He's under there for a couple minutes, then leans back and says, “Give it a try now.”
Turning the key, it starts instantly, sounding smooth. I'm stunned, shocked that he was able to fix it so easily.
Getting back in, his hands are dirty, but he doesn't care, he wipes them on his jeans. “All set.”
“What was wrong?”
“One of your battery terminals was loose.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, it was nothing.” Pointing a finger toward the exit, he adds, “Take a left when you leave, my house is off of Burton Creek.”
Following his directions, we make small talk to his house. I ask him if he's lived here all his life, he asks me where I came from. There's nothing serious or debatable, just normal conversation.
I learned he moved here when he was three, and his father took a local job at as a mechanic. He hates red sauce, except on pizza, and he can't eat seafood.
We turn down a quiet road, the houses are spaced far apart. There are fields between the worn down and forgotten homes. The grass is tall, the driveways are unpaved, and the roofs look like they've been hit by a tornado.
“I'm up over here, number twenty-eight.”
Rolling up to the front of the house, I park the car and look out his window. The house is dark, too dark for dinner time. The windows are black, not a hint of light is coming from the home at all.
“Is anyone else here?” I ask.
“I doubt it.” His eyes are on the house, but his voice sounds distant, like he's with me, and at the same time, he's not. He looks off, beyond the windows, beyond the walls, beyond anything that has to do with his house.
His mind is gone, rolling with thoughts that I don’t understand.
Tapping the steering wheel, I ask, “You want some company? I can come in and hang out until someone else gets home.”
Closing my eyes, I bite my lip and squeeze the steering wheel. I sound desperate. He's eighteen like me, and probably not afraid to be home alone. But, I ask him like he's a kid who needs a babysitter.
Max slowly shifts his eyes to mine, his mouth razor thin, his expression flat. “I'm serious when I say you need to watch yourself around me. I'm not someone to mess with.”
“Oh yeah, and what's that supposed to mean exactly? Because from what I saw today, I saw a guy who actually gives a shit.”
“You saw wrong.” Gritting his teeth, he gives me crooked smirk. “I'm not your fucking friend. . .” Leaning in, his face is close, so fucking close I can see the stubble on his jaw.
My pussy throbs as I imagine him gripping my hips and forcing me back in my seat. I want his face buried between my thighs; I want to feel his breath against my aching pussy. Tingles race through my belly, making me wet instantly.
Stop, Prairie!
“I'm your fucking enemy,” he finally says.
A tingle runs down my spine as his breath spreads across my face. His lips are so close to mine, I can imagine the way they would feel.
They're right there. Inches away. They look hard and soft, rough and smooth. They look like hurt and pleasure all in one.
Kiss me. Just fucking kiss me.
I don't say it out loud, I don't whisper it, but I'm hoping he can hear the words inside my head.
He licks his lips, leaning forward, forcing me to back my head against the driver side window. Even though I want him to kiss me, the look in his eyes is enough to make me hold my breath as a sliver of fear scrapes across my chest.
My uncle's words race through my head. 'Stay away from him.' And right beside his warning is the devil's voice inside my ear. He's telling me not to listen to anyone else. He's telling me we want this, we need this, we have to have this.
No. No. No. Max is bad. Period.
Don't be fucking stupid, Prairie!
“Enemies don't play well together, you understand that, don't you?” He licks his lips, eyes running all over my face, and pausing on my mouth before moving back up.
I hold his eyes with mine, and a flicker of anger bubbles. We're only enemies because he's saying we are. We're only enemies because he wants us to be. But he's wrong.
“We don't need to be enemies. You're making us that. That night—”
“That night—” His arm comes up and slams the window behind my head. “That night wasn't for you to change. You altered an ending that wasn't yours to rewrite.”
“I saw it in your eyes that night, Max, and I can see it now, you aren't that person.”
Lowering his lids, something in his face changes. The tension is still there, but it's different. It's not anger or hate, it's lust and defiance. It's need and resistance.
Biting his lower lip, his eyes drift. They move down my face, over my throat and across my breasts. The very tip of his tongue tempts the opening of his mouth, causing me to suck in a ragged breath.
“You have no idea who the hell I am. You'll only ever see, who I want you to see. You'll only ever know, who I want you to know.” Throwing the door open, he jumps out of the car, and slams the door shut. Storming up the walkway, he disappears inside.
I hear the windows rattle on his house as the front door crashes closed. A light pops on behind crooked curtains, and I'm left sitting in a puddle of arousal.
My panties are soaked, and I'm sweating profusely. It's dripping down the back of my neck, tracing my spine. My heart is hammering inside my chest, and my lips tingle.
Reaching up, I touch my mouth. Letting out a slow breath, I start to cough for air. I've been holding my breath and didn't even know it until my lungs started burning.
Glancing up at his house one last time, I throw the car into drive and pull away.
He's angry with me, and that's all right. I can see a side of him no one else can and I think it makes him uncomfortable. I don't feel bad for it, and I won't let myself, either.
Because people can be a lot of things. They can be good. They can be evil. They can be upright and docile and even go astray.
But there's one thing people can never be. . . And that's without light.
We can all be led in the wrong direction.
But we can all find our way back home.
Sometimes, people just need a little help getting there.
5
Max
The bus doors open, and I stand on the top step for a second, looking up at the sky. I step out under a cloud of gray and a light drizzle. It's misting, the water is cold as it hits my face, making me shiver slightly.
Adjusting my jacket, I look right and left before crossing the street. My feet are heavier than usual, and there's a tightness in my chest I can't get rid of. It happens every time I come here. Visiting my brother never gets easier.
The long driveway to the prison always gives me the fucking creeps. I hate the walk up to the doors, and I hate the walk into the building. There's a cloud of dread that weighs down on my shoulders.
I feel like I'm behind bars too. I have no control over my life, just like my brother has no control here. Without my brother, life hasn't been the same.
At least when we're together, I don't feel so alone. He understands me, he understands our life, our past—everything. I don't need to explain a damn thing to him. But with him in here, I have no one.