“My face feels weird. What’s wrong with it?” he asked, still slurring. I pulled his hand away from his wounds and held it between mine.

“You just need to get inside and get some sleep,” I said soothingly, hoping to convince him to get to his feet. Maxx shook his head.

“I want to stay out here. Just for a while,” he said and then squeezed my hand. “Don’t tell Landon. Mom and Dad would be so pissed at me. I keep screwing everything up. Don’t tell Landon,” he mumbled, his chin hitting his chest.

I gave him a shake, afraid he’d pass out. It was freezing, and I was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Maxx’s skin that wasn’t discolored and bleeding was ashen and pale. I needed to get him inside.

“Come on, up on your feet,” I urged, pulling on his arm. Maxx complained, but after a few moments I was able to get him to climb the stairs to his door.

“Where are your keys?” I asked. Maxx smirked, though it was a sad impersonation of his normal arrogant smile. The split lip made it hard to take his attempts at seductiveness seriously.

“You’ll have to get ’em yourself,” he garbled. I was glad to know that, even high as a kite, he was still capable of being a jerk.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my hand in his pockets, feeling around for his keys. Maxx chuckled and swayed on his feet, finally using the wall to brace himself. I pulled his key ring out of his back pocket and then went through the process of finding the right one to unlock the door.

After several unsuccessful attempts, I got it open and forced Maxx inside. He was laughing and rambling incoherently. I flipped on the light and deposited him on the threadbare couch that sat in the living room.

Maxx fell onto his side and stayed that way. A cut on his forehead had come open, and he was bleeding onto the fabric beneath his cheek.

“Do you have a first-aid kit?” I asked him. But he was past hearing me, so I started searching for something to clean him up with.

Maxx’s apartment was sparse, and what few furnishings he had were old and used. There was a distinct lack of anything personal in his home, and I found that rather sad. It was the space of a man who cared nothing about his surroundings. The neglect and disarray gave off a quiet sense of despair.

The bathroom was down the hallway, and I was happy to see that at least he kept it clean. I found some Band-Aids and antiseptic cream in the medicine cabinet.

And then because I couldn’t help myself, I opened the only other door in the hallway. I turned on the light and knew right away that this was Maxx’s room. The bed was unmade, and there were clothes on the floor. I saw some schoolbooks and an old desktop computer on a table by the window.

I found a clean shirt in his dresser, and then, just because I felt like being a snoop, I started to dig around in the piles of clothing. I found two empty prescription bottles and a ridiculous number of plastic baggies.

Then, in the back of the bottom drawer, I found a folded-up photograph. Pulling it out, I saw that it was a picture of a family. It was one of those generic portrait-gallery shots with the cheesy blue background and awkward posing. A woman with fair, wavy hair sat on a stool in front of a tall man who rested a hand on her shoulder. A young boy with a head full of blond curls stood by the woman’s side, and in her lap was a baby, no more than six months old.

I knew without a doubt that these were Maxx’s parents. I studied the picture, thinking that maybe this would reveal something about the man who lay passed out in the living room. Maybe I could figure out who he was and why he did the things he did.

I heard a bang from the living room and hurriedly shoved the picture back into the drawer. I gathered the items I had gone searching for and closed the bedroom door behind me.

Maxx was sitting up and rubbing his shin. “You all right?” I asked, sitting down beside him.

“Fucking coffee table,” he muttered, turning to me with a wobbly smile on his face. I held up the Band-Aids.

“Let me clean you up,” I said. Maxx didn’t say anything, simply closed his eyes and let me do what I needed to do. I wiped off the blood and covered the cut with a bandage. I cleaned out the scrapes on his palms, which he must have gotten when he was beaten to the ground.

“Who were those men who beat you up?” I asked, not sure I’d get any sort of answer in the state he was in.

So I was surprised when he answered me. “That was Gash. He runs the club. I guess he’s pissed at me,” he snorted as though it were a joke.

“I’d say,” I mused quietly. When Maxx didn’t volunteer any further information, I tried prodding him a little more.

“Why’s he pissed at you?”

Maxx gave an exaggerated shrug, his head starting to droop.

“Don’t tell Landon,” he mumbled again.

“Don’t tell him what?” I asked as I finished my task.

Maxx pried his good eye open and turned to look at me. He grabbed my hands and squeezed them so tightly I winced. “About me. Never about me,” he whispered.

Maxx shook his head and let out a sob. “They would be so disappointed in me,” he cried, gripping his hair in his hands as he became more and more agitated.

I put my hand on his arm. “Who would be disappointed?”

Maxx’s chest heaved, his eyes still closed. “They wanted me to be some great doctor. Something special.” He shook his head violently. “Look at me!” He grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled at it, ripping the fabric. He was getting really worked up.