Lead Me Not

by A. Meredith Walters

  And it all had to do with a night three years ago. A desperate phone call in the middle of the night that I had so quickly dismissed as inconsequential. Followed by days of guilt and fear when my fifteen-year-old sister, Jayme, never came home and the realization that her phone call hadn’t been so inconsequential after all. Then finally the morning when I had opened the door to find two police officers on our porch. Their sympathetic faces as they told us that Jayme had been found dead in some skeevy alleyway. Cold and alone. It was that moment that everything I had known, my entire world, was flipped on its axis.

  I hadn’t handled my grief well at first. I had berated and abused myself. My guilt ate me alive. My parents blamed me for not taking care of my little sister. I blamed myself for spending so much time on my sanctimonious soapbox that I had been blind to what was really going on.

  In the aftermath, my relationship with my parents deteriorated into barely functioning. And I had made it my mission to find a way to fix the pieces inside me that were broken and to live a life that mattered. A part of me was convinced that helping others would in some way help me move on from the devastation of my past.

  So I came to Longwood University wanting to escape and to focus on becoming a drug-addiction counselor. It was far enough away from my hometown in North Carolina to feel like I was in another world. Yet it was close enough that it would be impossible for me to ever truly escape what had happened. Because I needed the daily reminder. It was motivation. It’s what got me out of bed every goddamned morning.

  It made me a fighter.

  But it didn’t change the fact that I was scared. I worried like hell that I’d never be able to do enough for the people who needed my help. That I would never be able to stop the slide once it began. The fear of failure was acute and debilitating.

  Kristie made it all seem so easy. I appreciated the way she displayed such competence. She must have sensed my unease because she kindly patted my arm.

  “We all have our crosses to bear, Aubrey. Yours led you here. And I know that is a good thing, for you and for the lives you’ll make a difference in,” she said knowingly. My smile was tight, and I wished I could believe her. But self-doubt was like a mosquito buzzing around my ear. The more I tried to swat it away, the more determined it became to suck me dry.

  Before long the group members began to filter into the room. It was a relatively small group. We were expecting only twelve people. I didn’t know all of their stories. Kristie had filled me in briefly on the few who had been in the group before. But for the most part, the group would consist of newbies. Four had been court-ordered after being brought up on misdemeanor drug charges. The rest were here voluntarily, which was a bit of a relief. Hopefully that meant they’d be more open and accepting and less combative.

  The seats began to fill. There were two girls I recognized from one of the sororities on campus. To say I was shocked to find them in a substance-abuse support group was an understatement, though if there was one thing I had learned in my life, it was that addiction didn’t discriminate.

  A guy and a girl, obviously a couple, came in behind them. They seemed unsure and more than a little nervous, and a selfish part of me was relieved that I wasn’t the only one freaking out.

  I needed to do something more than stand by the wall trying to blend in with the scenery. If I wanted Kristie to sign off on my volunteer hours, I had to jump into this experience with both feet. Who cared if I got wet?

  I approached the couple with what I hoped was a welcoming smile. The guy seemed very protective of his girlfriend. His arm was around her shoulders, and she was pressed into his side as if he could shield her from everyone else. He had short, cropped dark hair and hoops along the outer shell of his ears. His jeans had holes in the knees, and he wore an old Black Sabbath T-shirt.

  His diminutive girlfriend had bright pink hair cut just below her chin. She had a ring through her septum and two studs in her left eyebrow. I could see part of a tattoo on one side of her neck. Despite her kick-ass appearance, she came across as skittish.

  “Hi, guys! I’m Aubrey,” I said, introducing myself. The girl’s eyes darted to me and then away again. I noticed the guy squeeze her shoulders before he turned his attention to me. He didn’t smile. His eyes were a dark, chilly brown.

  “Hi,” he responded shortly, not offering his name. I looked at the girl again, but she had turned her face toward her boyfriend’s chest, and I wondered what their story was. They were anything but friendly, and I wished I hadn’t approached them at all. But this is what I was here for. They would have to get used to me eventually.

  “I’m glad you guys are here. Find a seat. There are drinks and some food on the back table. We’ll be starting in about ten minutes,” I said, forcing a smile.

  The guy watched me closely, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. The girl hadn’t moved from the protective shelter of his arm. Something about him reminded me of Devon and thus instilled an instant dislike. Okay, this was going nowhere. Without bothering to attempt to prolong the conversation, I returned to my seat.

  Kristie finished handing out a packet of information to the people who had already taken their places and then found her own seat. She glanced up at me as I came to sit down beside her. She looked over at the couple as they finally made their way to the chairs. The guy had moved his arm but was now clutching his girlfriend’s hand so tightly it looked as though it hurt.

  “I’ve seen them at the clinic downtown. I know they’re two of the court-ordered crew. Don’t take their lack of social skills personally. I think they’re a pretty rough pair,” Kristie said quietly, watching them carefully.

  “Yeah, just kind of a sucky start, I guess,” I muttered, flipping through the pages of the introductory packet. Kristie chuckled.

