Playing Russian Roulette.

Woahhh
I never give in
Woahhh
I never give up
Woahhh
I never give in
I just wanna be, wanna be loved.

-Papa Roach.

“What do you have to say about the drama you have recently been put into, Miss Oakes? The rumours and incriminating pictures and news articles concerning you and Max Green of Escape the Fate. Do you… have any comment on that issue?”

His voice sounded professional; his blonde hair shined under the New Jersey sun, and his tour mate stood beside him, his tour mate’s dark locks cut short in a cru cut, a large camera held in his hand , balanced on one of his fairly well built shoulders. It was pointed at me.

Welcome to my worst nightmare. Havoc Music had to be the first people to interview me for my reaction on the ordeal, and who worked at that company? When Rachel called to tell me they wanted to speak to me, the initial thought of the awful son of a bitch who worked with them slipped my mind up until I saw them heading my way.

Josh Torrent, his camera guy, and that annoyingly smug look on his face when he was sober enough to form words, but high enough to mask his twitches from behind recorded as proof next time he was carted off to court. He was decked out in clean clothes and even held a microphone reading ‘Havoc’ on it.

Luckily, he made it seem as if we did not know each other outside of work. He asked no personal questions, didn’t harass me for money to help fuel his drug habits. In fact, there were no mention of drugs at all. I was surprised he even had a job with his dirty drug habit screaming at me every time I looked him in the face.

Josh tapped the top of my Buzznet microphone as it was clutched tightly in my hand. I tore my eyes from the grass and met his gaze, and he nodded to tell me to go on.

Straightening my posture, I lifted my mic, forcing my best professional voice. “What do I have to say about the rumours regarding Max and myself?” I shifted onto my other high heel. “I think that’s just what they are. Rumours. They’re not true.”

“Is that so?” Josh exchanged a look with his fat friend, who smirked in a way that made my stomach roll. I didn’t like the guy one bit, no more than I liked Josh. Something told me he was more involved in the works of Torrent than just Havoc.

One, because Josh apparently told him that I was a rather attractive female. The moment they walked up, he had said, “She is hot” and since then, he had been staring at parts of my body he certainly should not have been laying his eyes on.

I crossed my left arm over my chest, attempting to hide my chest from his perverted stares. Where were the boys when I needed them, to save me yet again from Josh? Well, not so much Josh this time. More of the stranger undressing me with his eyes.

I pulled at the bottom of my shirt and bit my bottom lip. Bryan, Robert, Devin, Stefan, Craig, Max. Anyone! I would settle for any of my friends and acquaintances, or even enemies, just to be rescued from such a horrid interview.

“If the rumours saying you and Max are a couple are false,” Josh went on, “then why were you kissing him on stage? Why have you been seen together, holding hands, and the proposal. You’re wearing the engagement ring.”

He stopped, letting everything he said soak in. I must say, that was not the best thing for him to say. Once I started thinking about his words, anger set in. My cheeks throbbed with heat, and not from the sun I was basking in, either.

My nails bit into my palm as my hand curled tighter around the microphone. Josh needed to go the fuck away before I flipped out on him in front of the camera! Out of every interviewer attending Warped, how and why did I have to get stuck with the only drug dealer?

I cocked my head. “Why? Because we like each other, Josh, and you are making this interview way too personal. How unprofessional of you, Torrent.” I flipped both of them off. “This meeting is over, assholes.”

I turned to walk away, but Josh caught the back of my shirt an twisted me around to face him again. I didn’t fight it; he wasn’t going to do anything to me where witnesses were involved. He leaned within inches of my face.

I tugged my shirt free of his grip.

“Oakes, this is a job.” Josh’s professional aura disappeared, and the familiar smug, threatening tone replaced it. “You can’t walk away from me like that after Rachel guaranteed you would answer our questions.”

“But why?” I pressed. “You work for Havoc music. I’m not in a band, nor am I a performer. I’m a reporter for Buzznet.”

Josh flicked his hair from his face. “People want to know what’s going on between you and Green, and we both need the money, so get back here and do the damn interview already.” The intimidation he was pressing on me urged to affect me, but it didn’t. I wouldn’t let it.

