Pusher

forty-five.

 My fingertips traced trails through the carpet. They twisted through the surface, circling and circling until I could hardly feel the sensation. Hair fanned out across the floor, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, at the back of my eyelids.

Mom let me back in the house.

This place is different from before. The hallways creak warnings at me with each tentative step. The lights flicker and blink a message I can never decipher. The sofa tries to swallow me whole everytime I sink into the cushions. And mom, she hardly even looks at me.

I couldn't take the noise. I've had to unplug nearly everything. The electronic hum was giving me a headache. I twitch each time the clock ticks. I can still hear the echo of my ringing phone, despite my attempts to get rid of it.

I had to turn it off and lock it in the top drawer of my desk, took the battery out for good measure. The text messages never stopped. Old friends wanting to hear my side of the story, frequent buyers scared of getting ratted next, and unknown numbers with vicious words and a cruel sense of humor.

It had spread all over social media by now, including a leaked copy of the video that had gotten Maverick and I busted in the first place. Now, on top of everything else, the entire school also knew of our short-lived romance. A tragedy for the ages.

The phone calls were worse. The ringing struck the air in an endless loop. Most of them were from the boys. Maverick's name flashed across my screen more than all the rest put together.

I never answered.

I didn't talk to anyone if I could avoid it. Miles, however, was someone I simply couldn't dodge. He showed up at his mother's house while I was stranded on her couch, mostly to say 'I told you so' but also to offer some advice. Everything was going to be okay and the world isn't really ending, I promise, and things of that nature.

I wasn't sure I believed him but it was nice to have someone on my side, even if he was the only one standing behind me. Though after everything I'd done in the past couple weeks, I was sure this was more than I deserved.

Several quick knocks broke me from my thoughts. The front door rattled with the sound and my fingers immediately stopped their circuit through the carpet. I held my breath, counting my heartbeats as I waited for the intruder to leave.

I hardly ate over these past few days, scarcely slept. There was no energy left in me to entertain even the briefest conversation. But the knocks repeated after the pause, this time harder than before. I could hear the difference. First the sharp wrap of knuckles and now the pounding with the palm of someone's hand.

It was too disruptive to keep my eyes closed. I sat up, hugging my knees to my chest. I waited and waited and the third series of pounding sounded through the house. My mother's face briefly flashed across the forefront of my mind, and a faint fear of an emergency roused me to my feet.

I unlatched the deadbolt and tore the door open, bracing myself for devastation. My visitor was, of course, so much worse.

Maverick.

My eyes leaped all over him, soaking in every inch of his appearance from the limp, dark hair that fell into his eyes to the ink that creeped out from under the collar of his jacket. He looked like he hadn't slept since the last time we saw each other. There was a new tone of severity to him, a sharpness in his cheeks I couldn't remember from before. Any warmth he may have once possessed had completely dissipated. His gaze cut through my skin and chilled me right to the core. I was paralyzed.

My mouth had turned into a tundra, but he didn't give me the chance to greet him anyway. Before I could so much as process his tall frame rooted to my porch, fists shoved into his pockets and an impatient scowl etched into his features, he was already shoving past me into the house. His words were fired at me all in one breath, cold and severe.