Текст книги "Lead Me Not"

Автор книги: A. Meredith Walters

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

chapter
thirteen

aubrey

for ten minutes I stood outside the movie theater wondering what had just happened. The childishly insecure part of me felt completely and totally rejected.

One minute Maxx had been kissing me; the next he was leaving me alone.

What. The. Hell?

If I was hoping to solve some of the mysteries of Maxx Demelo tonight, I was sadly disappointed.

I touched my lips gently with my fingers. My mouth was still bruised and tender, and the cold air stung my sensitive cheeks, rubbed raw by Maxx’s scruff. My body was strung tight, my heart felt abused and thrown away, and my head was yelling at me for being such a colossal idiot.

I pulled my phone out of my purse and checked the time. It was only ten o’clock. What kind of guy left the girl he’d been mauling for the last hour without a word? Without an explanation? And without offering to walk her home?

After my shock had worn off, it was quickly replaced with irritation and something akin to rip-his-balls-off rage.

I didn’t like being played. I didn’t take kindly to being made to look like a jackass. Well, fuck Maxx and all of his kissing awesomeness.

My phone rang, and I looked down to see Brooks’s name on the screen.

Crap, I had totally forgotten about our plans.

“Brooks, hey!” I said, walking back in the direction of my apartment.

“Where are you?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

“Uh . . . well . . .” My words trailed off.

“Uh . . . well? That doesn’t explain much, Aubrey. I’m at your apartment, but guess who’s not here? That would be you. Are you bailing on me?” he asked shortly.

“I’m coming. I just had to run out for a bit. Is Renee still there?” I asked, not wanting to admit where I had been. I was embarrassed, and I felt used.

“Nobody’s here. I’m standing in the hallway like a dumb-ass. Your crazy cat-lady neighbor keeps peeking at me through the door. She’s freaking me out,” he said, dropping his voice into an exaggerated whisper.

I chuckled, though it was a weak impersonation of my normal laugh. “Hang tight, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I promised and then hung up.

When I got back to my apartment, Brooks was sitting on the floor outside my door, texting someone. Looking at him, I couldn’t understand why he didn’t date. He was a good-looking guy who could be doing a lot more with his Saturday night than hanging out with a girl who would never put out for him again.

I wondered, not for the first time, why he limited his social life to hanging out with me. I really hoped the reason wasn’t something akin to residual feelings that could never be reciprocated.

“You’re finally here! My ass was going numb,” Brooks grumbled, getting to his feet as I unlocked the door. I turned on the light and about flipped my shit.

“Whoa. What happened in here? This isn’t OCD-compatible,” Brooks said, picking up a plundered pretzel bag from the floor. There were empty beer bottles on the coffee table and dishes on the floor by the couch. Trash and discarded food littered the kitchen counters.

“I was gone for three hours! Are you kidding me?” I yelled, slamming the door behind me. I couldn’t deal with this crap anymore! This was Devon doing what Devon did best—being a dick.

“I’ll clean up. You go get dressed,” Brooks offered. I started to argue.

“We’ll be here all night if I leave you to do it,” he explained, and I knew he was right. I swallowed my need to fix and tidy and went and got changed. I looked in the mirror and cringed. My face was red and splotchy, my lips puffy. I couldn’t believe Brooks hadn’t interrogated me over my very obvious state of disarray.

After I had changed into a short black dress and my knee-high black boots, I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and darkened my eyes so that they stood out. Not bad for fifteen minutes of prep time.

Brooks had straightened up the best his guy chromosome set was capable of. Seeing the way he had replaced the couch cushions made my eyes twitch, but I appreciated the effort.

He looked up when I came in and appeared relieved to be able to cease his cleaning duties. “Awesome, let’s go!” he said, ushering me out the door.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked, wondering if we’d have to trek through the city to find a mysterious painting to determine our location for the night.

“Yeah, I spoke to some of the guys in my building, and they gave me the address,” Brooks said distractedly, hooking his phone up and putting the location into the GPS. I was a little disappointed. I may have been late to the street art appreciation party, but I was now an X fangirl all the way.

We drove through the city until we reached the interstate. “Where the heck are we going?” I asked.

“Apparently the club is in an old textile factory twenty minutes away,” he explained, merging onto the darkened highway.