Maybe he did, but the amount of money I was receiving from Buzznet for Warped was sufficient to keep my bills paid and kitchen stocked. I didn’t have to worry about extra things like drugs any longer. How lucky I was now that I managed to get clean.

Josh, however… Who knew how much cash he dished out to keep his own drug supply going, though I found it hard to believe he was aching for money. He had many customers buying his ‘items’, and he wasn’t the cheapest dealer in Las Vegas.

I smiled wryly. “I don’t need the money, but I’ll do the fucking interview for Rachel.” I put three steps between Josh and myself, and looked around. Where we stood was too far away from Escape the Fate’s tent; there was no hope of the boys happening upon me.

Josh whispered something to his camera guy.

I leaned my back against the nearest object, a sign announcing which way the horses were and, recently added, where the merchandise tents and vendors were located. I slipped my open hand into the front pocket of my mini skirt, sighing.

“But don’t make this personal, Josh,” I added, watching Josh’s friend press several buttons on his camera. Something beeped, and the guy mouthed action once again.

Josh snapped back into his certified persona. “I’m Josh Torrent, and I’m here with Piper Oakes of the popular Buzznet web series Warped Tour or Bust!. We will be asking her all the pressing questions that you, the people, want to know.”

I pulled my hair away from my face, tucking a section of the locks behind my ear and ran my fingers through my bangs, straightening them to drape over my eye. Josh continued his introduction, yet I ignored him, looking around, over my shoulder, and at the people walking among the vendors and merchandise tents.

My eyes searched over faces, but I saw nothing that looked like one of the boys. Not even faces that looked vaguely familiar to me. I hunted over hairstyles, thinking maybe it would be easier to recognize their unique hair if their faces were not visible at first glance. Still, that proved to be a difficult task.

Who knew everyone seemed to have similar hair to that of the boys, Stefan, and Devin. Long black hair; messy brown hair; short, dark hair… Only Robert seemed to have a style all his own. Just when I would think I saw someone who might rescue me, they turned or showed their faces, and disappointment fell time and time again over my psyche.

“So, what do you think about the drama -- the rumours, pictures, articles -- concerning you and Max Green of Escape the Fate? Do you have any comments on this, Piper?” Hadn’t we already covered this subject? If it wasn’t for my professional stance, I would have said something to him, yet I kept myself back, calm.

The few weeks that had passed within the month of June had established themselves as the worst weeks of my entire life, including the drugs and my years with Ronnie.

Somehow, in the matter of about a month, I fell in love, made a woman leave her ex and daughter, obtained hundreds of enemies, been harassed by drug dealers, gotten thirteen marriage proposals, denied a dozen of them, kissed two different guys, and made others fall in love with me.

Maybe things would have been better if I stayed at home and denied the Warped job. All of the horrible things that happened in the span of the tour involved me one way or another. My horrid luck obviously followed me wherever I went.

If not for Gabrielle going to lunch with me, she wouldn’t have lost Leila, thus she would still be on tour with Craig. Poor Gavin wouldn’t have a broken heart had he not seen my web series and fallen for me. None of the love triangle rumours toward Max and Ronnie would have come about, either. Maybe Ronnie was right about the whole thing.

“Do you have any comments on this, Piper?” Josh repeated. I could tell he was getting slightly annoyed at my daydreaming.

I shot my fiery gaze at him. “Sorry, I was… not… paying attention.”

Josh, the Havoc interview, and the goddamn camera guy inspecting my bare legs and drooling like the big, cheeseburger-eating, pompous ass he was -- The mere sight of an attractive woman was probably more than he could handle after spending twenty eight fucking years in his mother’s basement -- were not helping my bad month!

Red hot anger shooting to my fingertips, I forced my voice out steadily, clinging onto my professional stance as I answered the question. “I think the rumours are rumours. Max and I are--are not engaged and, apart from the kiss in Pennsylvania, I have been completely faithful to my boyfriend, Ronnie Radke.”

