By L. Lee Lowe
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One eye was dark and puffy, his bottom lip split. Skin scraped from his cheek and jaw. 'Max! ' 'Ssh. ' 'You're going to need a mask to hide those bruises. ' He sighed.
Her mum loved him. Not Owen, not tonight. A shame that you couldn't turn feelings on and off like your mobie. She weighed it in her hand, its casing cool and impassive against her skin. She could ring Zach, couldn't she? The worst he could say would be no. And then she remembered Courtney's remarks. There was a lot worse than no. She knew it wasn't fair—Owen was nice—but she rang him back and arranged to meet him in an hour. They'd go someplace popular, someplace revving on a Friday night—someplace where they'd be good and visible.
It didn't look as if he'd been eating—or at least eating here—for a while. But she found tea leaves and a full packet of sugar. He drank the tea greedily, then lay back on the pillow. 'I'll be OK now, thanks. ' 'Are you sure you don't want something else? ' 'No. ' But his colour was no better, and he was still shivering from time to time. She fetched a spare blanket from the top of the wardrobe and covered him, then hovered near the foot of the bed, considering what to do. In a last drowsy effort he opened his eyes again.