Drugs? That was what she went upstairs for? It all made sense now. The exhaustion I saw on her face every day at school. The hanging around at the street races last month with the homely looking chick. Shit.
Madeline was doing drugs.
“So that’s why you went upstairs?” I asked, crossing my arms over my t-shirt. “To buy drugs?”
Madeline ignored me completely. She was on the ground, picking up half-dissolved pills that had fallen onto the still-wet road from the quick rain shower that came through. She glanced up at me, a mixture of emotions on her face. “Do you fucking know how much I just spent on these?” Her head fell quickly when her eyes grew watery.
My breathing had picked up as I watched her on the ground in her stupid tights, getting all torn and dirty, holding back tears. She flipped around, sitting on the wet asphalt, and brought her knees up to her chin, resting her back along the front of her car. Her hands came up and covered her face as her shoulders shook.
Oh my fuck.
I stood there, completely fucking dumbfounded that Madeline was crying.
I was even more dumbfounded that I wasn’t rejoicing with fucking glee. Instead, I found myself wanting to make it stop.
Something had to be truly fucking wrong for Madeline to cry—especially in front of me.
And to be honest, I was so sick and tired of hearing people cry. This was the second female I’d heard cry in less than twenty-four hours. That was plenty.
“Come on,” I said, sighing. “I’ll give you a ride home. You can come back tomorrow with your spare key or call a locksmith.”
Madeline’s hands fell from her tear-streaked face as she glared up at me. “I’d rather walk than get a ride with you.”
A blurring line of anger cut through me. I wasn’t even necessarily pissed at her. I was just pissed that I had offered her a lending hand—the first in a long, long time—and she threw it back in my face. “Fine,” I snapped. “Better get to walkin’ then.”
“Fine!” she huffed, climbing to her feet. She threw everything else that I had dumped out of her purse back in, scooping every last thing up, except for the now mostly dissolved pills, and flung the strap over her head and laid it across her body. “Fuck you, Eric.”
I huffed out a laugh, watching her stomp away. “Fuck you too. I hope you enjoy getting man-handled walking down those dark alleyways because you’re too fucking stubborn to get in my car.”
Madeline stopped dead in her tracks at my words. I’d apologize for being so crass, but the words were truthful. It wasn’t smart for a girl as hot as her to be walking these streets littered with drunk college guys at night. She was stupid for doing it.
And I was stupid for being worried about her.
Madeline looked over her shoulder, just once, but I saw the minor dip in her stubborn facade. “Don’t act like you care now, Eric. Don’t you have a threat to follow through with?”
I only stared at her, knowing I should go back into the party and let her figure everything out on her own. It was Madeline, after all. She always had a way of coming out on top.
But when she continued down the sidewalk, hugging her arms to her chest, I pulled myself over to my Range Rover.
Every one of my muscles was coiled tight, ready to snap, as I opened my door and put my key in the ignition.
I could tell myself I hated Madeline all I wanted. I could fuck with her and laugh when someone put fish in her locker, but if something happened to her, something bad, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to look myself in the mirror.
There was a very thin line between hate and love, and for this very brief moment, I was going to straddle it.
For my own sake. Not for hers.
Chapter Seven
Madeline
Crying was a useless action. Crying didn’t make your problems disappear or create some amazing plan out of thin air to fix things. No fairy godmother was going to show up at the mere sound of my tears falling to the ground to help me.
But I was doing it anyway. Hot, angry, betraying tears streamed down my cheeks underneath the pitch-black sky as I walked down a cracked sidewalk, staring at my phone with directions pulled up that said I’d be walking for hours before I made it home.
I couldn’t decide what would set me off more: walking down unfamiliar roads in the dark, wearing a short skirt and fishnet tights with things (read as: men) lurking in the shadows, or calling an Uber and having a panic attack in the backseat from being in a small, dark space alone with a man I didn’t know.
Technically, it could be a woman driver, but with how fate had been treating me lately? It would be a man, and he’d be creepy as hell with some fucking porno ‘stache.