  “If it didn’t suck, I’d start to worry it would be a boring group,” she joked. I tried not to stare as the rest of the group entered the room, but it was hard, particularly when I realized I recognized quite a few of the participants, including a frat guy who hung out with Brooks.

  There wasn’t a whole lot of talking. The room was silent except for the sounds of chairs scraping across the floor as people found their self-designated spots.

  Just before group was about to start, the door swung open, and I glanced up at the person who entered.

  Instantly the mood in the room changed, and the air crackled with an electric energy. I felt an immediate awareness inside me that was surprising. Because the boy who walked in was beautiful. That was the only word my addled brain could come up with to describe him.

  His broad shoulders strained under a shirt that looked as though it had been sculpted to his form. His blond hair fell in haphazard curls around his ears. His almost startling blue eyes were framed by the thickest and blackest lashes I had ever seen. It should be criminal for guys to have eyelashes like that.

  His face was lean, and his chin was dimpled in the middle. His lips were stretched in a smirk as he took in the other people in the room. Every single person, male and female alike, focused on his entrance. And he seemed to revel in the effect he had.

  There was something in the way he moved that had me frowning. Why did he seem so familiar?

  “Welcome! Come have a seat. We were just getting ready to start,” Kristie called out to the newcomer, breaking my internal processing. Mr. Hot and Hazardous slowly moved to the last remaining chair, which just so happened to be across from me.

  He sank into the cold, hard metal and stretched his legs out in front of him as though he were lounging on a couch and not at a support group meeting. He flashed a brilliant smile in the direction of the girls who sat beside him. They seemed a bit thunderstruck. Not that I blamed them.

  His entire demeanor seemed more than a little off. He was a bit too perky for an addiction support group. I continued to frown in his direction, trying to get a read on him. There was something undeniably mesmerizing about him, but there was also something else there that I couldn’t quite
put my finger on, and it was driving me nuts.

  He turned his head and looked at me, and he blinked as though in surprise. His brows furrowed as he studied me as intently as I studied him.

  “Okay, then. Everyone, I’m Kristie Hinkle, director of support services at the Community Services Board. And this is Aubrey Duncan. She’s a student here at Longwood and will be my co-facilitator for the next twelve weeks.” I lifted my hand in an awkward wave.

  I was met by twelve pairs of eyes whose owners seemed to take me in and judge me in the span of thirty seconds. Crap, this wasn’t going to be easy. Blue Eyes across from me still hadn’t looked away from my face, and I was feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

  Kristie smiled and gave me a slight nod, letting me know it was my turn to talk. I took a deep breath and looked around the group. “Hi. I’m really excited to be a part of this group. I’m working on my degree in counseling, and I hope my experience can . . . I don’t know . . . help you in some way,” I said. I wanted to cringe at how pretentious I sounded. They were going to hate me. I just knew it.

  Several of the girls rolled their eyes, and their body language immediately told me that I was right; they totally hated me. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all.

  Kristie recognized my floundering and jumped in. “Some of your faces I know; the rest of you are new. I’d like to take a moment to go around the circle and have you introduce yourselves. Say something about yourself. Why you’re here. What you hope to get out of the next twelve weeks. The important thing to remember is that this is a safe place to talk. Anything you say in this room stays in this room. We are all bound by that confidentiality. It is important that you trust each and every person here; otherwise this can’t work.”

  Kristie nodded her head toward a girl I recognized from the front desk of the university’s library. The girl looked down at her name tag and pointed at it with a shy smile. “I’m Marissa. I’m a sophomore, and I’ve struggled with an addiction to Ritalin for almost two years,” she said quickly, as though she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth fast enough.

  Kristie smiled. “We’re glad you’re here, Marissa,” she said sincerely. It continued like that around the circle. There was Kyle, the frat guy. I was surprised to hear that he had been busted for cocaine possession twice and was worried about losing his football scholarship. Looking at him, you’d see an athletic jock who lived for a good time. I would never have suspected he struggled with something like that.

  Then there were Lisa and Twyla, the sorority girls, who were best friends but also found themselves addicted to methamphetamines to stay awake so they could get their homework done. There was Josh, who smoked pot so often he was failing most of his classes. Gigi, who liked to dabble in ecstasy on the weekends. Grant and Vince, who liked painkillers. And Lynette, who found herself addicted to Percocet after her knee surgery last year.

  Then Kristie turned to the hostile couple, who had become more and more agitated as everyone introduced themselves.

  “What about you two? What do the two of you hope to get out of the group?” Kristie asked kindly. The girl looked at her hand, which was still smothered by her boyfriend’s larger grasp. She didn’t look up, her bright pink hair covering her eyes.

  The guy’s lips thinned, and he was silent for so long I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to say anything. Then finally he gritted his teeth and said in a barely audible voice, “I’m Evan, and this is April. We just want to put the hours in and get this shit over with.”

  I looked over at Kristie. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but I noticed it all the same. These two were going to be hard to deal with. Kristie looked at April, who seemed to shrink in on herself. The dynamic between the pair was downright disturbing.

  “Do you agree, April? Are you only here to put in the required hours? Or is there something more you’re hoping to learn?” The pink-haired girl shook her head. After a few moments, Kristie realized she wasn’t going to get anything out of an obviously mute April.

