B L U E
4
Edgewood Complex
That's what the large, moon shaped sign says. Is this where he resides? Why would he bring me here? My brain of course begins thinking of the worst possible scenarios. And then it hits me how ridiculously stupid I am.
He's brought me here to kick my ass until I spew my internal organs out, I realise he is not moronic enough to have done this in public. No one knows I'm here and he has plenty of time to beat me until he is thoroughly satisfied. What was I thinking? How could I be so gullible? This is what I get for relying on my street smarts.
I got too comfortable in his car, too relaxed by the music, the lack of conversation and the breeze gently raking through my hair. I should've seen it then, when he slid in with that coffee in his hand.
It is that very smell of burnt chocolate which had lead me to that wonderous bookstore in the first place. Pretending to be interested in the books was a ploy to distract from the fact that I was merely there for the coffee. I walked out too shaken that I forgot about my mission to shamelessly exploit the coffee dispenser. So when he offered me the smouldering cup I couldn't resist, I too easily let my guard down.
"This is the part where you get out of the car," Maxwell deadpans, ripping me from the horror of my thoughts.
My heart is thudding so hard that I can almost feel a hole form in my chest from the pressure. Should I attempt to escape or just face the music? All this for simply asking to use his lousy cellphone? This must be karma biting me in the ass for stealing money from Ross's trousers every other morning.
"Start walking kid," he instructs and I follow behind him.
With the press of a button, the garage door creaks open, revealing a space that has been clearly neglected. Never have I seen so much filth in one place. This surprises me, I didn't take Maxwell for a slob, but then again, I know absolutely nothing about him.
He mumbles a curse under his breath, seemingly irritated that something has slipped his mind.
"Don't move and don't touch anything," he instructs before quickly heading to his impressive El Camino, to retrieve a bundle of unused garbage bags and a bucket housing several cleaning rags and detergent.
"Here you go," he then says, shoving the supplies against my chest.
His, being noticeably taller than I am, only makes him all the more intimidating.
I look at him with puzzlement and uncertainty.
"You owe me a favor don't you?" he says, "Now get to work."
He can't be serious. I take a long look at the dirty garage and back at him.
"By the time I'm done here, it'll be next sunrise," I groan.
"Well then, chop chop, get on with it," Maxwell urges, "If you need anything I'll be in the car. Don't break anything, don't steal anything, I'm already in shit with Rooney as it is. You better make this place squeaky clean"
Rooney? Who's Rooney? His father? Uncle?
Whoever he is, he is a hoarding, filthy slob. I'm even afraid to touch anything with my bare hands.
"Can I at least get a pair of gloves?" I boldly request.
He unexpectedly breaks into a fit of melodious laughter, revealing rows of sinfully perfect teeth. It's strange to see his lifeless eyes show a glimpse of warmth in them.
"You're being serious?" he then asks incredulously
"Yes. This place looks infectious and diseased," I complain
YOU ARE READING
M A X W E L L
RomanceMaxwell is a college student with a little too much on his plate and a deeply traumatic past. Known by his best friend as Mr. Grumpy owing to his unwavering distaste for life and his volatile temper, he is as handsome as he is aloof. But what happen...
