I was pretty sure my landlord wouldn’t have bothered to do all this. He gave new meaning to the term slumlord. No, this was Aubrey. She was the only person who would think to come here and do this.

I walked into my bedroom and knew instantly that I was right. All of my clothes had been washed and sat in the basket I didn’t even know that I owned. My sheets had been changed and the covers pulled up. And in the middle of the bed I could see the outline of an impression where someone had lain. I ran my hand along the concaved pillow, indented where her head had been. Aubrey had come into my apartment and cleaned it. Then she had lain down on my bed.

I kicked off my shoes and slowly lowered myself down on the exact spot where she had been. I pulled the pillow to my face and thought I could smell her there. I didn’t know when she had done this. It could have been weeks ago. Or it could have been yesterday. I wasn’t exactly sure what it all meant except that she had come into my apartment and made it a home.

It was no secret that I wasn’t much of a cleaner. And I was also aware of Aubrey’s OCD when it came to neatness. The knowledge that she had thought about me at some point to come in and do this gave me a hope I hadn’t felt in a while. As I lay on clean sheets and looked around my spotless bedroom, things suddenly didn’t appear so bleak.

I must have dozed off, because I woke up sometime later. The sky had turned dark and the only light came from the soft glow of the clock on my dresser. Hit by a desire that had become very familiar over the last few weeks, I jumped up and opened my closet, rooting around inside until I located a large container of sidewalk chalk. I didn’t bother trying to find my paints, knowing that I had used up the last of them before I had gone into rehab.

I looked for my car keys, finding them in the same spot I had left them. Driving my car after so long felt a bit like hanging out with an old friend. It was a piece of shit, but it was my piece of shit and I had a crazy love for the clunking of the engine and the squealing of the brakes, even if these meant that it needed some serious maintenance.

I drove through town until I parked down the street from a particular brick building I knew all too well, though I had been inside only once. I made sure to position my car behind a tree so I wasn’t immediately visible. It wasn’t that late, but I noticed that the lights in the apartment on the third floor were out.

Feeling brave, I grabbed the chalk and walked down the street and stopped in front of the steps that led inside. Dropping to my knees, I dumped out the chalk and grabbed the color I needed and started making long, harsh strokes. It was hard to see, not the best environment to draw. But I didn’t need to see what I was doing. My hands didn’t need light to know what they were creating.

I didn’t know how long I was out there. It could have been hours or it could have been only minutes. People walked by, some stopping to watch me, others asking what I was doing. I ignored them.

When I was finished, I sat back on my haunches and squinted in the darkness at the final product. It was hard to see, but what I could make out, I was pleased with. My knees ached from kneeling on the hard concrete; my hands were covered in chalk dust. It was caked under my nails. My jeans were streaked with it.

I gathered the chalk that I had left and put it back into the container. It wasn’t my normal medium, but I had to admit that it was easier to work with. I just hoped it didn’t rain before morning. I took one final look up at the darkened apartment and wondered if she would understand what I was trying to say.

Who was I kidding? She had always understood me better than I understood myself.

The picture wasn’t much. But in this crazy, fucked-up world I found myself in, it was the only way I could get her to see me. And right now, that was something.

chapter

twelve

aubrey

“we need a girls’ night,” Renee declared, walking into my room. I looked up from the book I had been reading, but not really absorbing.

“A girls’ night?” I asked.

I noted the almost frenetic energy Renee exuded and wondered what was up. She was in a good mood, but it was a crazy sort of good mood that I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the kind of mood that used to result in Renee getting loaded and dancing on tabletops.

“Yes. You. Me. Drinks. Eating. Laughing. I think we could both use it,” she commented, fingering the row of sticky notes in varying colors I had arranged on my desk.

“Okay, as long as you stop touching my stuff,” I said, shoving my textbook back into my bag and swinging my legs off the side of my bed.

“We can call Brooks if you want, see if he’s up to hanging out,” Renee suggested. I raised my eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of a girls’ night?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know if you’d like an excuse to mend fences. What better way than with pizza and beer?” Renee said.

I had made every attempt to make things up to Brooks after being a total asshole and kissing him for all the wrong reasons. Like the good guy that he was, he hadn’t held it against me, but I still felt a tension between us. We continued to exist in this complicated ebb and flow of discomfort and I didn’t really know what to do about it.

