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No one answered. It must have been a stray cat. I bent down to pick up my spray paint when I heard a moan. I stopped. Being young, I didn’t think it could be anything other than someone hurt. So, I walked slowly down the lone alley, seeing a shadowy figure from the corner of the building staring at me.
Chills raced down my back, but he didn’t pursue me, he got into his car and the lights blinded me as he backed out. The moan sounded again. Something moved underneath a litter of broken-down boxes, and bravely I walked over to it.
The boy's arm stuck out from underneath the cardboard and my heart sank into my belly. I bent down and pulled them off and gasped. The bloody mess of his face was just that—a mess. I couldn’t tell the color of his hair from the blood, or his facial features because of the cuts and swelling. I traced my fingertip against his bloody cheek but he didn’t move.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, but his hand gripped my wrist.
“No,” he whispered. “Let me go.”
Let me go? Go where?At that age, I didn’t even realize someone would want to die, or let themselves die. I figured he was delusional. “I’ve got to go get help.”
He groaned. “Let me …die.”
A tear slipped from my eyes. I was sure they could save him. No matter who this boy was, he deserved to live. Here I was, crying because I couldn’t take an art class, and this boy was near death.
“I’ll be back.”
I pried his arm from my wrist and bolted to the bar to get help.
My parents picked me up at one in the morning at the bar downtown. They never told me about the boy, and when I searched, there wasn’t anything in the paper about his name. Just an unidentified male. That’s where he’d stayed in my mind.
I never derived a conclusion, because why would someone not be grateful they’d been saved? How had Maverick hated me for saving him? I didn’t understand.
Tears trailed down Maverick’s cheeks and I wanted to stop them, but I knew it wouldn’t work. “Maverick, what would have happened to Frankie if you left him?”
He leaned forward and rubbed his palms against his eyes. “I don’t know. I was a kid, and selfish, Josie. All I could think about was getting out of it. I felt numb. Every night I came home not knowing if I’d eat or I’d find my mother dead of drugs. I figured it’d be easier for her to take care of Frankie alone than the both of us. It was a child’s mentality. I was a child, and when I saw you freshman year, the child in me took over. He was so guarded deep down in my mind that he never grew.”
I couldn’t try to understand because I’d never been unloved or beaten. “You could have told me sooner,” I whispered, feeling angry. I didn’t want to be, but I was. He tormented me for four years for saving his life.
Maverick shook his head. “I couldn’t. All I saw every time you looked at me was how you ruined my chances of getting out.” He sat up and rubbed his palm against my cheek. I snatched away from him.
“You hated me,” I said, pointing at my chest, “for saving your life. You ungrateful bastard!” I shouted.
Maverick sat back and glared at me. “I told you I was worthless. I’m sorry for being this way. I never wanted to be. You didn’t deserve it and I know that, but there is nothing I can do to take it back now, but love you.” He shot up quickly, grabbing my upper arms with his large palms. “I love you!” he shouted.
Love me.I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Booker. You don’t love me. You couldn’t even be nice to someone who saved you.”
He ground his molars together, palming the back of my neck, and my gaze slid up his torso to his heated glare. “I was sick, Josie. I’m still sick, but you know deep down I would never hurt you again. Those feelings weren't meant for you, they were meant for my mother, for Derek, for my deadbeat father that I’ve never met, and you were the only person I could take it out on. The person that saved me when no one else gave a damn. It makes me a bastard, I know it, and I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Please understand that I was a confused, beaten, and broken, little boy."
I couldn’t stop the tears from falling down my tightened cheeks. Remembering him asking to die filtered through my chest like dynamite. “I don’t understand,” I whispered. I snatched away from him and turned toward my room.
His warm palm slid around my wrist and hauled me back to his chest. Everything that happened over the last day slammed into me. My mother, Derek, and now the truth. It felt suffocating. I slammed my fist against Maverick’s chest, angry, and hurt, and shoved him as hard as I could.
Maverick took it like a man, worry etched on his handsome face as I unleashed so many emotions out of me. Carefully, he pulled me to his chest, my wrist caught in his palms and his eyes searched my face for what I didn’t know.
“Make this go away,” I whispered.
“I can’t do that,” he said.
I met his gaze. “Make me forget … for tonight.”
Maverick looked confused until realization hit him. “Josie,” he whispered, pushing hair behind my ear. “Tonight is not the night to do that—,”
“I want it,” I stood my ground.
“You’re emotional, Jose. You’re feeling too many things and confusing them with—,”
I leaned on my tiptoes and kissed him, bracing my palm behind his neck, I held him still. Maverick stiffened for several moments before sliding his palm against my back and pulling me even closer.