I spoke very little on the drive. My head was too full of other things—those other things being Maxx freaking Demelo. Why had he left so abruptly?

That question burned a hole in my brain and was driving me crazy with a niggling insecurity. My self-esteem had taken a beating, and I didn’t like it one bit.

Almost thirty minutes later we were pulling into a large parking lot teeming with cars. The usual crowd of raver kids and emo rejects were milling about, making their way to a dark building in the distance.

And just like every time I approached Compulsion, I felt an instant rush of excitement and anticipation. I was becoming more than a little addicted. It was exhilarating and sort of scary. But it wasn’t the type of scary that made me want to run in the opposite direction. Not anymore. It was a scary that I wanted to explore and embrace.

Brooks pulled me toward the huge line, and we took our places. Part of the fun was the people-watching. Compulsion brought out all kinds—from the preppy boys trying their hand at dressing like badasses to the truly freaky. Take the woman wearing pasties and black leather panties—this dominatrix queen held a metal chain attached to a man dressed as a gimp, complete with ball gag.

Brooks discreetly pointed out the group of women, possibly in their thirties, who looked as though they had taken a night off from the coven, with their long, flowing dresses, flower garlands, brightly painted, talon-like fingernails, and necklaces made from what appeared to be human teeth.

We passed the bouncer’s keen inspection, and then we were inside. I felt as though the heat and the music were smothering me. It was exactly what I needed.

This time when I ordered my drink, I didn’t take my eyes off the beverage. I had learned my lesson. Brooks had gone to dance; I had politely declined, wanting to soak it all in. I also wanted to see if my mystery man would make an appearance.

Finally tired of playing wallflower, I moved into the crowd and started dancing. I had never been a great dancer, but I liked it anyway. Lucky for me, the dancing at Compulsion didn’t require a lot of skill. People were bobbing on their feet, glow sticks between their teeth.

I sort of rocked my head from side to side, swinging my hair into my face. My arms rose above my head, and I started to move in time with the thumping bass.

Dancing at Compulsion was a communal experience. Complete strangers pressed against me, and we moved together like one primal beast of sweat and heat. My OCD had taken a backseat to the energy. It was unreal.

A girl with bright purple hair grabbed my hand and looped my arm around her waist. We rocked our hips together, dancing, two people who enjoyed the music, nothing more, nothing less. There was something incredibly freeing about being physically close to so many people who were all here for the same reason.

To escape.

I felt a set of hands on my hips, and without bothering to look behind me, I pulled purple-hair girl into me, and I was dancing in a crazy, debauched sandwich.

It was completely out of character for me, but for once I just went with it. That was the real beauty of Compulsion. It made what was out of the ordinary seem possible.

I loved it. I never wanted to leave.

One song bled into the next without pause. As my dancing partners changed, I barely registered their faces. I didn’t talk to any of them. Words weren’t necessary. We weren’t here to make friends.

We were there to just be.

It could have been minutes later. It could have been hours. But I finally realized how tired and sweaty I was. My legs felt wobbly from all the bouncing and jumping. My hair was plastered to the side of my face, and I was way too warm.

I pulled away from my newest dance partner, a guy with more tattoos than uninked skin. He didn’t protest, just turned and started dancing with someone else.

I pushed through the throng and leaned against the back wall, trying to control my breathing. I couldn’t see Brooks. I only hoped he was still around somewhere. I couldn’t imagine him leaving me behind, but when I pulled my phone out of my pocket I was shocked to see that it was already one-thirty in the morning.

This place seemed to suck you into a void, and before you knew it, you’d lost all sense of time.

A girl wearing barely any clothing came up next to me. “You lookin’ for anything?” she asked, yelling into my ear.

“What?” I asked, not understanding what she was asking.

The girl rolled her eyes and pressed a small bag in my hand. I held it up in front of my face and saw that it held a tiny pill. The girl pushed my hand down. “Don’t be so obvious about it,” she said in irritation.

I tried to hand it back to her with a shake of my head. “I’m not interested in this stuff.”

The girl shoved my hand back. “It’s a free sample. You want more, you’ll have to find it yourself. Don’t be a narc; just enjoy the ride,” she said, her head bobbing in time to the beat. With a final pointed glance in my direction, she disappeared into the crowd.