“He acts like a girl, anyway. With all the feelings and sensitivity and stuff.” Renee chuckled and I snorted.

“Yeah, I’ll text him.”

Hey, heading out for food and drinks. Do you want to come?

Only a few minutes passed before my phone chirped in my hand.

Sure. Time and place?

“He’s game,” I said, smiling.

“I told you he wouldn’t stay miffed with you. It’s impossible for Brooks Hamlin to stay away from Aubrey Duncan.”

I threw a pencil at my roommate. “Go and let me get ready,” I told her.

Renee laughed in that slightly forced way of hers. “Well, hurry up, I’m hungry.”

I laughed so hard I thought beer would shoot out of my nose. Brooks and Renee were trying their hand at impersonations, and Renee’s Pee-wee Herman was scarily accurate.

“This is disturbing on so many levels,” I said, once I was able to breathe and Renee had stopped to eat a spicy wing. She waved her hand and bowed slightly.

“I’m a woman of many talents,” she preened. Brooks balled up his napkin and tossed it at her, where it bounced off her shoulder and onto the floor.

“You’ve been hiding that one, Renee Alston. You’re a sneaky, sneaky girl,” he joked.

We had opted to get pizza and wings at a place not far from campus. By the time we got ready and out the door, it was already almost nine. The place was packed by the time we arrived and we were lucky to find a tiny table near the back.

Brooks had been slightly standoffish at first, but once he had a few beverages in his system he had relaxed considerably. Renee and I shared a pitcher of beer, and after an hour we were all laughing and enjoying ourselves.

“I’ve gotta pee,” Renee said after polishing off the last of her pizza. She hopped down off the stool, a little wobbly on her feet.

“Need help?” I chuckled.

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “I’m fine,” she said, and headed toward the bathroom.

Brooks’s easy smile faded slightly as we were left alone in our awkwardness.

“Brooks—” I began.

“Aubrey—” he said at the same time.

We both stopped and laughed a little nervously.

“This is weird, isn’t it,” he stated rather than asked.

“Maybe just a little,” I agreed, sipping on my beer.

“I’m still kind of pissed at you,” he grumbled, wiping up a puddle of beer that had spilled from the pitcher.

“I’m picking up on that,” I said tightly.

Brooks looked at me finally and what I saw wasn’t anger. It was hurt. And that made me feel ten times worse.

“But I hate staying mad at you. It doesn’t feel right. Just promise me something,” he said firmly.

“Anything,” I promised.

He dropped his eyes to the slice of pizza on his plate. “Next time you kiss me, mean it.”

I swallowed my surprise, not sure what I should say. “Okay,” I finally said after a beat, giving him a small smile. His lips quirked upward in response.

“What’d I miss?” Renee asked, appearing beside me.

“Not much. Just listening to the frat guys at the next table talk about the waitress’s boob job,” I replied blandly.

I looked around the crowded bar and saw a familiar face looking in our direction.

“Hey, Renee, isn’t that Iain?” I asked, nodding my head toward the bar. Renee’s jaw tightened and her shoulders went rigid.

“Probably,” she said quickly.

Brooks had turned in his seat and was chatting with a group of people at the table behind him. I leaned in close to Renee.

“Are you going to go say hi?” I asked. Iain, who was with a few other guys, was looking rather pointedly toward our table.

“I don’t think so,” she said, downing the rest of her beer. She seemed uncomfortable.

“I thought things were going well with you two. Did something happen?” I asked, bewildered by her attitude.

“Yeah, I happened,” Renee muttered, lifting the pitcher and pouring the rest of the beer into her mug.

“Does this have to do with Devon?” I asked. Renee stiffened instantly. My suspicions about Renee’s crazy mood this evening were confirmed. Something was up. I could tell.

“Why would it have anything to do with Devon?” she demanded, sounding defensive.

This was not the place to interrogate her. I looked over at Iain again, but he had turned back to his friends. And I felt a little sad for him. And for Renee.

I lifted my glass. “Tonight is about fun and forgetting. Fuck the drama!”

Renee’s shoulders relaxed and she lifted her glass in return. “Fuck the drama!” she yelled back, giggling when people around us looked at her.