Stabbing, gut-wrenching pain replaced the red hot anger. It hit me, I’m not actually engaged to Max… Ronnie Radke, the man I had tried to forget about while on Warped, was still well and truly, mine. I wanted the opposite of the truth, and it hurt to say exactly that. The truth. The things I would give up, The things I would sacrifice to have things turn out differently with the kiss on the stage.

Had the dreaded chants not started, maybe Max would utter the words I dreamt of. Why -- why did our affectionate actions keep getting interrupted by various other intrusions, such as Devin and nasty slurs?

The universe had to be trying to tell me something with it. There was no other reason for all the convenient disruptions, besides the worst luck on the face of the planet on both of our parts. Either way, it hurt.

My lip quivered. I bit it to keep it still, but that didn’t prevent the corners of my eyes from burning with oncoming tears. Why does bad luck and a giant black cloud of fuck doom ride on my back all the time? Can’t it give me a break, just this once, with Max?

Josh reached his arm out and laid a gentle hand on my forearm. “Are you okay, Oakes?” He dropped his voice to a soft whisper, waving his other hand out behind him in a ‘cut’ motion at his camera guy. “What’s wrong?”

I avoided his eyes, tossing my gaze over his shoulder instead. As I did so, someone caught my eye. A male, a little shorter than Josh with a child against his chest. Short dark locks covered his head, and a tight, skull decorated gray shirt stretched over his body. Something hung from his opposite side…

The form moved just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his face.

Bryan! It was Bryan, Leila in his arms, and a shopping bag dangling from one hand. My saviour in the form of Monte Money, thank you!

“Bryan!” I cried, cutting Josh off as he was about to say something else. “Bryan, Leila, thank God!” Thrusting my microphone into Josh’s chest, I dashed across the grass and, when Bryan turned to fully face me, I threw my arms around him.

He seemed shocked into motionlessness for a moment, before snaking his arm around my torso, laying a tentative hand on the small of my back. He pressed the side of his face against my head and breathed a sigh, ruffling the loose tendrils of my hair. “Did he do something to you?”

“No, no.” Funny that would be the first thing he asked. “Josh didn’t hurt me. I’m just so happy to see you. You and Leila have saved my life from the worst interview ever.” I pulled away and smiled brightly at Bryan, then Leila, who mimicked it.

I slipped my hands under the little girl’s arms and pulled her from Bryan, placing her on my hip. She giggled, wrapping her arms around my neck, and kissed my cheek. I kissed her back. I suddenly forgot about Josh and his stupid interview.

Bryan put his own arm around my shoulders. “Want to walk back to the merch tent with me? Craig is there. And--” He lifted the grocery bag high into the air. The material it was made of prevented me from seeing what was inside. “--I have sweet things.”

Remembering, I looked over to where I abandoned Josh, I saw he was watching us, a scowl on his face. Typical. I beckoned him with my hands to come over to us; he obeyed and jogged to Bryan and myself.

“Listen, Josh, can we pick this up another time? Maybe tomorrow? I have to baby sit.” Using Leila as an excuse again. Karma surely frowned upon that kind of thing, using a toddler to get out of difficult situations.

Josh’s eyes flickered down to Leila. Her arms encircled my neck tighter, nearly cutting off my airflow. Swiftly, I pried her grip from me and repositioned her until she was resting against my chest and looking over my shoulder instead of at the drug addict.

A tremor passed through her tiny body. I patted her back gently, and Bryan held me tighter.

Eyes flaming, Josh nodded his head in one jerking motion and turned, stalking back to his camera guy across the grass and cement, his arms thrust into the air as he yelled incoherent and waved his hands around wildly. A sweet satisfaction washed over me, as i watched him get angry instead of mine. I felt the fat perverted camera man’s eyes on me, so I turned away.

Bryan steered us through the crowd, babbling about a bar down the street. Various faces turned when we passed them, calling greetings and snapping pictures with cameras and cell phones. I moved forward in silence, tucking Leila closer to my chest.

As we descended upon Escape the Fate’s tent, and Craig looked up from where he stood, handing a girl a t-shirt, I realized just how upset I truly was about my earlier thoughts. Tears pricked at my eyes again, my chest tying itself in a knot as I remembered those awful, misinformed chants.

