Page 15 of Penance

“Sit down,Maddox,” I instruct.

He grunts in response, pretending he didn’t want instructions but we both know he needed them. He shuffles about, then climbs down, placing his feet onto the second step, perching on my jacket beside me. Without looking at him, I offer him the joint. He pinches it from between my finger and thumb, very careful not to touch my skin with his.

As much as I want him not to touch me –because I’m pretty sure that will trigger shit I’d rather not deal with right now- I also wonder what it would be like if he did. Would we still have that undeniable spark? Are the palms of his hands still rough and calloused but the back of them smooth as silk, his fingernails cut short and neat. The black titanium ring he always wore, still on his right ring finger. I shake my head, clearing those dangerous thoughts. There’s too much history here. Enough emotional baggage to sink a ship.

Max and I pass the joint back and forth until it’s finished, he pinches the end, dropping it into a cracked flowerpot. It’s already filled with the butts of my other joints and cigarettes. Kacey hates cigarettes, likereallyhates them, almost as much as Jacob does, so I sneak out here in the middle of the night to spark up without ridicule. I know it comes from the best place in his heart, but I could die today, so really, what’s a cigarette? I’m pretty sure being the resident psycho of a crime syndicate will kill me long before weed and cigarettes ever could. Or maybe I just don’t care about extending my life, maybe I’m trying to cut it short. Ensure that I’m only here for the shortest time I can manage. I don’t know.

“I don’t know what to say, La-Kyla,” Max stutters with a heavy sigh and I canfeelhis eyes on me.

They burn a hole in the side of my face like a laser beam the longer he stares but I just can’t force myself to look at him. I hate hearing my name fall from his lips like that. I wasneverKyla to Maddox Sharpe, just like he’s never been Maddox to me. He was always Maxi. My Maxi. The same Maxi who taught me to playtwinkle, twinkle little staron the piano. Maxi who pushed a kid off the jungle gym for pulling my hair. Maxi who kissed my scraped knee when he taught me to ride his bike.

Then it was Max who punched a guy at a party when I was thirteen for pressuring me to drink, even though I’d said no four times already. It was Max who held my hand at his grandma’s funeral and whispered promises of soulmates and never-ending love into my ear. And it was Max who took my virginity and said everything he had to do was for me. ‘Everything I’ve ever done has been for you, Lala’, that’s what he told me. And I believed him then. Do I believe him even now?

A small part of me wants to believe everything he ever told me was true. That it was all for me and that he loved me and that he’d die and kill for me. Maddox Sharpe is one of the most intense people I’ve ever met. Yet, tonight, he faltered, a crack in his impenetrable veneer. He was vulnerable, he was angry, he wasjealous, he was scared, he wassick.

Was he sick because of what I said happened to me or was he sick because he thinks I’m tainted now?

“You can still call me, Lala,” I whisper into the dark, the vulnerability almost choking me. “Or Rosie,” I swallow and from the corner of my eye I see his shoulders drop a fraction.

“I don’t suppose saying sorry to you will help meoryou any,” he breathes heavily and my gut twists.

“I don’t want you to say sorry,” I tell him gently.

A frown on my lips as I process yet another truth I inadvertently blurt out. I thought for the last ten years that’s exactly what I wanted, but sitting here now, I realise it’s not good to dwell on the past, not with Max.

I see his fingers dance restlessly against his thighs, so I take the other joint from behind my ear, popping it between my teeth. Max takes the matchbox from beside my thigh, his fingers barely grazing my skin. He strikes a match, I lean into his cupped hand, lighting the tip, I inhale, and we begin the soothing cycle that is weed culture.Take a drag, pass it around.

“Would it makeyoufeel better to say you’re sorry?” I ask him quietly as he takes the lit joint from between my fingers.

Sometimes it’s not about receiving an apology from the person who has wrongedyou, sometimes it’s about letting them make amends forthem. To soothe their own soul a little, even if it hurts. And I’m okay with that if that’s what he needs.

My eyes roll to the left to look at him a little higher. He’s got a white t-shirt on, the thin fabric stretching across his muscular chest and broad shoulders, with his tight black joggers. His arms still covered in ink just like I remember, one of his hands decorated with pieces ofme. I don’t look any higher, I can’t bear to look at those eyes.

Those turquoise eyes, a deep ocean blue but sometimes a clear seafoam green. The eyes that turn midnight blue in the dark, and a light jade in the daylight. They strip me bare, plunging deep for secrets. I can’t let myself be any more vulnerable than I’ve already been lately. I’ve been slipping, so those ice bricks I once used to barricade my heart are currently going back up, in order to keep MaddoxfuckingSharpe out of my heart and my head. But sitting this close to him, the heat from his skin rolling off of him in waves, warming mine even in the icy wind. His scent; the smell of tobacco, musk and his own brand of sweetness. Something pleasant like icing sugar is already invading my senses, making me lightheaded and confused. Max has always been able to break through any walls I erected to keep him out. He smashed through them with a single look, a sledgehammer crashing through everything I ever built.

“No, I don’t think anything will ever make me feel better if I’m honest,” he mumbles back, vulnerability dripping from every confessional word.

This man is such a fucking contradiction. He’s so confusing. He was angry at me earlier, then he was disgusted by me and now he’s sorry. What am I to make of all this? Honestly, I don’t have the mental capacity to even try and work this shit out, especially not after inhaling all that beautiful marijuana. Which has strangely given me some clarity on all this. His apology issonot required, it really won’t help me heal in any way whatsoever and I’m also not ready to start listening to excuses about why he didn’t come back for me that night, or even attempt to contact me after.

It’s because he didn’t care.

“So, don’t say it, let’s just smoke this and then we’ll go to bed,” I say sincerely as he passes me back the blunt.

His whole body going rigid, both of us pinching the last of the joint.

“What?” I ask my voice barely above a whisper as my eyes are automatically pulled to his.

As I meet his midnight blues my whole body goes as rigid as his, my heart thundering in my chest, my breath hitching and knees weakening. If I wasn’t already sitting on this damn concrete step, I think I would have hit the floor.

“Nothing,” he almost shouts, growling out his words, his eyebrows drawing tightly together.

Releasing his hold on the joint like it singed him.

“I’m going to bed,” he suddenly announces.

Throwing himself up from the step and rushing back through the door, slamming it shut behind him. I jump at the sound, the vibrations from it running over my skin, leaving me cold, alone, and really fucking confused.

Chapter4

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