“What are we toasting to?” Brooks asked, giving us his attention again.

“To living a drama-free life,” I explained.

Brooks lifted his mug and nodded his head. “Now, that’s something I can toast to.” He smiled at me and I smiled back.

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

We ended up staying at the bar until it closed at 1:00 a.m. I drank just enough to feel good without losing control. Brooks remained relatively sober and chose to head back with his friends to the frat house instead of going home.

“You ready to get out of here?” Renee asked, coming out of the bar.

“Yep. I’ll talk to you on Monday, Brooks,” I said, looping my arm through Renee’s. He lifted his hand in a wave as we headed down the street in the direction of our apartment building.

“Tonight was good. Thanks for making me go out,” I said, reaching for the bottle of water in her hand and taking a drink.

Renee squeezed my arm. “I needed it as much as you did.”

I hadn’t thought about Maxx once. I had, for the first time in a long time, been able to enjoy myself, stress free.

“What the hell?” Renee asked, coming to a stop. We were out in front of our apartment building. The street was quiet and empty.

“What is it?” I asked, wondering why she had stopped.

Renee pointed to the pavement at her feet. “Look.”

I looked down at the sidewalk. I was surrounded by a swirling, vibrant pattern of colors. A pair of giant hands seemed to be reaching up from the ground. A purposeful, violent punch to the gut. The fingers seemed to be grasping for something that I couldn’t see. I knelt down on my haunches and traced my fingertips along the curves and bends.

“It’s beautiful,” Renee said from behind me, taking a step back to get a better look. I could see that the entire thing had been done in chalk this time, not paint. I rubbed the edge of a complicated geometrical pattern with my thumb, strangely satisfied to see it smudging beneath my finger.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, standing back up and feeling my anger ignite as I took in the very obvious statement laid out before me.

“It is unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Renee exclaimed. I had never told her about Maxx’s art. For some reason it hadn’t come up. It was another one of those mysteries I had kept to myself. But looking down at this intricate drawing, I knew that Maxx was back. He was home. And he was making good on his promise to not give up. Standing there, coming down from the high of a good night with friends, I didn’t quite know what I was supposed to feel.

Without realizing exactly what I was doing, I unscrewed the top of the bottle of water in my hand and poured it out over the drawing, watching as it splashed and spread across the drawing, erasing it, ruining it.

“What the hell, Aubrey?” Renee screeched, jumping backward as water splashed her jeans. I didn’t say a word as I watched the liquid destroy Maxx’s visual pronouncement of his feelings.

“Why did you do that?” Renee asked, following me as I walked into our building.

“Because it didn’t need to be there,” I said, knowing I hadn’t really explained anything.

“Stop dodging, Aubrey. What’s up?” she asked.

I felt dangerously close to screaming. After such a wonderful night, having it end like this infuriated me. “It’s Maxx. That was him,” I told her.

“Maxx? What are you talking about?”

“That’s his artwork. He must have done it while we were out. Which also means he’s out of rehab.” I let myself into our apartment and turned on the light. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the couch, draping my arm over my eyes.

“Is he X, then? The one who used to do the graffiti for the club?” Renee said, the pieces obviously falling into place.

“Yep, that’s him,” I replied shortly, my arm dropping beside me. I was exhausted. The late hour and Maxx’s sudden reemergence back in my life had me wanting to crawl into bed.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that? I mean, wow. He’s kind of a big deal,” she said, sitting down beside me.

“Yeah, I know. But who the hell cares that his talent is off the charts? It doesn’t change the fact that he can’t have any place in my life anymore. No matter how many pretty paintings he leaves outside my front door,” I stated emphatically, though my words rang somewhat false and I wondered who I was trying to convince. Renee or myself.

“But from that painting I’m guessing he doesn’t plan on going away anytime soon.”

“I guess not,” I agreed.

“And how do you feel about that?” she asked, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Isn’t that my line?” I snorted.

Renee chuckled. “I’ve seriously been hanging out with you entirely too long,” she said.

I sobered and sighed. “I’m not sure how I feel, Renee.”

My friend pressed in close and put her arm around me. I rested my head on her shoulder and closed my eyes. “It’ll be all right,” Renee said, and I wondered if she was speaking for me or for herself.

“I’ll be all right,” I parroted her, trying to believe it.