But even while I was regularly overcome with the urge to call Maxx out, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by him all the same. It was like watching an actor on stage slip into a character. And honestly, it made me determined to see what really lay beneath his cool and confident exterior.
I had seen how he was with his brother in the commons. I had seen him embarrassed and angry. And some sadistic part of me wanted to see that side of him again.
I attempted to observe him clinically. I had myself almost convinced that he suffered from some sort of personality disorder.
Or maybe I was completely delusional and projecting my own issues onto this poor guy in the group I was supposed to be facilitating.
“God, could they look any more miserable?” Brooks whispered, eyeballing the group members as they made their entrance, taking seats after grabbing their free cup of coffee. Their routines were the same each and every week. Eat a cookie. Drink some coffee. Mumble monosyllabically when asked a question.
This was supposed to be a voluntary group, aside from Evan, April, Kyle, and Maxx, who were court-ordered to attend. Yet the attendance of the others felt forced. In recovery groups, there were usually the one or two who took to their sobriety with the ferocity of a newfound religion.
Not in this group. And I felt like a failure for not figuring out a way to snap everyone out of it. It irked me even more that Maxx alone was the only one to arouse any sort of response from people. In fact, it often felt like he had taken over the group and was the one running it. And Kristie let him.
But the thing about Maxx was that he was a hard man to refuse, and I was learning that there were times when even I didn’t want to refuse him. That worried me. A lot.
I turned to Brooks and nodded. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but this group is a hard sell. I thought it would be . . .”
“Easy?” Brooks laughed, and I smacked his arm.
“Not easy, just not so difficult,” I complained, realizing how silly I sounded. Therapy wasn’t supposed to be easy. Groups were going to be a struggle for everyone involved. I had read the case studies, I had devoured the textbooks. I should know this stuff. But I had dreams of walking in and saving the world on my first try. I was an idealistic moron.
Kristie started handing out packets to people as they made their way to their seats. She gave me a pointed look, and I knew that was my cue.
“Okay, you’ve got to go.” I turned Brooks around and pushed him toward the door. Out in the hallway, Brooks chanced a quick hug.
“Knock ’em dead, tiger. I’ll come by later with soup and a movie,” he promised, making me smile. He really was such a great guy.
“Twilight?” I joked, knowing the answer. Brooks tapped my nose with his finger.
“You’d have to be at death’s door for me to agree to that one,” he stated.
I laughed. He laughed. And then a pointed cough had us both quieting down.
“Has group been canceled or something?” I looked over Brooks’s shoulder to see Maxx standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, disheveled blond curls falling over his forehead, and a cold and stony expression on his face.
“Uh, no. Go on in and grab a seat.” I indicated for him to walk around me, but he continued to stand there, making no move to head inside the classroom. Brooks looked at me questioningly. It was hard to miss the feral testosterone rolling off Maxx as he stood there and regarded the two of us angrily.
What was his problem?
The three of us stood there, a triangle of silent awkwardness. I couldn’t place the emotion that flashed in Maxx’s eyes, because everything that came to mind made absolutely no sense. Desire. Longing. Possessiveness. And most strangely, sadness. Maxx looked at me like a man who had lost something.
Oh, come on, Aubrey. This cold is screwing with your brain.
“Call me when you want me to come over. Feel better,” Brooks said finally. His suddenly narrowed eyes flitted between Maxx and me as though trying to read the uncomfortable situation we found ourselves in.
“Okay, thanks, Brooks,” I said, hoping my friend would get the hint.
Brooks stared at Maxx for a moment longer, and when he looked back at me, his face was a varied mix of emotions. It made me nervous.
But before I could say anything to allay my concerns and Brooks’s apparent unease, he mumbled a quick good-bye and walked down the corridor.
I tried to settle the knot that had formed in the pit of my stomach during the difficult exchange, but it was proving tough under the strength of Maxx’s gaze.
I eyed Maxx apprehensively. “You can go in, you know,” I muttered, not bothering to disguise my irritation.
Maxx ran a hand through his curls and then scrubbed his face. His expression neutralized, and he gave me his trademark careless smile. “After you,” he said, sweeping his hand forward, indicating for me to walk ahead of him.
I arched my eyebrow but didn’t comment, hurrying inside. I sat down and looked around at the other group members. I attempted to make eye contact and give a smile in greeting to a few of them, but was shut down each time.
My eyes eventually found Maxx’s, and I wasn’t surprised to receive a blinding grin. I didn’t reciprocate and instead turned my attention to Kristie, who was explaining tonight’s discussion.
Twenty minutes later, everyone was working in their journals, creating a life map. People had been tasked with identifying both positive and negative experiences that had impacted them in some way. This was meant to lead to a bigger discussion about what had triggered their using. It was a great activity, one that would undoubtedly lead to some great therapeutic interaction in any group but this one. Sadly, I couldn’t imagine anyone here taking it very seriously, the way it was intended.
Kristie encouraged me to participate as well. She had told me before group that some elements of personal disclosure from a facilitator can have a powerful impact. She warned me to be careful of what I would expose about myself, but she said that small bits of information could be a great way to create a bond between them and me.
The idea of opening myself at all had always been hard. And it would be absolutely agonizing to do so with this particular group of people.
When the time was up, Kristie started going around the group, asking everyone to share something. Most shared very shallow things, from Marissa getting her first car to Twyla’s rejection by her first choice of a university. When Kyle, the frat guy, stated that a negative experience in his life had been the time he got locked out of his dorm room, I sort of lost it.
“Are you kidding me?” I scoffed. Thirteen sets of eyes swung in my direction. Kristie frowned, clearly not appreciating my outburst. She silently reprimanded me for my lack of supportive sensitivity, but I didn’t care. I had had it with sitting week after week in a group of people who weren’t taking this opportunity seriously.
What I wouldn’t give for my sister to have had the chance to sit and learn something in a group like this. Their rigid refusal to absorb any of what Kristie so patiently tried to teach them was frustrating to the point of blinding rage. And Evan and April, with their derisive sneers, tipped me over the edge.
Kyle looked taken aback and blinked in confusion. “Uh, yeah, that day sucked. I had to walk down to campus security, and then I had to wait like two hours for a replacement key. I was late for my chem lab . . .”