Something about Craig’s sweet smile caused my armour, my defensive wall to drop, and I wanted to run to him and let him console me as I cried. He made me grasp I was distressed about this black cloud that managed to hover above my head at all times lately.

The feeling of Leila’s hands clutched at the back of my neck was the only thing keeping me in reality and out of the dark, depressing place that haunted me. I didn’t need to start crying like a complete moron; I needed to fix it and apologize to Max for avoiding him for two days, and for running off the stage.

The adoration I felt for him was too amazing to throw away! All my decisions had been with our love in mind, including the MDMA pill I came inches from swallowing. I didn’t because of the ways he looked at me, for him was I really going to let a group of fans stop me from going after the guy I wanted?

Was I going to throw away what we had built from ashes of hatred just because people didn’t want us to be together for strange, unknown reasons?

No, I was not. Max and I deserved to be together. No one had the right to tell us otherwise, or try to push us apart by starting rumours and calling me a slut and the various other incidents surrounding us.

I ducked into the safety of the white tent and collapsed in the nearest canvas chair, lowering my head until my hair covered all visibility of my face. The crying had yet to start, but I wasn’t sure how long I could fight it.

Leila looked up at me with bright, glittering eyes, and I smiled carefully.

The kiss on stage proved he loved me back and I wasn’t insane. I wasn’t imagining the fact he looked at me hungrily, or the beautiful feelings in the kiss a year ago, or the classic million volts that trickled over my skin whenever we touched.

All of it was real, dammit, so why couldn’t we catch a break and admit all of it was real? It was so much harder than anyone could ever imagine to admit to the world, including all the Buzznet fans, to being in love with someone, but I needed to, I wanted to.

But I didn’t want to know what the world would think about me. Slut was just the beginning when they found out I did not even feel guilty about somewhat cheating on Ronnie. No remorse… absolutely none. Not a flicker of it, not a pang.

I glanced up as the legs of a blue canvas chair scraped against the cement in front of me. Bryan parked himself in it, pulling another chair to his side, where he deposited his bag of “sweet things” in the seat.

He started removing things -- clear plastic containers -- from the grocery bag and piled them in a triangle on the chair. “Vegan muffins and cookies,” he announced once he was finished. Thankfully, he took my mind off bad thoughts for the moment.

I leaned closer. Stickers displaying the ingredients in neon colors stuck to the top of the packages, alongside strange logos that made absolutely no sense to me.

Unbleached oat flour, organic cane juice, banana puree, semi-sweet chocolate chips, soy milk, rolled oats, canola oil, pure vanilla extract, baking powder, salt, baking soda… Brazil nuts, almost milk, flaxseed, sea salt, olive oil, agave nectar, blueberries, dates… Flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, baking soda, coconut milk canola oil, vanilla extract, strawberries.

Inside the little boxes were two types of muffins and one kind of cookie, and not one of the trio looked particularly appetizing. Maybe Vegan food was not up my alley.

The closest thing I wanted to risk eating were the ‘Strawberry Love Muffins’, as the tag read. They seemed like the only one similar to actual muffins. The blueberry RAWffins and the ‘Skinny Girl’ banana oatmeal cookies looked foreign, the furthest from anything I wanted to put in my mouth as humanly possible.

The RAWffins appeared like they had been obtained from a questionable source. The Skinny Girl cookies were the oddest color I ever laid eyes on. They were a pale shade, almost translucent in a way, spotted with dark chocolate chips. It reminded me of various sickening things from years of watching SciFi and horror movies.

My stomach rolled. Nausea and depression. Not the best mix.

“Try one.” Bryan opened a lid and snatched a RAWffin and ripped into it, eating almost the entire thing in one bite. “The RAW muffins are good, and the cookies. I got the strawberry ones because they’re Leila’s favorite, but I don’t eat them.”

My best bet. “I’m not going to lie, these look disgusting. Especially the cookies.” I pulled the strawberry muffin container closer to me, Leila teetering on my lap as I moved. Popping the plastic lid, I looked up to meet Bryan’s expectant gaze, happy and bright in the afternoon sun.

