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She turned slowly.
Paxton leaned against the wall, with his arms crossed. He was dressed all in black again, and the sleeveless vintage vest hung on his pale chest, its V-neck revealing a tattoo that curled up from his collarbone and around his throat. It read: Won’t you join me in my slow descent into madness? She stared at the scripty black words as he moved toward her.
“I’ve been thinking about you. ” He touched the back of her hand, barely, a sweeping little caress. “Do you know how to have fun, suburb girl?”
“Like what, animal sacrifice?”
The smile he gave her was slow and seductive. No one had ever stared at her so intently, as if she were edible. “Meet me tomorrow night at midnight. ”
“Midnight?”
“The witching hour. I bet you’ve only met nice boys for movie dates and pool parties. ”
“You don’t know anything about me. ”
He smiled slowly, gazing directly at her. She could feel how sure he was of himself, of her. “Meet me. ”
“No. ”
“Curfew, huh? Poor little rich girl. Okay, then. But I’ll wait for you at the pergola in Pioneer Square. ”
The pergola in Pioneer Square? Where the homeless people slept at night and bummed cigarettes from tourists?
She heard the door opening behind her. Her dad was saying, “Thank you, Dr. Bloom. ”
Marah pulled away from Paxton. He laughed quietly, a little cruelly, at her movement, so she stilled.
“Marah,” Dad said sharply. She knew what he was seeing: his once-perfect, once-beautiful daughter talking to a young man wearing makeup and chains. The streaks in Paxton’s hair were almost neon in the office’s strong light.
“This is Paxton,” Marah said to her dad. “He’s in my therapy group. ”
Dad barely made eye contact with Paxton. “Let’s go,” Dad said, taking her hand, leading her out of the office.
Twelve
That night, after a long and trying day in which her father had tried in a dozen subtle ways to change Marah’s mind about staying in Seattle, she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She had finally convinced him to let her stay with Tully for the summer, but he had laid down a matrix of behavioral rules. Just thinking about it gave Marah a headache. She couldn’t help being relieved when he left.
The next day, she and Tully acted like tourists, enjoying the beautiful summer afternoon along the waterfront. But when night fell, and Marah went to bed alone, she found herself thinking about Paxton.
Meet me. Midnight.
Beside her, the digital alarm clock flipped through the minutes with a hushed thwick-thwick-thwick. She glanced sideways.
11:39.
11:40.
11:41.
I’ll be waiting for you by the pergola.
She couldn’t seem to banish that promise from her mind.
She was intrigued by Paxton. Why not admit it? He was unlike any guy she’d ever known. In his presence, she felt challenged somehow, seen; alive.
It was crazy.
He was crazy. And probably dangerous. And God knew she was screwed up enough, she didn’t need to take a walk on the wild side. Mom would hate him.
