Maxed Steel by M.J. Fields

Kill Me Now

Mila

His question was almostthe same as it was that night. The only difference was he called me Miller and not Blue.

That night was as life-altering as the fateful car accident that took my mom from me. My father … I don’t give him a second thought, not anymore, because I have no room in my life for the rage that those thoughts provoke.

Senior year. Winter beach party

God, I hate these things, but Aunt Pam insists it’s part of growing up on The Shore. I don’t point out that we actually don’t live on The Shore; we live in a rent-controlled shithole in Bayside, but I don’t. I’m grateful that she moved in when Mom and her brother—my father—died, so that my sister Valencia didn’t have to move.

I wanted to move. I wanted to and never come back, not ever, but Valencia, or Cia as I call her, was only ten and wasn’t as aware of how horrible our father was. She was always early to bed and didn’t see him come home, piss drunk and puking, or see or “experience” his heavy handedness.

For that, I am grateful.

Chelsea and I walked through the warehouse that one of Seashore’s elites rented for the party. There were small fire-pits evenly spaced out. Chelsea assured me it was perfectly safe.

I wasn’t afraid of anyone hurting me physically—I’d been there, done that—but I preferred her to believe that over telling her the truth.

The truth? I was embarrassed about the way I looked, my faults and flaws, ones all teenagers have, but those with money can hide under makeup, designer clothes, and plastic surgeries. My insecurities, highlighted by the whispers behind my back, about my fat ass, my acne, my shoes, my hair, my … everything, since I began school, on scholarship, where my aunt worked in the cafeteria at Seashore Academy.

Then I saw a lightning bolt of a smile flash my way, illuminating the darkness. That smile was flashed by the author of every one of my fantasies and my filthiest dreams.

Max Steel.

Chelsea was chatting up Trigger, her newest crush, as I smiled back at Max.

“He’s a player,” came from behind me. “That fake smile masks his true intentions, Miller.”

I started to turn around, but a hand on my back stopped me.

“He sees you looking at me, and he’s going to play every card in his hand to get in your panties, and not because he’s falling for you, Miller. It’ll be because he hates me. He hates me because his cousin hates me.” Marcello Effisto’s voice spoke in slow, deep, confident tones.

“I’m guessing, just like every other girl here, that you’re looking for a fairy tale. A boy who’s going to whisk you off your feet, take you to games and dances, hold your hand in the halls, be by your side at lame-ass parties like this one, and someone to text you a good morning, beautiful, and his deepest desires at night.”

“You don’t know me,” I whispered back.

“Oh, come now. No need to deny it.” I felt his breath on the back of my neck as he said, “I myself believed in that very myth. I was going to marry Tris Steel and live that whole happy ever after that Hallmark sells us. She moved on.

“Can I trust you, Miller? Can I tell you a secret?”

I didn’t answer him.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Again, I said nothing.

“It still hurts. It hurts that I believed the bullshit, the emotional torment that comes with lies and broken promises. So, I offer you some advice, and a warning.”

He paused to wait for my response, and again, I didn’t give him one. I mean, he was Marc Effisto. He would walk down the hall, and the sea of students parted as he passed. He was feared and revered.

“Cunt is crack. We all know addicts will do anything to catch that high. Girls hold onto their virginity like it’s some prized possession and dangle it like a carrot in front of boys who will do or say anything to sink their cocks into a hot, wet pussy, because they are chasing the highest high known to humankind.”

I stood as still as a statue.

“He’ll try to seduce you. He may succeed. If you’re lucky, he’ll make you come before he does. Then, Miller, you, too, will become an addict. When he moves on, because as you see, he’s a player, you’ll become like me—cold, callous, and your heart will become stone.”

I watched as Max, surrounded by girls, threw his head back in laughter as they literally looked like they’d eat him up if they could.

“You’re so much smarter than those girls. I can tell you have suffered in ways they may never know, just like me.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

“The darkness is there, Miller. I feel it. And truth be told, it turns me on.” I felt his hand slide into my parka pocket. “You wanna catch a buzz, get high with someone who isn’t going to lie to you like boys like Max will, you won’t regret it. My phone number is written on the key card I slid in your pocket. I have a room across the street.” Then he leaned in and whispered, “I can’t wait to sink into someone who gets it.”

For the next two hours, I got those smiles from Max … but so did everyone else. By the end of the night, I was so angry at myself that, when Chelsea and Trigger slipped away … so did I.

