A Bad Boy in my life

Twenty nine

And I hope you don't judge me
All I know is how to be who I am
And if you start to touch me
I hope you know the place where we stand

Alone — Bazzi

POV: MAXON

The plan had gone awry in so many ways.

Sharing my past with Margo, revealing my debts earlier than intended—none of it was part of the plan. But most of all, the unexpected emotions that surged after we made love last night were definitely not part of the plan.

At this point, I couldn't care less about the plan.

It's not like I suddenly started having feelings for Margo after we got together. Honestly, I'd been drawn to her for a while. I couldn't help but notice her eyes, her smile that just did something to me, and who she was as a person. Maybe it all started that day in biology class when she sat next to me. Her laughter, the way she bit her lip when lost in thought, and those moments when our eyes met made me wonder if it was right to put her through all this chaos. I've asked myself that same question a bunch of times, but the answer's always been kinda selfish: I had to do it.

My life was hanging by a thread, a constant reminder with each passing day. Judging me as you will, but I was never one to easily care for people. So, whenever that inkling of sentiment tried to surface, I reminded myself why I embarked on this treacherous path. I focused on all the motives that drove me. That way, my conscience always found a way to resist any emotion that could hinder the execution of my plan—well, until the plan itself became my downfall.

In the heat of the moment, I didn't even consider the sneaky camera spying on us and beaming those private moments to my phone. I didn't think about the suffocating weight of my debts or the looming death threat. No, in that moment, it was just the two of us, and the connection felt real and genuine in a way it shouldn't have.

How on earth could I summon the guts to go up to her and confess that what happened wasn't what she imagined? That it was all a facade? Honestly, I couldn't, because deep down, even though I hate to admit it, it felt real to me.

When I suggested taking a shower together, secretly hoping she would refuse, it was to buy myself a moment of solitude to contemplate my next move. And she complied.

As the water cascaded over me in the shower, I felt a whirlwind brewing within. I realized I was sinking deeper into the quagmire, slowly suffocating, and there seemed to be no way out. The only card up my sleeve lay just a wall away, lying on the mattress. But I wouldn't use it... or so I thought.

That night, sleep eluded me as I pondered a way forward without involving Margo.

I weighed my options:

1. I could proceed with the plan to blackmail her the next day.
Pros: With Margo's assistance, I would secure the money I desperately needed, paying off all my debts within a month.
Cons: Margo would forever look at me with disdain.

2. I could abandon the plan.
Pros: I wouldn't subject her to suffering, and she wouldn't harbor eternal hatred for me.
Cons: I would become a dead man within a matter of days.

Despite being acutely aware that Margo was the perfect accomplice—I mean, she's the daughter of the maid, the most trustworthy staff member, and just seventeen years old, a person no one would suspect—I couldn't make it work. I simply couldn't reveal my intentions and condemn the fragile connection we had forged to be one of pure loathing.

Foolish, utterly foolish...

The urge to scream, to strike the wall, to break something overwhelmed me. I knew I was doomed, and I had only myself to blame. But assigning blame was inevitable: either I would bear the weight of my own downfall, or I would shoulder the guilt of inflicting suffering upon her. The choice was mine to make.