I didn’t want the drugs. But I didn’t know what to do with them, either.

I shook the small plastic bag, wondering what exactly the girl had given me. I was intrigued, despite my better judgment.

I shook the pill onto my palm and stared at it as though it would give me the answer. But I knew one thing: This stuff was bad. I knew this was the kind of crap that had killed my sister.

Yet I was curious.

What was it about being in this place that made me want to indulge in the scary and unknown? It was nuts. It was completely illogical.

And I was smarter than that.

I had to be.

I hastily put the pill back in the baggie and dropped it on the floor, smashing it under my boot.

I felt jittery. The brush with a temptation I didn’t entirely understand rattled me, but I felt proud of myself for not giving in.

And then I saw him.

The guy with the baseball cap. The one who had stopped me from becoming a rapist’s plaything. The man who had prevented me from being trampled to death my first night at the club.

The guy whose face was still a mystery.

He was talking to a man not twelve feet from me. They were partially hidden in a dark corner. Their discussion appeared heated, but it was definitely my faceless guy. I recognized the broad width of his shoulders and the telltale cap pulled low over his eyes.

I started to walk toward him. It was as though I was being pulled toward him.

I watched as he took some money, tucking the wad in his back pocket. I noticed my mystery man put something in the other guy’s outstretched palm. The subtle exchange was carried out in less than thirty seconds, but it was obvious what was happening.

My mystery guy was a drug dealer.

Remembering the baggie I had discarded on the floor, I had to wonder if he was the one circulating that shit in the crowd. Considering the steady flow of “customers,” it was an easy association to make.

Nice guy, my ass. It was obvious he was like every other predator looking for an easy mark. I was devastated by the new assumption that perhaps our encounters had been nothing more than a chance for him to acquire a new customer. And here I was thinking I was special.

After another guy secured a pocketful of something that clearly made him very happy, a girl took his place and pressed into mystery dude, her breasts brushing his arm. She opened her mouth, and he dropped something onto her tongue. She rolled her head back, her barely concealed breasts popping out of her shirt.

The girl wrapped her arms around mystery guy’s neck and rubbed against him provocatively. I couldn’t see his eyes, but his mouth was grinning. He put something in his mouth and continued to allow the girl to move against him.

The girl reached up and pulled his cap off, and for the first time I could see his hair. It was blond and curled around his ears in a very familiar way.

I pushed through the crowd, getting closer. And then I stopped, frozen in place.

The guy turned, his hands resting on the girl’s hips while she writhed against him. His cap had been discarded on the floor, and I could see his face in the red light that hung above him.

It was Maxx.

Suddenly something dark and ugly unfurled in my belly—something that was possessive and territorial and that pierced with the sting of betrayal.

Only a few hours ago he had been pressed intimately against me. A few hours ago, I thought that we had connected, that I had meant something to him.

But watching him here, in the flickering shadows, wearing the face I recognized but didn’t yet understand, I felt like a complete and total idiot. How did I not recognize Maxx in the broad set of the mystery guy’s shoulders? How had I missed the soft curls that I had felt with my fingers just a few hours ago?

I watched as he popped another pill in his mouth and then pulled away from the girl, who reached after him. He gave her a less than gentle shove, and she stumbled back, almost losing her balance. He bent down to pick up his cap and set it back on his head. He pulled it low over his eyes, hiding his face again.

But there was no more hiding who he was. He wasn’t a mystery. He wasn’t a hidden savior.

He was something else entirely.

I desperately tried to ignore the twinge inside me that screamed, Wait, there has to be more to him than this.

I backed away, using the mass of bodies as a shield between me and the boy I had briefly allowed inside my carefully constructed walls.

Maxx started to move through the crowd, shouldering people out of his way. I don’t know what possessed me, but I began to follow him. I stayed far enough back that he couldn’t know he was being shadowed.

My stomach was a twisted knot.

Maxx was stopped frequently, and he would lead people to the outskirts of the dance floor, where he would conduct his “business.” It was easy to see that he delighted in his role in this world. He teased the girls who begged for what he had tucked in his pockets. He aggressively stared down the guys who were equally desperate to procure his goods.

And through it all, he walked the room like he owned the place. He was high, not only on the pills he kept tucking under his tongue, but also on his own power.

