A Bad Boy in my life

Twenty seven

When people are arrested, it is often a consequence of being accused of wrongdoing. Deep down, I knew this fact all too well. However, I deliberately chose to disregard it when it came to Maxon. But now, faced with the accusation of rape, I could no longer turn a blind eye.

Damn it! Despite my reluctance to accept it, the evidence seemed to have been right in front of me all along.

"Who told you this?" I managed to ask, attempting to hide my surprise.

"My cousin told me," one of Adam's friends said. "He was locked up in the same cell as Maxon."

I clenched my fists and crossed my arms, a wave of unease washing over me.

Adam's voice droned on, but I paid no attention. My mind was too preoccupied, unable to process his meaningless words.

Passing by the security guard at the door, I noticed he made no attempt to stop me. Perhaps he could see the turmoil in my eyes, recognizing that I needed fresh air to compose myself.

I walked through the corridors in search of the exit, but upon spotting Maxon emerging from a room just a few steps ahead, I instinctively changed my course.

The image of Maxon, once held high in my mind, crumbled in an instant, replaced by the visage of a monster.

"Margo?"

I continued walking, my destination of little concern at the moment.

"Margo!" he called after me.

A brief sigh of relief escaped my lips as I caught sight of the illuminated "exit" sign pointing to the right.

"Hey!" Maxon caught up to me and grasped my wrist.

"Don't touch me!" I evaded his touch.

"What's wrong?" he asked innocently, his expression belying the weight of my accusation.

How could I possibly relay this revelation to him?

"Nothing," I managed to gulp, attempting to carry on, but he blocked my path, a barrier between us.

"Hey, tell me what happened in that room."

"Please, let me go," I pleaded, my voice faltering, betraying my struggle to hold back tears.

Maxon studied me for a moment, his restless gaze shifting between my eyes, his concerned stare putting pressure on me.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he inquired.

"Like what?" I mumbled, shrugging my shoulders.

"Like you're afraid of me."

I ran my hand through my hair and finally spoke, trembling within:

"I know why you were arrested. I... know what you are."

He took a moment to process my words.

"What am I...?"

I moistened my lips, looked up, and took a deep breath, hoping it would somehow make the forthcoming words easier to utter.

"You... raped someone? Is that why you were arrested?" I stared deep into his eyes. "Tell me the truth, Maxon, are you a rapist?"

Silence hung heavy in the air. But within the depths of his pupils, I glimpsed a seething hatred that spoke louder than words ever could—a hatred directed squarely at me, as if I had just pronounced his death sentence.

"You're not going to say anything?! So it's true...?!" I exclaimed, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Is that what you think of me?" he asked through gritted teeth.

I was at a loss for words, allowing the tears to flow and the sobs to escape.

"Margo..." he approached, and I recoiled.

"Just... stay away from me."

Maxon's expression turned alarmed, his eyes widening. However, as he opened his mouth to defend himself, he hesitated. He closed his mouth again, and the fear and alertness etched on his face slowly transformed into understanding, irritation, and anger.

"With pleasure," he said, storming away, each footstep a resounding thud.

***

Back at the hotel, the mere thought of engaging in any activity other than curling up in bed and clutching a pillow felt inconceivable. Ken persisted, urging me to join him at a gathering before our impending departure. Yet, solitude and introspection beckoned me, summoning me into their embrace.

Samantha, understanding my reluctance, chose to remain in the room with me, engrossed in her book on her own bed. Her presence did not disturb my thoughts until she eventually broke the silence.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and I nodded. "You seem troubled about something."

"Yeah... 'troubled' is an accurate description of how I feel."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she set her book aside.

I pressed my lips together, contemplating whether I could trust her. After all, we had only recently met. Yet, something in her demeanor conveyed genuine concern and a sincere desire to help. So, I condensed the events and shared them with her, as if engaged in a therapy session.

"Rape is an incredibly serious accusation," she pondered, rubbing her chin.

I swallowed hard.

"Yes, it is."

"People generate new rumors about Stirling every day. How can you be sure if this is true?"

I shrugged.

"In my mind, there is a semblance of coherence. He never wished to divulge the reason behind his arrest. Furthermore, when I confronted him, he neither confirmed nor denied the allegations."

"But he didn't admit to it either. Margo, you have spent countless moments in his company. Did you ever witness any signs that Maxon possessed such a dark inclination? When you were intimate, did he ever coerce you?"

I allowed the memories of last night to resurface. Images from our shared moments danced before my eyes. While Maxon had displayed boldness when he took the lead, there had never been a hint of violence or discomfort. On the contrary, our encounters had been consensual and pleasurable, a shared bliss.

I shook my head.

"But if it's all a lie, why wouldn't he deny it?"

Samantha shrugged, her gesture pregnant with uncertainty.

"Perhaps the weight of public opinion has convinced him that you, Margo, the person who knows him better than anyone else in this school, could never be swayed by baseless rumors. And if this truly is a fabrication, it must be devastating for him to witness your suspicion."

"Don't burden me with guilt."

"I could be wrong, of course. But... I don't know... I can somewhat comprehend his reaction."

"How so?"

"Think about it. You practically accused him of being a rapist, an incredibly grave accusation based on unreliable sources. It's ironic that you chose to believe the bullies who had just harassed you over the integrity of the guy who defended you."

Her words struck me like a thunderclap. Without Samantha's perspective, I would never have viewed the situation from that angle.

"So... you think he's innocent?"

"The real question is: Do you believe he's guilty?"

I shook my head from side to side.

"I want to believe he's innocent," I whispered.

"Then give him a chance to explain himself."

I nodded and left the room, mentally crafting my words as I made my way through the corridors to the sixth floor.

Once again, I found myself standing outside Maxon's room, carrying an apology on the tip of my tongue.