Page 82 of The Order of Disorder
“I only gave her the M-30 you gave me!” Rox replies, defensive. “I don’t fucking know what happened.”
Maze runs a hand through his hair, pacing. “Maybe give her another? She’s gonna hurt herself.”
For half a second, Rox hesitates. Then she stands, reaches into his vest pocket, and pulls out a foil package.
“Here,” she says, bending down in front of me again, another blue pill between her fingers.
I wail, the zip ties cutting into my wrists. “Wy-att!”
“I know, honey.” Her voice is soft. “Here, take this. I promise this is going to help.”
I’m exhausted. Despair seeps into every part of me, mixing with hopelessness. Wyatt is suffering and I can’t get to him. The fight is going out of me.
Rox presses the pill between my lips and I let her.
“Swallow, Maxie,” she says, lifting the water bottle again.
I do. This time, I manage to drink down the water without spilling anything over my chin.
“There,” she says softly. “You’re okay. It’s okay now.”
I’m not. I just can’t scream anymore.
She brushes damp strands of hair from my face. Her fingers trail gently over my scalp, petting like she’s soothing a child.
The sobs come in broken gasps, quieter and shallow. I’m so far from the paint booth now. And tied up. How will I ever get to him? He’ll die in there and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Rox keeps stroking my hair. “Just breathe for me,” she says. “You’re safe right now, okay? Nobody’s gonna hurt you in here.”
The chair creaks as I lean back against it, eyes half-lidded, despair creeping through every part of me and mixing with something worse. Apathy. There’s nothing I can do.
“I’m right here,” Rox is saying. “We’ve got you, Maxie. We’re gonna get through the rest of tonight, yeah?”
The floodlights outside make a buzzing sound like hornets. I can hear it even over the music thumping beyond the trailer walls. All of these people, dancing, shouting, having a good time. And a hundred yards from here, he’s alone in a soundproof box. A man is going to die and they don’t know or don’t care. It’s absurd that the world is still turning out there, and I feel like I’m locked behind a glass, watching it move.
Rox wipes my cheeks again, then my chin, with a gentle, careful touch. Then she stands and moves to the stack of boxes by the far wall, digging through them.
She pulls a t-shirt out of a stack in a merch box and holds it against herself to check the size. Across the chest, in blocky, cracked lettering, it reads: “DISORDERED: RIDE HARD, STAY HARD” above a skull with flaming pistons for eyes.
“Okay,” she mutters. “This’ll do. Free her hands so I can dress her.”
Maze gives her a skeptical look, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Rox walks back and crouches in front of me.
“She’s calm now,” she says to him, checking my eyes. “Aren’t you? You’re okay, right, babe?”
I just stare. Tears spill freely down my face, steady and quiet like a faucet left running. I couldn’t stop them if I tried.
Rox nods at Maze and he steps behind me. With two sharp snaps, the zip-ties break.
My arms feel hollow as they fall forward. My wrists tingle.
Maze reaches roughly under my arms and lifts them up, and Rox pulls the t-shirt down over my head. I don’t resist, but I don’t help. I’m soft and pliant like a doll.
“That’s pretty good, right?” Rox asks, standing back to assess.
Maze snorts. “She looks like a drunk college kid in biker merch.”
