Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
“No, I’m your fucking friend. And no one lays a finger on my friends.” Stalking over, he snatched Scott’s phone from his hands and angrily scrolled through his contacts.
“Max! Goddamn it!” Scott lunged for his phone, then nearly toppled over the side of his bed.
Max jerked forward and caught him, catching his first whiff of liquor. Then the sweet-smelling fragrance of weed. He frowned and righted Scott back on the mattress. “You’re torched.”
Scott sat back, half with it, and shrugged again. “Yeah. I guess. A little.” He gestured for his phone. “Please give me my cell.”
Momentarily derailed, Max tossed it on the bed. “You gotta stop hanging out with such douchebags, Scott. I mean, fucking hell, they’re nothing but pricks.”
Scott frowned and looked away.
Max shook his head. “You’ve done nothing to warrant this kind of treatment. You’re a good kid, Scott. These assholes don’t deserve you.”
Scott chuckled darkly. “Maybe I like assholes.”
“Why?” Max scowled. “Because they rough you up? Toss you around when you need them to?”
Scott shot him a look, his eyes bloodshot and glassy. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“I think I do, Scott. I mean, I’ve got fucking eyes, and a brain that knows how to add.” Max stalked over to Scott’s desk. “These dick faces you pick out don’t care about you. They’re just using you. But you know this, don’t you? I bet you pick them out for that very fucking reason. Guys that’ll shit on you, treat you like crap.” He picked up Scott’s ziploc baggie of pot. “And then you smoke this shit to forget. About how bad they make you feel. How worthless and pathetic. Undeserving of happiness.”
Scott didn’t argue. Just sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Whatever, Max. I don’t wanna hear this shit again. You’re killing my fucking buzz.”
Max scowled and tossed Scott’s weed back down. “You’re never gonna stop this fucking cycle, Scott, unless you change how you deal with shit.”
“What if I don’t want it to stop? What if I like shit just the way it is?”
“That’s bullshit.”
Scott chuckled darkly and shook his head. “No, man. It’s really not.”
Max exhaled. “You deserve to be happy.”
Scott stared straight ahead, then looked at Max. “And you don’t?”
Max blinked, surprised, then steeled his emotions. “I’m happy.”
Scott’s lips curved sardonically, but swiftly turned bleak. Again, he looked away. “Okay, Max. If you say so.”
Max stared at him for a minute, brain churning on how to get through to him. Clearly, his current approach wasn’t working. He could see Scott tuning him out as they spoke. But Max refused to give up. He wasn’t a quitter. Like hell would he sit by and watch Scott let every asshole on the planet push him around. Treat him like dirt. Max just needed to tweak his thinking. Offer Scott a solution he could accept.
Max eyed him pensively. Scott was punishing himself. Was plagued with guilt and believed he deserved pain. Emotional and/or physical. Seemed appeased with either one. Because either one felt like an atonement.
In truth, Scott wasn’t all that different than some of Max’s subs…
Max stilled. And there was his answer. Had been right under his nose the whole time. Though, in his defense, he’d never thought of Scott that way. As his sub. His recipient. His willing little prey. Probably because Scott wasn’t any of those things. Was the absolute fucking opposite. Max’s roommate. Max’s friend. Best friend for that matter. He’d even go so far as to call him brother.
But that was okay. Max could differentiate. Could draw up special boundaries. He could give Scott what he needed in a safe, controlled environment, as an alternative to dickhead boyfriends and drugs. Max could, and would, help Scott pay those dues. Max would fix Scott. Because Scott needed it. And because Max needed it, too.
Sighing, Max dragged a hand through his auburn locks. “Listen,” he began, pulling a chair from Scott’s desk. Turning it around, he sat down straddling it backward. “I… I have a suggestion, and I want you to hear me out.”
Scott’s dark, stoned eyes slid slowly his way. “Please don’t feel obligated to fix me, Max. You’ve done so much already. I’m not your responsibility.”
Max nodded. “I know. But you are my friend. And I take care of what’s mine. It’s who I am, Scott. That’s nothing new.”
A small smile tugged at Scott’s bruised, scabbing lip. “Stubborn motherfucker.”
“You know it.”
Scott exhaled heavily and gave another shrug. “What’s your suggestion. Counseling or something?”
Max grimaced. “Fuck no. What do I look like, a sadist?”
Scott snorted out a laugh. “You want me to answer that?”
Max’s lips twitched. “Don’t bother. I guess we both know I do. But not that kind of sadist. A different kind, as it were. Which actually has a lot to do with what I’m about to offer.”
Scott stilled. “I’m listening.”