"You're back."
I turned towards the voice, frowning as I tried to place it, and found myself face to face with Sean.
"Oh, hey," I said, an unexpected chill running through my body.
Sean leaned against the lockers, his blue eyes searching my face and traveling down my body. I felt slightly violated and had to stop myself at the last second from snapping at him.
Whoa... Where did that aversion come from?
"I thought you were taking the week off," Sean continued.
Had I really gone on a date with him?
Why?
I desperately searched my emotional memory bank but came up with no explanation.
I had a very distinct memory of Sean kissing me - and me not slapping him. I took a step back, putting more space between us as I remembered his lips on mine.
Sean looked confused, and a bit upset, which made me frown. "I'm so sorry about your mom."
Maybe I should say something. Sean was looking increasingly uncomfortable with his involuntary monologue.
I just didn't have much to say to him. I chewed on my bottom lip in contemplation. How did I manage to go through a whole date with this guy if I couldn't come up with anything to say even in greeting?
He was looking at me very strangely. "Are you okay?"
What do you think, Sean? My mom was just burned to death.
I squashed the venomous and dark thought. Sean was only showing concern about my well-being. There was no need to get ugly about it.
Then why was I suddenly convinced Sean Carter was my enemy?
"I've been better," I said, annoyance seeping into my voice unintended.
"I'm sorry I haven't called," Sean said hesitantly, as if he was looking for an explanation as to why I was being so cold.
Well, if he found an explanation, I wanted to know it too.
I shrugged. "'S okay."
Before I had a chance to react, he had closed the space between us and circled his fingers around my upper arm. His face was close to my face - a little bit too close for comfort - and he whispered in demand, "Look at me."
I looked up at him and hissed, "What are you doing?"
"It's me," Sean whispered back harshly, his fingers tightening around my arm.
Yeah, so what?
"Let go of me," I said coldly.
He didn't. Instead he looked into my eyes so intently that I thought he was trying to count my eyelashes.
"Why is it not working?" he grumbled frustrated.
"I said, let go of me," I repeated slowly hoping that his staring into my eyes would help him spot that I was serious.
"Fuck," he muttered to himself and let go of my arm.
I looked at him, perplexed, as he took a step back and ran his fingers through his hair. "What the hell is your problem?"
"I'm only concerned for you," he fired back, his waxed hair now pointing in all directions.
"Well," I said in disbelief. "You have a very funny way of showing it."
"Liz?" Maria said behind me and I felt myself relax. Even though Sean and I were standing in the very busy corridor of a high school, Sean's presence had frightened me. Looking at him now, he seemed to be losing it.
Over what?
I didn't know if I should cry or laugh. Why was my life suddenly so confusing?
"Is everything okay?" Maria continued.
"Yeah," I answered, keeping my eyes on Sean. I didn't feel like turning my back on him. "Sean was just leaving."
Sean inhaled deeply, let the out-of-the-blue anger run off him, and smiled at me. But I could see the cracks in that smile. "I'll talk to you later, Liz."
He walked past me, bumped his shoulder against mine and I mumbled in a delayed response to his promise, "Please don't."
"What happened?" Maria asked, eyes wide open, as she walked around me. "Didn't you really like Sean?"
I grimaced. Did I? What the hell was I on? Maybe it was the death of my mom that had sobered me up. Made me see that life is too precious to waste on blue-eyed blond jocks.
I shrugged. "He was annoying me."
Maria looked concerned and I felt my heart drop. Not that look. She was thinking about my mom. About my situation. Her empathy was pulling at me to react, to respond. But I couldn't. I couldn't let her drag me into that reality; the reality I was trying really hard to repress. If I let myself feel I would fall apart. I couldn't do that. I had only just managed to drag myself back to school.
"Have you eaten?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I'll try and grab something for lunch."
Maria considered this for a moment before letting it go. Thank God.
She nodded. "Okay." Turning to her locker, she breathed in a fake upbeat tone, "Well, I have English-"
"And I have History," I finished.
