I opened my mouth to hurl some more nastiness, but he kept going.

“And second, how dare you stand there and blame anyone but yourself for the shit storm you’ve gotten yourself into. You”—he pointed at me—“made the choice to f**k around with the junkie. You”—he pointed at me again—“made the choice to not care about the consequences.”

He took a deep breath and looked sad. “It was you who threw away our friendship. It was you who gave up on yourself.” He walked around me, leaving me to stand there bewildered by the turn of our argument.

Brooks turned around just before he left. “Was it worth it?” he asked.

I had been asked that a lot lately.

Was it worth it?

Watching the man who had been one of my closest friends walk away from me and out of my life, I was beginning to wonder.

I spent Friday night with Renee. We watched movies and ate junk food. I hadn’t been able to tell her about what happened with Kristie. She was dealing with so much, no sense in adding more to her plate.

I was in the library most of Saturday, hoping schoolwork would keep my mind busy. For the first time in my life, it didn’t work. I hadn’t been able to concentrate. My thoughts were a jangled mess.

Finally, I gave up and returned home. Renee was asleep when I got back, so I thought I’d try to take a nap myself. But my mind wouldn’t shut off. I kept replaying the events of the last twenty-four hours over and over again.

How did things get messed up so quickly?

Finally, not able to lie in my bed any longer, I got up. I checked on Renee, but she was still asleep, clearly exhausted from her own drama.

I went into the kitchen and, as quietly as possible, made myself some pasta. It was Saturday night, and I wondered if Maxx was at Compulsion. I had a brief thought of getting dressed and going there to find him. But I quickly dismissed that idea.

I parked myself on the couch and turned on the television, hoping mindless reality TV would be just what I needed.

And then around ten-thirty my phone rang. I was so engrossed in feeling sorry for myself that I startled at the sound.

I looked down at the screen, and my heart leaped into my throat.

It was Maxx.

“Hello?” I said.

“There you are,” Maxx slurred, his words stringing together in a way that was barely understandable. I could hear the pounding of music in the background and knew he was at Compulsion.

“Why did you leave me?” Maxx sobbed into the phone, though it was hard for me to hear him. He sounded completely bombed out.

“Maxx, are you all right?” What a stupid question. He most certainly was not all right.

“I love you,” he cried, his words garbled, and then I heard a loud smack over the thumping music.

“Maxx!” I yelled into the phone, but he didn’t answer me.

The music continued to pound in my ear, but Maxx was gone.

“Maxx!” I screamed, and then I was cut off by the dial tone.

“You selfish f**king bastard!” I cried, immediately dialing his number.

It rang and rang and rang.

When his voice mail picked up, I hung up and tried again.

I called at least a half dozen more times before giving up.

Something was wrong. I recognized the sound of Maxx’s voice when he was high, but this was something different. Something more. I couldn’t stop thinking about how desolate he sounded. How lost.

Damn him!

I wrote a quick note to Renee, letting her know I’d be back in a bit, then grabbed my coat and keys with one destination in mind.

Compulsion.

Except I didn’t know where it was.

My plan just kept getting better and better.

I needed to find Maxx’s painting as quickly as possible.

I drove around campus, thinking it would be there. It wasn’t. The whole time, I was becoming more and more anxious. I headed into the city, checking all the usual places. I tried to think about where Maxx would leave it. But trying to get into his mind was a difficult thing.

I was one panic attack away from calling the police and telling them to go to Compulsion to get Maxx. Right then I didn’t care that he’d end up behind bars for possession. At least he’d be alive. Then I saw the group of people milling around the alleyway beside the movie theater.

I pulled into the parking lot and jumped out of my car. I ran across the street and elbowed my way through the small crowd.

This was it.

I should have known.

I should have realized he’d leave this at a place with significance to the people we had once been together.

The naïve, delusional people who were now long gone.

Painted along one side of the theater building was the picture of a man falling off the edge of a cliff onto a bed of knives. A woman, who I now recognized to be me, was standing above him. My face was a black circle, and my blond hair was turning into fingers tipped with bloodied talons.

The painting was the most depressing thing I had seen Maxx create. It made me want to cry.

It terrified me to think of what was going through his head in order for him to create this.

He had darkened my face. The deep psychological meaning of that wasn’t lost on me.

It seemed as though he was trying to erase me from his heart, just as he had erased my face in the painting.

Pulling myself together, I wiped away the tears that had escaped from the corner of my eyes, and I searched the picture for the address I needed.

At the base of the cliff were the words Wilby Street. Numbers had been blended into the clouds. I pulled out a pen and wrote everything down on the back of my hand.