My eyes wandered over his shoulder. The Monmouth Racetrack sprawled out over lush green grass. Vendors and other merchandise tents dotted the grass and cement; groups of bands, fans, and couples walked around leisurely under the New Jersey skies.

Craig stood with his back to us, a pair of loose blue jeans and a white shirt hanging from his form. Three girls stood on the opposite side of the table, talking to him and laughing, a camera suspended in the air.

A light tug on my hair made me look down at the only toddler at Warped. One pale hand gripped the ends of a section of my hair, the other stretched out toward the open muffins. I took out one of the small, pink accented treats and pulled back the thin paper cup before holding it out to her.

She leaned forward and took a huge bite out of it. I waited, watching her, bating her response. When she smiled instead of spitting it back out, I took a nibble on the other side.

In all honesty, it was good on a not very hungry stomach. Not as sweet as I would have liked it, but fine just to put something in my suddenly queasy stomach.

I held it out to Leila again. She gnawed around the edges the best she could with her tiny, milky white teeth, and I turned my gaze back to Bryan, who was still inspecting me like a mother.

I raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Bryan, what’s wrong? You’re watching me like a babysitter.” I opened the cookie container and removed one of the frightening food articles. Raising it to my face, I sniffed a corner cautiously. It reeked of banana.

My eyes still pointed at my friend, I took a nip off the side and chewed without tasting it. Bryan sat his empty paper cup atop the arm of the chair between us and settled back into his own chair.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He leaned his head against the pole holding the cloth of his chair up, smiling.

The tone in his voice reminded me of Devin and Stefan when they asked me if I was alright, and the look on his face further confirmed my suspicions now that I paid close attention. So that’s what’s going on, the little sneaks.

Pulling Leila closer across my lap, I mimicked his demeanour, resting flush against the back of my chair. “Who told you to keep an eye on me, Bryan?” That was why he had shown up in the exact spot that Josh was interviewing me in. No coincidence there.

He jolted slightly. The rest of the job requirement must have been to make sure I knew nothing about it. Whoever told him to keep it a secret forgot who they were dealing with; after a while, one became keen to pick up the classic signs of concern and worry. I became especially good and noticing when Devin and Stefan sicced someone to watch me.

That was the situation now, no doubt. But why Bryan? I understood when they asked Gabrielle and Robert to watch me. I would understand Craig. Max, as well, because that would be some gift from the heavens to Devin just to give Max the opportunity to baby-sit me.

Due to various erotic books, I would love for him to baby-sit in me in another sense…

“Uh--well… How the hell did you know?” He sounded breathless, exasperated. Obviously it was a lot of work to keep a secret for him.

“Devin and Stefan make people watch me all the time--” I started but he cut me off.

“No!” Bryan shook his head. “Stefan and Devin didn’t tell me to watch you. Max did.” A haze of surprise passed through me, but Bryan kept going. “He heard Josh was interviewing you and told me to make sure you were okay.”

My hand raised to the chest of my halter. “Really?” It was hard to believe he still cared after the two day avoidance. I hadn’t even apologized yet! But Bryan wouldn’t lie to me about this, he knew how much I cared about Max.

The main reason I didn’t want to face him after the concert was the worry of what if he agreed with them, because I cheated on his former best friend.

I can’t live through that again. And no way in hell was I turned to Josh for my only source of medication, to make the pain of Max despising me go away. Idiot, if he hated you, he wouldn’t send Bryan to make sure you were okay.

“So, he’s -- he’s--” I swallowed, my throat feeling constricted by some unseen force, and wiped my fingertips across my forehead. “He’s not mad at me?” I managed to finish.

Bryan laughed, actually laughed, at my question. “No, hell no. Why would he be mad at you, Julie? You didn’t do anything.” He grabbed another RAWffin. “And Max wouldn’t be mad at you even if he had a reason to. You are about the last person in the world he could be mad at.”