This place, which had seemed like an escape, now seemed more like a prison. I felt trapped by the secrets it had revealed—Maxx’s secrets.

I had known Maxx was bad news the day he walked into the support group. I knew he had baggage. I knew he had demons. I just thought he was actively fighting them, that he was trying.

But as I stalked him through the club, it was clear he wasn’t fighting anything. This was a man who gloried in the person he was.

He was a messy, self-destructive, narcissistic person.

My heart ached. My brain felt overloaded, and yet I couldn’t make myself turn away from the person he really was.

I had always prided myself on reading people and situations accurately, and my initial impression of Maxx had been a huge neon sign screaming Uh-oh! So why hadn’t I listened? Why had I ignored that instinct and allowed myself to be swept up in the intoxicating illusion he had created?

Seeing him now, in his element, it was pretty damned clear that the man who had kissed me as though I was the air he breathed was nothing more than the fantasy he wanted me to see. And now all I could do was watch, and revel in my masochistic pain.

It was soon clear that Maxx was loaded. His steps became sluggish and his movements exaggerated, yet his mouth remained fixed in a smug, lazy smile.

He popped another pill into his mouth. Jeesh, how many had he taken? I was starting to worry he’d have an overdose.

But he just continued his arrogant stumbling, colliding with people as he walked. Kept on selling. Kept on being the guy who disgusted me in every possible way. And now I wanted nothing to do with him.

The cold reality of the man I saw weaving through the crowd, selling his drugs and affecting an air of superiority and condescension, crushed that twinge—the one that still felt a connection to the fantasy of Maxx—into smithereens. Those twinges were silly little-girl dreams that could only be destined for a brutal and violent destruction.

There was nothing about this Maxx that I understood, even if that twinge was still humming under my skin.

When he turned his face in my direction, the lights flickering madly overhead, I stood rooted to the spot, with people dancing all around me. I wanted him to see me. I wanted to yell Liar! into his stupid, gorgeous face. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to ask why he was doing this. Why he had made me believe a lie. Why he could make me feel a million different things that I had never felt before, only to obliterate them with a truth I desperately wished I hadn’t learned.

But he looked past me, his eyes never registering my presence. He didn’t expect to see me here, so his drug-addled brain simply didn’t see me. And when he turned away, I was both disappointed and relieved.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Are you ready to go? It’s really late, and I have to be up early for a cram session,” Brooks shouted in my ear, grabbing me by the elbow. I turned my eyes away from Maxx to look at my friend. I nodded.

“Sure,” I responded, quickly returning my gaze to where Maxx had been standing.

But he was gone.

Disappeared.

And I didn’t bother to look for him again.

chapter
fourteen

maxx

i was covered in paint. It was in my hair, in the creases of my fingers, splattered on my pants. I dipped a brush into the red paint and smeared it along the brick wall. I was precariously balanced on a ten-foot ladder, my paints propped up on a piece of wood.

It was almost morning, and I should be at home, in bed, not freezing my ass off. I had class in less than four hours. I had shit to do that evening. But I had been out here since one a.m. Because I couldn’t sleep. Because all I could think about was her.

Aubrey.

We had only spent a few hours together, and I had felt something shift inside me. I had wanted her. I had been drunk on the taste of her. Recognizable lust had blazed between us.

But strangely, it had been more than that. Sitting in the movie theater, laughing and talking to her had been easy and uncomplicated. I couldn’t help but relax in Aubrey’s company. She had a way about her that was comfortable.

Then she had asked me questions. She made it clear she wanted to know me. It had been a long time since anyone had given a damn about the person I am, the man behind the mask that I’ve created.

Being with Aubrey made me feel, for one perfect moment, that maybe, just maybe, I could be someone else. That I could be someone simple. And that perhaps she’d like me for who I was. Deep down, I could admit I had always craved acceptance, and Aubrey seemed to offer that without conditions.

So I had kissed her. I hadn’t been able to stop myself from touching her. I couldn’t keep myself from establishing some sort of physical connection with her.

But it had been too much, too soon. I had been overwhelmed. And yeah, I freaked out.

I had left her.

I had run like a coward.

But that hadn’t stopped me from thinking about her. From wanting what I had glimpsed in those moments we’d had together, however unrealistic they were.

