“Oh, well he ain't fucking home then.” His father starts to close the door, but I stop him.
“Wait, do you know where he is?”
“I'm not his damn keeper.” Scrunching his face, he lets his head fall back as he scoffs. “Does it look like I give a fuck where he is?” Holding out his arm, beer in hand, he points a shaky finger at his chest. “He's an adult, I don't need to keep tabs.”
The door slams shut on my face, shaking the front of the house. I'm not taking his answer. I honestly don't even believe his father. The guy is so piss drunk he probably wouldn't even recognize his own son in a lineup.
Walking back around the house, the backyard is so dark I can hardly see a foot in front of me. Night seems to have flipped on out of nowhere. Stubbing my foot on a large branch, I stumble forward, and catch myself on the side of the house.
There's an open window in the back, and I can see a dim light inside. Looking around, I find a recycling bin, and drag it under the window.
Climbing on top, I poke my eyes up over the ledge. Scanning side to side quietly, I'm looking in a teenager’s bedroom. There are posters on the wall of a few bands I never heard of. The bed isn't made, there are clothes strewn on the floor.
Dropping back down to flat feet, my brain fights with my emotions. This is Max's room, it has to be. A piece of me wants to go in, and wait for him to come home, while the other part knows I should just get the hell out of here and forget this whole thing.
Screw it. I'm going for it.
Wrapping my hands over the windowsill, I use my upper body to lift myself into the window. Bending my torso over the edge, I throw my leg over and climb inside. Dropping down to the floor, I land quietly.
Not that I'm too worried, his father seems drunk enough to not know his head from his asshole, and probably doesn't even remember that I came looking for his son.
I know I shouldn't poke around his room, this is his space, only I can't help myself. He has some books on a shelf to my right.
World War Z
Resident Evil
War of The Worlds. . .
He likes zombies, that's easy to see. He has every graphic novel of the Walking Dead, Ghost in The Shell, Spawn, and some anime I'm not familiar with.
His walls are decorated with band posters, from Soul Fly to Local H, records are stacked in his headboard, and his radio looks more than used, it looks abused.
Sitting on his bed, I flip through the records, learning more than I expect about Max Ramon. Max loves music, heavy metal and rock, while I also find some old jazz and blues records.
He reads, which is wildly attractive in some weird way, and I'm finding myself more turned on by him by the second. Every book, comic, record, the way he refuses to make his bed, or put away his clothes, but his shoes are lined perfectly against the wall.
Max is an outcast, a rebellious teen who still likes order, but wants to decide it for himself. All his books and comics are in alphabetical order, despite the fact they're stacked and not standing up, side by side.
He lives in organized chaos, that's the best way to explain it. And I can easily see it. His touch, his manipulation, his control, it's all here.
Laying down on his bed, I rest my hands under my head and stare at the ceiling. Spotting a set of headphones on the headboard, I slip them on. Turning on his radio, I push play.
I'm hit with the loud crash of symbols, and the heavy thump of double base. A guitar screams, followed by vocals that are harsh and breathy. Closing my eyes, I relax, I listen.
I try to listen with his ears, hearing what he hears, feeling what he feels when he listens to this music. My chest constricts, the lyrics painful and heartbreaking. There's so much hurt I almost can't take it.
Forever fooling, free and using, sliding down the slide that breaks a will. Mother's angel, getting smarter, how smart are you to regress unfulfilled?
When I'm hiding, when I need it, it lets me breathe, for our handle on this life, I don't believe.
Would you look at me now? Can you tell I'm a man?
Tearing the headphones off my head, I throw them onto the bed, and cover my face. I'm going to cry, I can feel it.
Footsteps come down the hallway. Sitting up, I listen, waiting to see where they go. They stop outside the door, causing me to inhale a sharp breath. I won't let it out until something happens, until the feet keep moving, or until I get caught in his room in a puddle of tears.
The doorknob turns, creaking open slowly. Max pushes it open, but he doesn't see me yet. His body is facing away as he closes the door so gently it doesn't make a sound.
Kicking off his sneakers, he twists in my direction.
“Fuck!” he yells, covering his mouth with one hand.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
My heart is beating so wildly in my chest, it feels like it's going to explode from my ribs and land at his feet.
Turning his voice into a whisper, he takes a step forward, and barks. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you, and you won't answer my calls, or my texts. You're ignoring me.”
“I'm not ignoring you. I've just been busy.” His jaw rocks side to side, and I can see the restraint in his throat as he keeps his voice steady.
Veering my stare, I drop my hands to my hips. “What's going on with you? You're skipping school, you flake out on community service. This isn't like you at all.”
“What the hell do you know about me?” Taking a firm step forward, he lowers his face to mine. “You don't know shit about me. You know only what I want you to know, and that's it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Like how your father's a drunk?”
Biting down on the inside of his cheek, his eyes pop open wide. “You don't belong here, you need to go. Now.” Max attempts to grab me by the shoulders and push me toward the window. “Go home, Prairie. We should have never hooked up in the first place. I'm no good, I'm dangerous. I'm just going to hold you back.”
Digging my feet into the ground, I catch the edge of his desk. “No, I'm not leaving. None what you just said is true. You're not bad, you're not trouble, and dangerous?” Shaking my head, my mouth thins. “Come on, that's insane. You just need to take control of your life.”
Huffing under his breath, he rolls his eyes, and stands up straight. “You just don't get it, do you?” Raking a hand through his hair, he opens his mouth wide as his hand slips down his cheeks and over his chin. “Look at me.” Holding out his arms, he takes a step back. “I'm the son of a drunk, you're the daughter of a doctor. We have nothing in common, and we never will.”
My eyes scan him up and down. I don't know what he's getting at. All I see is a hot as hell, strong man, who doesn't know his own self-worth.
Leaning forward, he stiffens his arms as he stretches them wider. “I'm just the bad guy, Prairie, with a record, and no future. All you're going to get from me is disappointment after—”
Closing the distance between us, I scoop his face in my hands. He tries to jerk his head away, but I don't let him. Instead, I kiss him with a hard, commanding kiss.
His body goes rigid for a moment, and then I feel his muscles as they relax. He wraps his arm around my waist and runs the tips of his fingers across the side of my face as he kisses me back.