Fresh air hits me outside and it's like a shock to my system. I suck in a deep breath to try and regulate my breathing, but my efforts are fruitless.
I pace around the grass, smacking my palm against my forehead wondering how I got in this mess. My head is jumbled from all the emotions: anger, confusion, and even a hint of sadness blurring the edges until I can't tell which emotion is which anymore.
The world is quiet. The echoing of bass from the party is heard and it makes me want to run rather than go towards it.
I can't face my father. I don't want to. I barely even want to face my friends. Sure as shit don't want to go find Clayton either. I overstepped, even if that was always the goal. I shouldn't have done that in front of everyone else.
Isn't that what parties are meant for though?
The silence outside and the noise in my head is interrupted by my phone ringing.
Mom.
“What?” I answer as a greeting.
“What's going on, sweetie?” Her tone is sweet and so full of concern and it makes me want to lay it all out for her but I can barely wrap my head around it.
I stick with the normal response.
“Business as usual, ya know?”
“Don’t be coy with me, Maxwell,” she snaps, harsher than her voice was before. “No matter how much your father has pissed you off, you have never been that rude to him.”
I scoff in her ear, wondering how he’s the victim when I’m the one with a bruise forming along my jaw. It aches, reminding me of what happened not even ten minutes ago.
“Did he tell you the part where hepunched me?”
Her silence is answer enough. He left that tidbit out.
“No. He didn’t.”
“Right in the face.”
“You prov-”
“Don’t even fucking say it, Mom.”
“Your father is under a lot of stress lately. The board is coming down on him because of your actions,” she explains as if I could give a fuck.
“This school doesn't give a shit about me. What if I was troubled and that was why I decided to act this way? Never, not once, have they considered talking to me. Always sending their guard dog after me when my father is the worst person to walk me away from a ledge.”
“What’s really going on, Max?” Mom sighs.
Clayton Reeves is what the fuck is going on. Despite the anger simmering beneath my skin at my father, all I can think about is the fact I had to think of him to blow my load.
I run my free hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. The pain is a moment's distraction from everything going on. I contemplate if I tell her the truth. If anyone is going to understand me, let me be myself without judgement, it’s going to be my mother.
“There was a party tonight. We played truth or dare,” I start.
“You always play truth or dare.”
“Maverick dared me to kiss someone.”
“You’ve kissed people before.”
We volley back and forth until I give her what she’s waiting for, but she doesn’t push because mom knows I need to do this at my own pace. She is the only one who ever gets me to talk and she’s always allowed me to do it my way.
“It was a guy.”