Again, he laughed as he took a bite from the blueberry food item. I frowned. Max wasn’t mad at me, but he hadn’t gone out of his way to hold a conversation with me since Scranton either. Maybe he was just as… scared… as I was? Or… no, I couldn’t think of a reason for him to not speak to me.

Leila stole my forgotten cookie from my hand, stuffing a surprising amount of it in her mouth by the time I glanced down at her. She gave me a huge, sugar filled grin. Laughing, I looked back at Bryan.

“Okay, then why hasn’t Max tried to talk to me?” I questioned, holding the rest of my cookie out for Leila to eat.

“He thought you wanted time to yourself after the whole… slut thing.” Craig slipped a hand on my shoulder, his palm hot on my bare skin. He crouched down on his knees on the blacktop, rested his elbow on the arm of my chair, and placed his chin in the hand that didn’t lie on my shoulder.

I lolled my head to the side to look at him. He smiled up at me, a familiar admiration pooling in his dark eyes… but not the loving admiration from the beginning of Warped. His flirting and the crush Gabrielle swore he had on me dulled to a mere friendship after his encounter with Mercy Fisher.

But that was enough for me. Craig meant more to me as a guardian and a close friend. He just happened to be high on the sexy charts. Besides, he was worthy of finding love in Mercy; they made a cute couple and Mercy loved him back, which I did not.

It was for the better he dropped the crush he had on me.

“By the way, are you okay?” Craig pushed a stray strand of hair from Leila’s face. Though he was looking at his daughter, I knew he was talking to me. “Stefan said you’ve been upset about that.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I was upset for a while , and it still stings when someone brings it up, but… I’m better. If they think I’m a slut for kissing the guy I love, let them.”

Bryan scooted his chair closer to me across the cement and squeezed my knee. “Juliet, you’re not a slut. You couldn’t be a slut, or a heartbreaker, or a cracked up bitch.”

I forced myself to remain calm. Crying had become so common over Warped and I already swore I wouldn’t do so; I did not want to look like a moron in front of everything. It made me feel better, but it got annoying after so many tears and sobs and unattractive things.

My eyes lowered to my lap. Stop, stop, stop.

“And Max has been kind of bummed,” Craig added. “He misses you.”

That was enough. I rose from my chair and signalled for them to follow. Time to apologize for avoiding Max had settled upon my shoulder, and I intended to do so before what we had reconciled went up in a fiery plume.

“Bryan, what was that bar you were talking about?”

X X X X

Oceanport, New Jersey was chock full of bars, I knew that, and after a little questioning, a local told Bryan and myself where the bar he had heard was, on the street were all the best drinking establishments were located. Craig’s cell phone thankfully had a GPS system application, and was able to lead us right to our destination.

‘Us’ entailed Max, Craig, Bryan, and myself, while Robert stayed behind. He wasn’t feeling up to partying or getting drunk, so Leila was left with him, and we embarked on our night out of drinks and missions of apologies.

We passed beneath a direct passage of the final waning sunlight, and I glanced up at Max walking beside me, his hand interlaced with mine and a large smile on his face. Bryan and Craig walked in front of him, Craig laughing hysterically.

Max’s hair shined the truest color of brown beneath the sun. Under notes of blonde and darker brown shone beneath the natural top layer of brunette. Waves and slight curls diminished any thought of him straightening it earlier.

It looked wonderful anyway he wore his hair, but there was something about when his hair hung perfectly straight and framed his beautiful face that made my mind race with thoughts of pulling and tugging it. But the curls gave him a different look, that wasn’t necessarily a bad one.

Sliding my gaze southward, I scraped my eyes down his black t-shirt and tight jeans, his gorgeous body.

I had not apologized just yet, but he didn’t seem to mind. Bryan was right, he wasn’t mad at me. Nonetheless, I still felt the need to apologize for not speaking to him a single time in forty eight hours because, after all, he had nothing to do with it.

The word ‘slut’ never crossed his lips, yet I let my own fear of facing his possible scrutiny rule two entire days. I felt insanely stupid just thinking it.