Maria opened her locker and pulled out her books. "Right." Slamming the door closed and shuffling the the numbers on the combination lock, she looked at me with a very maternal and compassionate look, "See you at lunch then?"
I nodded. "Sure."
She smiled at me hesitantly and her eyes teared up. Oh no.
"Love you," she said softly and my heart broke a little.
God, I loved this friend of mine. But I was drowning in emotions. I couldn't reflect on yet another one right now.
"Love you too," I whispered back.
Her smile got larger and more teary and, before she could dissolve into tears, she left me alone at the lockers.
I pulled my history book out of my locker, locked it up and headed for the classroom. As I turned the last corner before my destination, something (again) grabbed my arm and pulled me.
Being completely unprepared for the event, my body followed like a rag doll, tripping on its feet at the sudden sideway movement. I didn't have time to look around and see who had so rudely snagged me from the corridor before I was trapped in a small janitorial closet, the front of my body lined up with the hard front of Mr. Mysterious.
I should name this chapter of my life 'The repeated incidents of being grabbed against my will by rude boys'.
"How are you feeling?" he breathed, eyes rapidly scanning my face, my throat, my body.
I shivered. With delight? Fear? I wasn't sure. Which was my regular mental state when it came to Mr. Max Evans.
I was acutely aware of the pressure of his hands on my upper arms, the way his fingers pressed into the softness of my poorly exercised muscles, as I raised two eyebrows and questioned, "What? Not even a 'hello'?"
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze darkening. "This is not a joke."
I mirrored his narrowing, glaring at him. If there had been any space left over in the closet, I would have folded my arms across my chest. Instead, my increasingly agitated breathing was making my chest brush repeatedly against his. With every breath.
I gritted my teeth against the (wonderful) sensation.
"No, it's not," I agreed. "You can't just pull girls into janitorial closets without their permission."
"I didn't get to finish what I started," he said, letting go of my arms and running his hands down my body.
My breath got stuck in my throat and the part of me in charge of clearing social boundaries was shocked at the liberties Max Evans took with my body, while the majority of me wanted to close my eyes, lick my suddenly dry lips and revel in the soft fleeting caresses.
I was promptly brought back to rationality as he caught a hold of the lower hem of my shirt and pulled it upwards. The action made my cheeks flush in embarrassment and indignation, and I slapped at his hands while automatically taking a step back - flushing myself against the wall.
"Don't," I said quietly.
He met my eyes and it was fascinating to watch the realization of his actions dawn in his eyes. He swallowed and took a step back, melting his own back with the wall, leaving the maximum distance of four inches between our bodies.
His eyes were serious in the setting of his shadowed face as he slowly stated, "You have a wound."
"No," I denied, shaking my head for emphasis.
"I didn't heal it the first time," he continued, ignoring my obvious lie. "Nor the second."
"I don't want you to," I whispered and watched his expression turn puzzled.
"Why not?" he wondered, his face an amazing mix of bewildered, fearful and angry.
I hesitated. I didn't want him to know the reason. It would sound ridiculous out loud.
When the silence turned into prolonged seconds, Max closed the few inches between us and towered above me. I looked up into his bewitching eyes and took a deep breath to relish in the smell that was all Max.
"It must hurt," he said softly, the frown marring his forehead telling me that he was still trying to figure out why I would want to keep a wound on my stomach.
I nodded and slowly licked my lips. His eyes flickered to my lips and a heatwave flushed through my body.
"Let me heal it," he said and it was my turn to frown.
"Why do you care if it's healed or not?" I asked tersely.
"Because you're my responsibility now," he answered and a chill raced down my spine.
What an odd thing to say.
He must have read the thought on my face because he hurried to add, "I don't want you to be in pain."
"I'm not your responsibility," I said, my throat drying up. Being this close to him - to any guy - was making me nervous. But it was different with Max. He had the ability to make even the most basic stalking behavior seem attractive.
He considered my firm statement for a moment, before, "Why won't you let me heal it?"