* * *

“You awake, Blue?”Max asks, bringing me back to the present.

I look away from the window and at him. “Yeah.”

“My stomach’s screaming, and my tank will be soon. You hungry?”

“No.” I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Gotta eat, Blue,” he says as he takes the offramp.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

I watch Max in the mirror as he leans against the truck, gas pump in one hand as he flips through his phone, smiling or laughing at something or someone with each swipe, and tears cloud my eyes.

* * *

Two daysafter that night with Marcello Effisto, I smiled at him in the hall, and he rolled his eyes. I watched as those girls, the ones who whispered behind my back, now laughed in my face.

That same day, entering Physics class, that slow, deep, confident voice, now laced with disgust, whispered from behind, “I was wrong about you, Miller. You’re just as delusional and foolish as they are.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I whispered back without bothering to look behind me. “You weren’t that good.”

A deep, menacing chuckle came from somewhere deep and definitely dark. “Some advice? Don’t be a fucking liar like the rest of them. Do not lie to yourself. I tore through your untouched cherry, so therefore, I am actually the best you’ve ever had.”

I never questioned why the halls parted like the red seas when he walked through them or looked in his direction again. And I didn’t judge one person for falling for what I myself fell for. But, unlike many, I didn’t ever look back.

Instead, I looked back to Max who, two weeks later, proved that light would always outshine darkness.

Until the accident, and then …

My phone vibrates, and I pull it off the charger.

Cia: Overslept. Will you be here before the appointment, or do I have to do that alone, too?

Dammit, I think as I tap back my response

Shades pulled down, smile brighter than the sun on his face, Max walks toward the truck with arms full of convenience store junk food and hands full of huge coffee cups.

I unbuckle and lean across the seat to push his door open.

“Thanks, Blue,” he says, handing me one cup then the next before sliding in.

“How do you keep fit when you eat heart attack food?” I ask, taking a sip of coffee.

His smile grows even bigger. “I don’t eat like this all the time, but sometimes, you just gotta say fuck it, yeah?”

“Sure.”

He drops the food on the seat between us and, as he’s buckling, says, “I’d rather a steady diet of your tongue and your pussy, too, but I’m sensing we’re not there yet. Am I right?”

I choke on the coffee, and all he does is laugh.

Once I get my shit together, I ask the dumbest question I could ask. “What exactly do you want from me, Max?”

“I wanna see where this thing can go. ’Cause I’m feeling this deep, Mila, and I know damn well you do, too.”

“You have no idea who I am anymore, and—”

“I’m going on feeling here,” he interrupts. “Gut feelings. Felt a pull with you back then. Shit happened. Shit that I’m man enough to address now. And if you think I’m bullshitting about that gut feeling, I can tell you I felt its push, too. Twice, actually. Both were waves I knew damn well I had no business attempting while touring, and both times I got knocked around underwater and thought, This is it. I’m done. But I surfaced. And that last time, it was like the wind was blowing my proverbial sails back to shore. I knew I needed to come home, because I promised my mom I’d graduate college, and if I kept my shit up, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my promise. And, Blue, I’m a man of my word. Doubt that? Think back on me telling you I’d make you come twice before we came together and tell me you still doubt it.”

I palm my face as he throws his truck in gear and pulls out, chuckling.

“I remember everything, Blue. And the fact that your face is as red as my dick was after I pierced it myself tells me so do you.”

“Seriously?” I now cover my ears. “Just stop.”

“Dead serious. Healing up good. And stop? For now, I will. But when I pick you up to head back Monday afternoon, you better be ready to tell me you let old Sal off the hook, because Max is back, and he’s fucking starving.”

Monday.

* * *

The next half an hour,I pretend to be asleep, because the dread I feel looming is like a weighted blanket that’s doing the opposite of what it’s intended to do—driving anxiety and not easing it. The anxiety of what is to come, and I desperately want to postpone the inevitable. Then I realize I have … for two years. I just didn’t think I would ever be in the situation I am right now.

Hell, when I saw him, I never thought he would recognize me, let alone keep showing up. I have hated him for years for what he took from me. I have focused on it because there are things about this entire fucked-up situation that I have never hated him for.

Right before we pull into the city, I sneakily shoot Cia a text that I’ll be there soon.

