A Bad Boy in my life

Fourty one

POV: MAXON

"How are you?" Karen enters the room, her gaze locking onto mine.

With a hint of sarcasm, I respond, "Never been better."

Taking a seat in the armchair beside me, Karen shakes her head and crosses her arms, saying, "Muay Thai, huh? Sure... I already know about your debts."

Silent, I listen as she continues, "You've pushed the boundaries farther than I thought possible."

Glancing at her, I ask, "Planning to ground me?"

She meets my gaze and says, "No, but I want you to understand this mess could have been avoided. You should've talked to me about your problems earlier; I could've helped before it got this bad." She gestures toward my physique and adds, "Choices have consequences, Maxon. You need to learn how to deal with them."

"Don't treat me like that scared nine-year-old anymore," I assert. "I know damn well what I've done, and I'm not exactly asking for your rescue."

Her concerned expression deepens, and she says, "I see the change in you. Remember the pool incident? I offered you a life jacket, even though the water only reached your knees. You were hesitant at first, but then you took the life jacket without a word. I told you that the fear you felt was like a confined box, limiting you until you could barely move a muscle. You feared enclosed spaces," she chuckles, reminiscing. "You grew up brave and resilient, facing your fears head-on... and now, you fear nothing. That's what troubles me."

"Fear doesn't suit us."

"Moderate fear keeps us vigilant. If you had a bit more fear, you'd have reached out to me. I'll always be here for you, even if you don't see me as a mother. I've seen you as my kid since day one."

"I had one mother," I lock eyes with her, emphasizing my point. "She passed in 2011."

"Wouldn't she be disappointed in the man you've become?"

I'm momentarily lost in thought, staring into space.

Karen's sigh breaks the silence. "I'm here to help, but you need to let me. So, are you sharing those names of the people you owe, or do I need to dig them up myself?"

***

"Did you manage to fetch the items I requested?" I inquire as Margo steps into the room the following morning, the embodiment of effortless grace in her school uniform – that blue skirt, white shirt, and blazer never looked better on anyone.

"Yes, I did," she affirms, smoothly retrieving my clothes and the elusive brown package from her backpack.

I meet her gaze, attempting to convey the urgency of our situation. "Margo, I get that this plan might sound insane, but it beats waiting here for someone to track me down and finish the job."

Her brows furrow, skepticism evident in her eyes. "Maxon, I can't help but think that this plan of yours is equally precarious."

I begin to limp, the throbbing in my left foot a constant reminder, as I approach the collection of items she brought:

- A shirt (check)
- Jeans (got 'em)
- Underwear (can't forget those)
- A seemingly random sanitary pad (?)
- My favorite jacket (lifesaver)
- Shoes (thankfully)
- My phone and the enigmatic brown envelope.

I motion towards the sealed sanitary pad with a quizzical expression. "What the hell is this for?"

Margo responds with a sheepish shrug, "Uh, this... was among my stuff here. My bad." she explains, putting it back in her backpack.