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.