About five blocks from home, I sit up, and Max, who has been singing along to every song on the radio, reaches over and turns it down.

“Could you drop me off on the corner there?”

“Uh, sure?”

“I have an errand to run and—”

“I got time. I can—”

“No!” My anxiety rises. “I mean, no, thank you.”

“Mila, if this asshole is—”

“I’m fine. Stop acting like I need someone to take care of me.” Under my breath, I mutter, “Freaking caveman.”

He hits his blinker and says, “And where do I pick you up on Monday?”

“I’ll message you,” I say when, two blocks down, I think I see Cia, who clearly isn’t paying attention to my damn texts, coming toward me.

“You need my number?” he asks as I grab my bag and throw the door open.

“Same as it was?” I ask, sliding out, my heart in my throat.

“You still got my digits?” He chuckles when I roll my eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it as you want,” I say as I start to shut the door.

“I’ll take it to the bedroom when I lay down tonight and finish it in the shower.”

“Yeah? Well, don’t hurt yourself.” I slam the door and pretend to walk into the corner store so he will leave.

Standing in front of a shelf, pretending to shop, I watch him smile as he pulls away.

I give it enough time, and then, heart hammering almost out of my chest, I hurry out and look down as Cia pushes the stroller over the curve.

I hear her sweet little squeal as she unbuckles herself. Tears sting my eyes at just how fast she has grown and the moments I’m missing. Ones I will never get back in order to get a good job so that I can repay Aunt Pam for the opportunities she’s missed, taking care of my little girl, and help Cia break the same cycle I am now breaking.

I squat down and open my arms wide as she runs to me.

When she jumps into my arms, laughing, I allow the past few days to float away and grab her up, spinning her around in a circle as she laughs the kind of laugh a kid deserves to.

When I stop, she plants her hands on my cheeks and smiles, bigger and brighter than any other smile in the universe, and says. “Mommy, I home!”

“You are.” I laugh and hug her tighter. “And we have a big day planned. Your first big girl haircut.”

“C come?” she asks.

Cia answers for me, “Aunt C is going to go hang with her friends. You know, like a senior in high school should be doing.”

“Stow the attitude,” I tell her as I prop my girl on my hip and reach in to grab her some money. I hand her a fifty. “Go have fun, check in between places, and be home by eight.”

She rolls her eyes and takes the money. “You’re not my mom.”

“No, I’m not, but I am your person.” I pull her into a one-arm hug. “Love you, Cia.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she says as she walks away.

After a much-needed hug-fest and giving my girl a million kisses, I ask, “So, are you ready for your haircut?”

She’s looking over my shoulder.

“Hey, Mommy’s home. Can you pay attention to me, please?” I tickle her.

Still not looking at me, she asks, “Who dat?”

“I’m Max. What’s your name?”

When I hear his voice, I nearly die.

I look at her and only her as she grins. “I’s Saylor.” She holds up her chubby little hand and raises two fingers. “I this much.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“You’re two, huh?” Max asks without even so much as a waiver in his voice.

I take a deep breath and turn, facing him, and see him holding my binder.

“You forgot something, Mila.”

“You know Mommy?” Saylor asks.

“I sure do, little lady.”

I prop Saylor on my hip and reach out my hand for the binder. “Thanks.”

He raises his brows. “Yeah?”

“Well, thanks, then.” I bend down and shove the binder in the basket beneath the stroller.

When I stand up, he’s looking her over, and she’s doing what two year olds do—mimicking him.

He recognizes it and laughs, and she does in response.

“Saylor”—he crosses his arms, and I notice he’s fisting his hands—“you and your mommy have a busy day?”

“Hairs cut day.”

“You want comp—”

“No,” I cut him off.

His jaw tenses, and the muscles in it pop.

“So, again, thanks,” I say, hoping he will leave.

Still looking over Saylor, he says, “I’d really appreciate a minute with you to discuss something I need clarification on.”

“Monday’s good,” I say, and Saylor repeats me.

He smiles at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She repeats his word.

“Saylor, you are seriously the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen.”

“I am.” She nods.

“And confident.” He smiles at her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Saylor girl, you sure are.”

“And we’re going to be late if we don’t get to Miss Lucy’s shop. So, Max, we’ll talk on Monday.”

“We will.” He nods and steps aside.

“Me, too?” Saylor asks.

“I certainly hope so, Saylor girl.”