A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter eleven

Something about that scene last night twisted inside me, a strange mixture of guilt and fascination. This was the side of Max I had never seen before—a side he clearly didn't want anyone to see. 

The idea that Max had to steal to survive lingered in my mind like a persistent echo. I couldn't shake the image of that cramped little room above the school, nor the sight of that poor little boy — Thomas, I believe — devouring the stolen bread like it was the first real meal he'd had in days. It gnawed at me, a strange mixture of guilt and helplessness.

I hated feeling helpless.

So, when I saw the opportunity to do something—anything—I took it.

Sneaking out had been easier this time, though Lando and Oscar would undoubtedly have a lecture prepared once they found out. But tonight, I didn't care.

The streets were eerily quiet as I crept through the darkened alleys, the only sound the occasional distant laugh from a tavern and the soft rustle of my skirts against the cobblestones. I clutched the bundle in my arms—a loaf of bread, some cheese, and two jackets I had quietly gathered from the storage at home. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

The sight of Max's small, cramped room above the school had lingered in my mind for days. Thomas's thin frame, the sparsely furnished space, the way Max had stared at his brother with such fierce determination—it had all stirred something inside me. Guilt? Pity? I wasn't sure.

But I couldn't just do nothing.

I told myself it wasn't about Max. It was for Thomas, the boy who deserved better than a life of hunger and shadows. Still, I couldn't deny that Max's sharp, guarded presence haunted my thoughts.

The school loomed ahead, its modest silhouette blending into the dark. I paused at the base of the narrow staircase that led to his room, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. Carefully, I made my way up the creaking steps, keeping my steps light.

As I reached the landing, I crouched to leave the bundle by the door. Just as I set it down, the door swung open.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I froze, my heart lurching in my chest. Max stood in the doorway, his tall frame backlit by the faint glow of a single candle. His expression was sharp, his brows furrowed as his gaze dropped to the bundle at my feet.

"I..." Words failed me as I straightened, my hands gripping my skirts.

"Were you... spying on me?" His voice was low, accusing, but there was a flicker of something else—confusion, perhaps?

"No!" I blurted, stepping back. "I wasn't spying."

"Then what's this?" He gestured to the bundle, his jaw tight.

"It's—" I swallowed hard, searching for the right words. "It's nothing. Just—just something I was going to throw away."

Max raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. "Throw away? Here? At my doorstep?"

"Yes," I said, lifting my chin. "Because I'm a spoiled, rich duchess who throws away perfectly good bread and jackets in random places. That's what we do, isn't it?"

"How do you know where I live?" He asks.

I shrug.

His expression darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. "I don't need your help," he said through gritted teeth. "Or your pity. Or your things."

"I'm not helping you," I retorted, my voice rising. "I'm just disposing of items I no longer need. If you happen to pick them up, that's not my concern."

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence was heavy, charged with unspoken tension. Finally, he stepped forward, closing the distance between us.

"You don't understand, do you?" he said, his voice low. "You think you can waltz in here with your charity and fix things. But this isn't your world, Annalise. You don't belong here."

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. "I know I don't belong," I said quietly. "But that doesn't mean I don't see what's happening. You shouldn't have to—"

"Don't," he interrupted, his tone sharp. "Don't pretend to know what I should or shouldn't have to do. You've never had to fight for anything in your life."

The words stung, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. "And you've never had anyone try to help you, have you? Is that why you push everyone away?"

Max stiffened, his jaw tightening. "I don't need help," he said, his voice like steel.

"Maybe not," I said, my voice softening. "But your brother does — Thomas is it?"

His eyes flickered, a crack in his armor. The mention of his brother was enough to unnerve him, if only for a moment.

"How?" He asks, voice barely audible, before quickly speaking again, "You don't get to use him against me," he said, his voice trembling with anger.

"I'm not," I insisted. "But he deserves better than this, Max. And so do you."

Something flickered in his eyes—an almost imperceptible crack in his hardened facade. "You think this is a game?"

"No," I said firmly. "I think it's survival. And I think you deserve better than what you've been dealt."

Max looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. The silence stretched between us, heavy and tense. I could see the internal war waging within him—the instinct to protect his pride versus the undeniable weight of responsibility he carried.

"Why do you care?" he muttered finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

The question caught me off guard. Why did I care? It wasn't just guilt, or fascination, or even the nagging voice in my head that said helping him might somehow ease my own frustrations with the world. It was something deeper, something I didn't quite understand yet.

"Because no one should have to do this alone," I said simply.

He let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."

Max's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, the fight draining from his posture. He looked at the bundle on the ground, his expression unreadable.

"Take it or don't," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't care. But I'm not going to stand by and do nothing."

For a moment, he didn't move, his eyes locked on mine.

I didn't respond, just stood there, waiting.

After what felt like an eternity, Max reached down and grabbed the bundle, his movements quick and almost angry. "Don't do this again," he said, his voice cold.

Then, without a word, he turned and stepped back inside.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what I had expected—gratitude, perhaps? Understanding? But Max was as infuriating as ever, and yet... I couldn't bring myself to walk away completely.

As I made my way back down the stairs, the faint glow of the candle in his room lingered in my mind, along with the strange, undeniable pull I felt toward him.

I lingered for a moment, staring at the empty alley, my heart pounding in my chest. There was something about Max—something I couldn't quite name.

He wasn't just the sharp-tongued tormentor I'd thought he was. He was complex, layered, a mess of contradictions.

And for reasons I couldn't explain, I wanted to understand every one of them.

-
-
-

thanks for reading :)
1247 words