Max delivers me home by three, driving relatively safely for the remainder of the journey. I yawn, and rub my eyes despite the zombielike effect the smeared makeup will have on my face. Then I lean over the grimy cupholder and kiss Max's acne-scarred cheek before slinking away down the cleanly paved walkway to my house. "See ya."
Max believes in anything forbidden, everything alternative. And I am an open book. If he suggests it, I'm more than happy to try it, because I love him more than anyone I've ever known. He isn't conventionally attractive -- too sickish-pale, with a ferrety face and slender limbs -- but I am enamored endlessly by the beauty I perceive in him. Without question, he loves me back. There isn't a question in my mind.
I sneak a backward glance as I unlock the front door and, without explanation, I am stricken with a thrill of fear.
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