Now I was filled with a confusing mix of emotions, and I needed to let them out somehow. The only way I could do that was to paint.

Lately, my pictures had been for the club. With those, sure, I still got creative with the message, but they weren’t organically mine. They belonged to someone else. They were for them, not me.

This picture, these images . . . they were all for me. They said everything that I felt but couldn’t say.

I swept my brush into a large arc of red, followed by orange and then purple, a massive sunset. But it wasn’t all pussified and pretty. Fuck, no. I didn’t paint crap like that.

There were two people holding hands beneath a sky that erupted above them. And from that brilliant, colorful sky rained blood. It flooded everything. And those two people, so content, so happy in each other, would be swept up and carried off by it.

Yeah, it was morbid. No one ever accused me of being Polly Sunshine.

I finished up the sky and slowly made my way down the ladder. I could barely stand. I was much too wasted to be out. I should be facedown in my own drool with the amount of oxy I’d taken tonight.

But when the mood hit, I couldn’t deny where it took me. I took the paints and tossed them in the Dumpster. There was no point in lugging them back to my apartment. I didn’t have the energy for that, not now that I was finished and the adrenaline rush that had led me here was gone.

I collapsed the ladder and dragged it back to the alleyway where I had found it. I was one for improvising when it came to my art, borrowing or taking whatever I could find to make the picture I saw in my head.

Standing back, I looked at my massive painting under the streetlight as morning tiptoed in. It was huge. It was fucked-up. But goddamn it, it was me. And every ounce of longing I felt was all over that fucking wall.

I nodded once, my eyelids starting to droop. I’d better get home before I passed out on the side of the road.

I barely remembered getting there.

* * *

I woke up later in the day feeling sick. I was huddled up in my bed, freezing my ass off. I must have forgotten to turn the heat on before I had gone comatose. Every joint, every muscle, ached.

I reached over to my bedside table and felt around for the bag I knew was there. My hand hit the lamp and sent it careening to the floor. The tremors took over, and I could barely pick up the small pill between my trembling fingers.

I pressed it to my lips but dropped it. I patted around the pillows, trying to find my tiny piece of salvation.

After I found it, I put it between my teeth and crushed it before swallowing, the grit coating my tongue. I lay back, closed my eyes, and waited.

And waited some more.

It was taking too long, so I crushed another pill and swallowed.

And waited again.

Still too long.

I took another.

Then finally I could feel it. The gradual slide into numbness. My heart slowed, and I felt like I could finally breathe.

And only then was I able to get out of bed. It was already two o’clock in the afternoon. I had slept through both my morning classes. I had another one in forty minutes, but I just didn’t give enough of a shit to make myself go. I needed to get a shower. I reeked. I should probably eat something too. I couldn’t remember the last time I had bothered with food. But my stomach didn’t feel empty. I was too fucked-up to feel much of anything.

My phone rang. With languid slowness, I picked it up and answered without bothering to look at who was calling.

“Maxx! I got out of school early, do you want to come over and help me with the car?” my brother asked excitedly. I should probably have felt bad for letting him down, but I didn’t. Like I said, I didn’t feel anything at all.

“Can’t, I’ve got stuff to do,” I replied, shuffling into my cramped living room and turning on the crappy television set in the corner. Cool, reruns of The A-Team were on. My afternoon was set.

“But you said you’d come over this week,” Landon said in a small voice.

“Yeah, when did I say that?” I asked, not really paying attention to the conversation. I made promises and I broke them. What else was new?

“Please, Maxx. David has been asking when you’re coming by. I think he needs more money,” Landon said, dropping his voice into a whisper.

Typically the mention of my asshole uncle would have set me raging. I hated that fucker. I hated that he used his guardianship of my brother as a noose around my neck. He had it in his head that I would finance his gambling habit just because he gave Landon a place to live. But I had enough habits of my own that needed to be taken care of first. My uncle wanting to play poker wasn’t high on my list of priorities.

But I knew if I didn’t give him what he wanted, Landon was the one who would suffer. Some days, the guilt of how I was living my life threatened to eat me alive—except for when I was doped up or asleep.

Then life was good.

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” I replied, zoning out on the television again.

