Page 5 of Stain
There’s no time for me to do anything but close my eyes and flinch in the span it takes him to drink and hurl the bottle in my direction. I jump, and a squeak makes its way out of my mouth when it slams and shatters against a tombstone a few yards from where I’m sitting. The small fear that it might’ve hit me has my heart racing but it’s nothing compared to the moment I open my eyes to find him staring directly at me. I didn’t realize they’d come this close.
I hear the blood rush between my ears, my heart beats too fast against my chest, like a hummingbird looking for a way out of its cage. Sweat gathers on my skin as time seemingly trickles to a stop. He looks at me and I look at him. I can’t hold the intensity of his stare but I can’t look away either. There’s something a little off about his gaze, about him in general. He’s not at all like his brother. There’s no softness, no gentleness to be found anywhere on his sculpted features. But there’s a meanness there, a raw and menacing sort of malice that’s reflected in his near arctic stare. It takes an effort to break from his ensnarement. When I do, it’s to look at everything else except his face.
“Jesus, Max, you almost hit her.” Noah speaks, his tone almost reprimanding as he draws nearer to me. While the other two hang back, he comes to stand directly over me, and I have to crane my head up to look at him. “Are you okay, Aylee?” I’m instantly uneasy. I know he’s not a threat, but I can’t help feeling overwhelmed by his immense height, especially when he’s standing over me like this. Giving him a brief nod, I close my sketchpad and stuff it back inside my canvas bag along with my pencil case. I find my way back to my feet and although I’m 5’5 I’m still relatively short compared to him, but at least now I’m not at a horrible disadvantage.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He smiles and I’m struck by its brilliance. “Sorry about that, my brother likes to make a nuisance of himself.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Hey, I saw the piece you did for Media Day last week. I thought it was brilliant.” There’s no hint of artifice in his voice. Everything about Noah seems genuine, including the kindness I see reflected in his royal blue eyes. Blood gathers hotly. Scalding hot. Beneath my cheeks, it burns with the way he’s looking at me. It’s a far cry from the hard, emotionless tundra belonging to his brother. I don’t know why I do it, but I tilt my head a little to the left of Noah’s body to find Maddox. He’s partially sitting on a tombstone, the case of beer set on the ground between his long, parted legs. He’s working on another beer while listening to Bria talk. People talk about him. They talk about Noah, too. But Maddox is infamous. There isn’t a lot that’s known about them, but his extensive criminal record is public knowledge. It’s not hard to believe when just last month I saw him threaten someone with a knife behind the track field. I ran off before he could see me.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I admire your work.”
I return my gaze to Noah. “Thank you,” I answer, and duck my head. “Your work is beautiful, too.” It sounds insincere. But I mean every word. He did an acrylic painting titled, “Black Static,” for last year’s young artist show that blew me away. That painting is what sparked my inspiration for my macabre side of art.
He chuckles. “Thanks.”
I look down at my feet, and dig the toe of my left sandal into the dirt. My social graces are severely lacking. I don’t have many friends, in fact, I only have one friend. And it’s taken Mallory nearly three years to begin to understand just how awkward I am. It’s not intentional. I’m not very good at entertaining people. Even holding a simple conversation takes effort. This is torture. It’s even worse for Noah, I’m assuming, since he has to deal with my weirdness.
“…you doing something?”
“…I should go…”
He grins crookedly down at me. “You should join us, but if you have to go…”
He trails off, leaving it open for me to either jump on the invitation or turn it down. I open my mouth to speak but Bria’s bark of laughter draws my gaze back to Noah’s left, and my eyes like magnets clamp onto Maddox’s face. I don’t expect to meet his gaze dead-on. Coldness greets me, so chilling I feel it in my bones. I shudder.
“Cold?”
It’s safer to just look at Noah.
“No.” Adjusting the shoulder straps of my bag, I’m unaware of how tightly I’m holding onto it until the woven straps bite into my palm. “Not really.” I slacken my hold a little only to feel the explosion of needle-like pain in my hand. A small part of me likes the sensation.
“Thanks for the invite, but I have to get back to church.” It’s a lie. But it’s better than the alternative. Even if I did do something completely out of character as to accept Noah’s invitation. I know I’ll be unwelcomed. The look on his brother’s face is a clear indication I’m not wanted.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you at school?”
“Yeah.”
I turn away from them. “Bye, Aylee.”
Looking over my shoulder, I give Noah what I hope is a nice smile. “Bye.”
Chapter 4
Maddox
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a hard-on for her.” With my gaze trained on her retreating back, I tip back the bottle of Heineken and guzzle down the little bit that remains. Doing what I’ve been doing since we entered the cemetery, I swing my arm back and hurl the bottle. It flies through the air and explodes against the tree in front of her. When she stops, I wait for her reaction, wait to see if she’ll turn around and reveal that startled, wide-eyed rabbit look I saw on her face earlier. I’m thinking she’ll say something, maybe even flip me off, but when she peers over her shoulder, it’s to look at me with those eyes. Eyes that are like the stained-glass windows at St. Peters on Main Street. My mom used to go to that church a lot, to pray to a God who didn’t give a shit about her. I broke in a few months after she died, trashed the altar, spray painted the cross, and shattered the windows with rocks. All simply because I could.
Eyes locked, she shows me nothing but her well-maintained mask of composure. It’s a pretty mask, made of golden skin touched with a hint of flushed pink undertones. She’s like a living doll with that heart-shaped face and sunlight-blond hair. It’s almost wrong of me to imagine her Cupid’s bow lips wrapped around a cock.My cock, to be precise. I can see her on her knees, between my legs, her cheeks hollowing as she struggles to take every inch of my nine inches between those lips. I’d guide her, too, help her out a little because I’m Mr. Fucking Generous. Bria would be there, too, showing her exactly how to take me in.
“Not everything is about sex, Max,” my shadowed self replies, with his typical chastising tone effectively breaking my nice little fantasy. My eyes flick back to where she’s standing just in time to see her turn and walk away like nothing happened.
“But then again, what can I expect from someone who makes a living out of it?”
A switch flips inside of me and suddenly my impartial indifference switches to annoyance. I know where this conversation is going. That little dig is the beginning of Noah’s shit stirring, and honestly, I’m not nearly drunk enough for the lecture. One of the major differences—and there are many—between me and Noah is he has morals. I don’t. It pisses me off that he wants to impose his self-righteous bullshit on me, though.