"None of your business," I replied, with less force and authority than I had planned for.
Damn Max Evans and his proximity. He was making it hard for me to act normal.
"You know," I said before he could counter, "I have classes to go to. Grades to uphold. I don't have time for these secret rendezvous in confined spaces."
"We shouldn't be seen together," Max said as a way of explaining. He was serious. Brooding. Dark. And way way too close.
"Why? Because if people see us in the same vicinity of each other they'll somehow figure out that you have magical powers?"
He practically rolled his eyes and sighed. "No. Because you wanted me to stay the hell away from you." The confusion on my face made him elaborate, "At least; That's what you told my dad. I was given strict orders earlier this morning - by my dad - to not bother Ms. Parker ever again."
It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Oh, that."
And with a sudden turn of emotions, Max grinned, "Nice save, by the way."
"Hmm," I contemplated. "Strange how he wouldn't believe your lie about helping me out with homework, but he would immediately believe a story about his son being a creepy stalker."
Max's grin turned into one of mockery. "Ha. Ha."
I averted my eyes from his gaze and mumbled under my breath, "Even your dad thinks you're weird."
"You think I'm weird?"
There was amusement in his voice and a hint of the dark magnetism that always captured my attention. I dared to look up into his eyes and inhaled deeply at the emotions there. He seemed genuinely interested in my answer, at the same time as there were much deeper and darker feelings accompanying the wait for my answer.
I wanted to throw lines of sarcasm at him for his naivety. Did he honestly believe that he wasn't weird? He healed with his hands, he had some kind of weird influence over Sean Carter, he was beat up by Sean Carter's dad (and neither Max nor his family had pressed any charges - not that I knew of anyway), and he always seemed to be around when I was in a crisis. To top it off, his dad was - if possible - even weirder.
But the memory of Max's bitter and somewhat sad reaction when I tried to compliment him on his healing ability prevented me from informing him of the obvious.
I decided on a counter-question instead, "Why is it that I'm the only one that thinks that? How have you managed to bewitch everyone around you to think otherwise?"
There was the hint of a grin on his lips, but his contemplative eyes quickly took over. I stumbled on my next breath as he gently grabbed a loose tendril of my hair, the back of his fingers brushing against my cheek, and whispered with his eyes locked on my lips, "I don't know."
And the school bell rang, almost scaring the daylights out of me. I jumped and Max's hand abruptly interrupted the intimate gesture of his fingers against my cheek.
"We should go," he said, slightly out of breath.
I nodded wordlessly and his eyes caressed my face for another two seconds before facing the door and inviting the noise and commotion of high school into our bubble.
In the blink of an eye, Max was outside of the small space that had just brought us frighteningly close together. But before he could get too far, my voice stopped him, "Max."
He quickly (and with an edge of paranoia) scanned his surroundings before settling his dark eyes on my face.
"I-" I hesitated and licked my lips.
"What, Liz?" he asked quietly, looking worried all of the sudden.
"I need some answers, you know." I watched his face grow pale underneath his tan and hurried to add, "I have so many questions."
"Yeah," he breathed, suddenly looking like he was about to throw up.
I tentatively closed the small distance between us, coming to a hesitant stop in front of him, feeling small in his tall presence. "Could we talk? Later?"
I hated to beg. I was used to not needing anything from another person.
But I desperately needed information. About the healing. About my mom. About who (or what) Max really was.
And Max Evans was the only one - that I knew of - that could provide me with that said information.
I imagined hearing a tremble in his voice as he breathed, "Yeah."
"Okay," I agreed, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.
His eyes flickered to my mouth, sending a blast of heat through me, and continued downwards, making my legs shake. He hitched his head towards my abdomen and said in that normal, stable and confident voice of his, "Let me know if that hurts," referring to the burn left on my stomach. The burn he seemed to know about even without actually looking at my stomach.
Another question that needed an answer.
I nodded mutely and watched him turn and disappear down the corridor.