“What is wrong with you, Maxx? You’re never around anymore. I can’t ever get you on the phone. You don’t come and get me for dinner on Fridays anymore. I had that huge test in biology last week, and you haven’t even asked about it. And David is being an even bigger douche than normal. He keeps yelling about how you were supposed to bring this month’s money two weeks ago. You promised me you’d make this right, Maxx. You freaking promised!” Landon’s voice rose, and I knew he was upset. My brain registered the fact that this should bother me, that I loved my brother and he was my responsibility.

Shit. He was my responsibility. I had obligations.

My chest tightened, and I felt panic struggling against the drugs in my system.

I clenched my fist and dug the heel of my hand into my eye socket. I couldn’t breathe.

What the hell was my problem? Why was I doing this shit?

But I needed it, so fucking badly. I was tired. I was exhausted. I didn’t want to be relied on because I couldn’t be anything anyone needed, particularly my sixteen-year-old brother.

“Maxx?” Landon’s voice came through the phone. He sounded worried. He should be worried. I was losing my shit.

“Maxx?” he said again.

“I’ll be over tomorrow. Tell David I’ll bring him the money then. I’ll take you to get some new clothes too, all right?” I said finally, after I was able to focus again.

I heard Landon sigh in relief. “Awesome. I’ll tell him. See you then,” he said, and I hung up the phone and closed my eyes.

The television flickered against my eyelids, and I wasn’t nearly high enough to deal with this crap.

I pulled the baggie out of my pocket.

Just one more and it would be better.

That’s all it ever took.

Just. One. More.

* * *

I had passed out again and slept off most of my high. When I woke up, it was dark out and I was finally hungry. I got up off the couch and made my way into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator, but there was nothing inside but a bottle of milk that had expired a week ago. Damn, when was the last time I had been to the grocery store?

My stomach rumbled, and I searched the cabinets, finally finding a box of stale crackers. I ate a handful and made my way to the bathroom. Having food in my stomach made me feel a little better, but I was still sluggish and sick.

I thought about the baggie of pills sitting on the coffee table—drugs I’m supposed to be selling or I’ll have to answer for it later.

I had to get it together. I had somewhere I needed to be.

I needed to shower and then get my ass over to campus for the support group. It was time to be the other Maxx—confident Maxx, the Maxx others listened to.

I liked that Maxx. He’s the one I wished I could be all the time. The one who was untouchable. I got off on being respected and wanted. I knew the way people looked at me, and I fucking loved it. In the group, at the club, I was a guy that mattered. I was a guy with power and control. I was a guy who knew what he wanted and took it.

The person I was in this apartment when I was alone disgusted me. His insecurity, his self-doubt, his guilt and shame were repulsive. I hated him. I wished I would never have to be him again. But he was always there, waiting to take me down.

In the harsh light of sobriety, he was the pathetic man who looked back at me in the mirror. He was everything I didn’t want to be. He was the sum of all of my failures. It’s what defined him.

That’s not the person I wanted anyone to see, let alone the woman I was becoming dangerously consumed by.

Aubrey.

She made it so easy to pretend that all of those other versions of Maxx didn’t exist, that I was just one person, with just one life, that I wasn’t hiding a million secrets. I was just a guy who liked a girl who just maybe liked me back.

Being with her, touching her, kissing her, had the power to undo everything. I felt her unraveling me every time we were together. She had a way of making me forget. She was an escape more dangerous than any fucking drug.

I had an addictive personality, and I craved, I desired, I needed.

Her.

Knowing I’d see her tonight made me move a little faster. I stopped obsessing about the pills on the coffee table, and all I could see, all I could think about, was her long blond hair and the way her lips had tasted.

When I had been with her at the movie theater, I never wanted to leave. I wanted to disappear inside her forever.

But I couldn’t handle disappointing her. I was already a failure in every other part of my life. Failing Aubrey had seemed like the worst thing I could do. Despite how drawn I was to her and how easy it would be to fall into normal with her, I couldn’t let myself indulge in it.

That wasn’t the life I was living.

It wasn’t the life I deserved.

So I had left her.

And I had gone straight to the other woman in my life, the one who would never let me go. She was a jealous bitch, and when I was with Aubrey I didn’t give her the attention she required.

Addiction was messy. It was consuming.

Addiction whispered in your ear, telling you that she’s the only one. She’s all you need.

It was easy to not think about Aubrey when I was high.