“There‘s the bar,” Bryan suddenly announced, making me tear my eyes from Max. “It’s at the end of the street.” He glanced at Craig, then over his shoulder at Max and myself. “You two still up for a pub crawl?”

I was, and I voiced my opinion, only to be echoed by Max and Craig with excited vigour. If there was one thing I learned from being reunited with the boys was they were always up for drinking and getting drunk and things of the like.

Nothing had changed.

Drinking was fun, but I hated not remembering the events of the night before and dealing with hangovers in front of Stefan and Devin was a fate worse than death. Since the club, I had not graced my lips with alcohol in an attempt to convince my best friends I wasn’t going down that road again.

A pub crawl through Oceanport, New Jersey would destroy what convincing I had toward Devin and Stefan, but it was the perfect venue for an intimate moment full of apologies and… and… if fate wanted to treat me nicely today, kisses.

The one thing I wished for the most was to kiss his beautiful lips again, for the third mutual time in a year. For a moment, I relived the kiss in the aftermath of the rain; my shower fantasy did not do it justice in any stretch of the mind.

No rumour or story of kissing Max Green could explain how amazing it was, all the feeling and emotion he made me feel. I would do fucking anything to kiss him once more, even if he was drunk. I would take it!

Bryan and Craig veered the way down the dimming sidewalk and to the bustling entrance of the popular tavern. The exterior walls were painted a garish red; a striped awning hung above our heads; the doors were glass and painted red around the glass squares.

Craig pushed open the clear glass door and held it open for us. Bryan shimmied through, and Max followed, pulling me into the onslaught of bodies. Low hanging, spherical green and yellow lights lined the ceiling in perfect lines, and the bar was long and black, with red stools the same color as the exterior.

At the bar, we slid onto red plastic stools. Instead of ordering singular drinks, Max ordered a round of shots , which would usually seem premature, but tonight, somehow it seemed appropriate. A bored looking waitress set the tray of shot glasses down on the bar in front of us before heading off to the opposite side of the pub.

The boys descended on them. I slowly took the last as my own, downing it as everyone else did. The liquid hit my stomach like a brick, and I set my glass on the bar. In perfect synchronization, Max, Bryan, and Craig plopped their empty ones down as well.

When is the best time to confront Max? I couldn’t figure it out, whether it could be when he was sober or drunk. He probably wouldn’t remember an apology when he was drunk, so I had to catch him when he was sober.

Glancing up, I watched him and Craig down a second shot. Soon sounded better than waiting.

When they drank a third shot, my opportunity came. Bryan dragged Craig off to be his wingman in flirting with a group of giggling girls in the corner, leaving Max and I alone.

I turned on my stool and poked Max in the arm. “Can I talk to you?” I had to raise my voice for him to hear over the loud drunks yelling somewhere behind us.

Max stood up, grabbing my hand as he rose. “Come on. I need to talk to you, too.” Before I could argue, he lugged me back through the intoxicated bodies and back outside into the dark New Jersey sidewalk. He pulled me into the shroud of darkness beneath the pub’s awning and leaned me against the window. My heart thudded at a rising speed in my chest, so loud I was afraid he would hear it.

I spoke before he could. “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve avoided you,” I whispered. “You had nothing to do with the people chanting slut. I hope you can forgive me.”

He didn’t say anything.

I rested my forehead on the window of the pub, frowning. Was Bryan wrong? Maybe Max truly was mad at me, but he didn’t have the heart to tell me so.

“Don’t be sorry,” he finally said. “I’m not mad at you, so you’re forgiven for ignoring me. I don’t care.”

“Alright.” Nothing about that made me feel better. “What did you want to tell me?”

But he muttered a quick “never mind” and dragged me back into the bar. That was that. Not another kiss, no other emotion than anything that was normal of his persona. My stomach dropped out of my ass, was I expecting too much?

Can someone be physically attracted to you, yet never be in love with you? Did I really imagine all the things that made me think my dream of having to myself, was really destined to come true? Was this really unrequited love at its finest, and was I in the center of my own personal hell while Max showed no real, deep emotion toward me?

The questions clouded my head, as I followed him back to our seats. He didn‘t even hold my hand.