  Which left the blond and blue-eyed boy whose name tag on the front of his shirt read “Maxx.” Kristie seemed relieved to turn her focus to him. He had sat quietly during the introductions, playing the role of the model group member. He made sure to act interested while the others talked, but I couldn’t shake the sense that he really didn’t give a shit, that for him this was all a game and he knew what part he had to play.

  “Finally, the last member of the group. Why don’t you tell us a little bit about why you’re here,” Kristie said. His grin was deceptively benign, but his eyes revealed a different story altogether. I just wished I knew what that story was.

  The other girls in the group were completely transfixed by him. I had read a book once about cult leaders who were able to control a room with a smile or a gesture. They had a charisma about them that made people lay down their lives for them. I had always thought that was ridiculous; no one could be so magnetic that people would happily follow them off the edge of the world if they were asked to.

  Looking at Maxx and the way the entire room gravitated toward him, I finally understood it. And the scary thing was that it was obvious he knew the power he had. And he enjoyed it.

  Despite my less-than-friendly feelings toward the mysterious boy, I couldn’t help my more primal reaction to him. It was easy to fantasize about how his body would feel against mine. He seemed like the type who craved control, and it made me shiver to imagine relinquishing control of my body to him.

  My contradictory feelings were also unethical and completely unprofessional. I was here as a facilitator. I was in a position of authority, however tentative, and I shouldn’t be lusting after a guy who was here for treatment.

  What was wrong with me? This was so out of character that it shocked me.

  Maxx looked around the room in a leisurely way, taking his time to make the circle until his gaze finally settled on me. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and I couldn’t help that my eyes fell to his mouth. Fucking hell . . .

  A flash of some unidentifiable emotion heated his face. Just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, as though it had never been there. His tongue disappeared behind his teeth as he grinned at me, making me wonder if he could read the inappropriate thoughts I was having.

  And that pissed me off. He pissed me off. Which was irrational. I didn’t even know him.

  My neck flushed bright red under his scrutiny. The strange familiarity I had felt when he arrived only increased the longer he looked at me. When his attention finally shifted away, my breath came out in a noisy rush that embarrassed me.

  Kristie gave me a strange look before turning back to Maxx. His lips quirked as though something about all of this amused him. But then, as if he’d flicked a switch, his face smoothed and his eyes became serious. It was like watching someone put on a mask. It was seamless and complete.

  “I’m Maxx Demelo,” he began, his voice soft and rich. I swallowed around the thick lump in my throat.

  That voice. I knew it. But from where?

  Maxx lifted his hands in the air, his broad shoulders heaving in a shrug as though he was about to reveal the secrets of his soul. His eyes flicked to me again, and he said with absolute sincerity, “And I came here to be saved.”

  Was this guy for real?

  I looked at the other group members and quickly realized they had all swallowed his Kool-Aid. Kristie seemed to think seriously about his statement as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

  “That seems like a pretty tall order, don’t you think?” she asked him, and I could tell she was as fascinated by Maxx as the rest of us. Everyone, even Evan and April, was fixated on the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who wore his vulnerability like a badge of honor. It was so at odds with the cocksure, mocking guy who had walked in only fifteen minutes earlier. It was as though he were playing dress-up, trying to decide which character to be.

  Maxx crossed his legs at the ankle and rested his hands in his lap.
“I don’t think so,” he said. His eyes drifted my way again, and I felt like a mouse in a snare. I really wished he would stop looking at me.

  “I’ve found my way into hell, and wanting salvation is the only thing that keeps me going.” His words were quiet and controlled, and I couldn’t tell if he was feeding us all a line or if he meant it.

  “I’m ready to be saved. I need it, Kristie. So I will do whatever I have to do to get it.” He sounded almost angry. Everyone was quiet for a few minutes as if his words had struck a chord deep inside them.

  Finally, Kristie blinked as she smiled at the group, shaking off the spell Maxx had created. “Well . . . ,” she began, and cleared her throat. “Let’s hope you find it,” Kristie said, a little too brightly. I watched Maxx and knew without a doubt that he was something dangerous.

  He was something primal and unfettered—a force that could take everything and everyone down with him, burning it all in a violent flame. And then afterward he would dance on the ashes.

  He was terrifying.

  chapter

  four

  maxx

  the group was a joke. But if I didn’t want to end up in the slammer, I’d have to suck it up and spend the next twelve weeks of my life talking about my fucking feelings. I had been to enough therapy in my twenty-one years to know the score. I knew how to play the part to get me through it.

  Share a sob story. Act like you believed the line of bullshit they threw at you. Then get your ass so far on the other side that you never had to think about it again.

  But I had been stupid, a little too cocky, and I had gotten myself busted, though I had been lucky and had just sold most of what I had on me that night, leaving only a couple of pills. Possession, not intent to distribute, meant the difference between community service and mandatory counseling as opposed to sitting in a jail cell worrying about getting ass-raped after I dropped the soap in the showers.

  So I would become the Maxx who felt guilt and shame, a guy who regretted his decisions, even as I planned how I would do it all over again.