Maxx put his hand first in one pocket and then the other. “Where are they?” he asked, getting unsteadily to his feet and digging farther into his pockets.

“Where are what?” I asked, bewildered by the sudden change in his mood.

“I need them!” he yelled, pushing past me and lumbering into the kitchen, where he started taking things out of the cabinets and throwing them on the floor. When he didn’t find what he was looking for there, he let out a howl and practically ran down the hallway to his bedroom.

I followed him at a distance. I thought about trying to stop him, but a desire for self-preservation held me back.

He ripped his room apart, dumping clothes on the floor. He gathered the empty baggies and ripped them apart.

“Where are they?” His scream was desperate. He tipped over his bedside table and fell to his knees, looking through the stuff that had fallen out. He picked up a bottle and shook it. It rattled, and the look of euphoria that replaced the hopelessness on his face made me cold. I knew exactly what he had been looking for.

“No, Maxx! You don’t need that,” I cried, falling down beside him and trying to pry the bottle from his hands. Maxx yanked it away from me and scooted backward on his knees. He popped the top off, and before I could do anything, he dropped the white pill into his mouth.

He crunched it between his teeth. His mouth went slack, and he leaned back against the wall.

“Maxx,” I said with bone-weary regret. Maxx looked at me, his normally beautiful lips stretching into a lazy smile that was all too familiar. I used to think that smile was sexy and mysterious. Now it was just sad and pathetic. Now I knew exactly why he smiled that way.

I hated that smile.

I hated how happy he seemed.

I hated how easily he gave in, not even bothering to put up a fight.

This was how he lived his life—from one high to the next, bad choice after bad choice, followed by catastrophic consequences that he cared nothing about, not now anyway.

Maybe in the morning, when he wasn’t f**ked-up and could possibly think more rationally, he’d care.

I brought my knees up to my chest and leaned my cheek against my leg, exhausted and angry. But I was also resolute.

Maxx licked his lips, his eyes drooping shut. He put a hand through his blond curls and then let his arm fall limply beside him. His head bobbed from side to side as though he was making sure he could still move it.

I found myself watching the rise and fall of his chest, scared that if I stopped looking, even for a moment, it would cease to move, that he would slip away quietly, without me realizing it.

Before I had the chance to fight for him. Because obviously he didn’t have the will to fight for himself.

This man wasn’t a casual user. He was slowly being eaten alive. It was like watching a car driving full speed toward a brick wall. The sinking feeling of helplessness I remembered all too well made me momentarily immobile.

I would fail him.

I would lose him, just as I had lost Jayme.

I was a fool to think I could make a difference for anybody.

I looked around the trashed room and sighed. I should leave him to this miserable cycle he lived in. I didn’t need to be mixed up in all of this. Brooks was right. My being here was inappropriate. The boundaries were already blurred.

And what would it matter anyway?

Maxx reached out and took my hand. “Stay,” he whispered. I shook my head. I couldn’t stay. Not after everything I’d seen. There was no place for me in his world.

“Please, Aubrey. Stay with me,” he pleaded. I turned back to him. His pupils were dilated, and I wasn’t sure if it was just the drugs or whether he had a concussion. I should have taken him to the hospital. He may have had broken bones. But I had allowed my good sense to be drowned out by the need to care for him. To do it all myself.

As if I had something to prove by making things right, all on my own.

I was scared to leave him in the state he was in. But I was scared to stay, knowing that if I did, that was it. I had stepped over that invisible line. And once I had done so, there was no turning back. It would be too late.

I stared down at Maxx, and he looked so young and vulnerable, his face devoid of its characteristic calculation and seductive allure. He seemed . . . innocent.

I wouldn’t leave him. I couldn’t walk out his door and pretend that this boy didn’t matter to me.

Already, he had become something important. Something I should never have allowed him to be. But that didn’t change the fact that he was.

I opened my mouth to agree to stay, but Maxx’s eyes were closed and his mouth drooped open. I found a blanket and draped it over him.

Then I lay down on the bed, wrapping my coat around myself, and watched him while he slept, each rise and fall of his chest binding me to him in a way that frightened me with its totality.

There was no leaving him.

I had made my choice.

I just hoped it was the right one.

Chapter eighteen

maxx

my chest felt tight, and my head screamed in agony. Every joint, every limb, ached and burned. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. I felt sick to my stomach, and bile rose up in the back of my throat.

I was going to puke.

I tried to lift my head, but even that small movement set off a wave of nausea that quickened the vomit rising up my throat.

I rolled onto my side and retched. And then I retched again. And just for good measure I retched some more.

I moaned, rolling onto my side. I had the sense to know I was on my bedroom floor, though how I had gotten here was a good question. Everything after I had arrived at Compulsion last night was a complete blank.