Finger on the Trigger to My Dear Juliet

I slowly made my way into the school's large front doors, trying to hurry and get to my locker as soon as possible.

It was early, about half an hour before the bell was supposed to ring, but I was here anyway. I woke up early, thank my Insomnia for that, couldn't get back to sleep, and wanted to get the hell out. And so, abandoning my friends, I trudged the cold pathway to the large brick building.

I was dreading the situation upon which Max and I would meet; the awkwardness would just be so stifling. And more evidence: he had ripped out a fucking page from the notebook.

Who does that? I mean, bad enough he decided to be a complete ass wipe and go through my journal, but he takes a page for himself. Wow. And that page was one, I'm pretty sure, with a bunch of Ronnie stuff in it.

I bit my lower lip, trying to ignore the throbbing pain all throughout my body. Last night's beating had been horrible. And now Max knew about the physical abuse as well. Lovely.

"Miss Fallon," The principal greeted. "You're here early."

"Hi Mr. Hall."

I hurriedly walked past him and down the hallway, turned a corner and stopped at my locker, turning the dial and opening the door.

Shoving all of my crap inside, my mind wandered elsewhere.

Had Max finally told Ronnie? If so what would Ronnie say? Did he show Ronnie my journal? He better have not, or he's one dead man.

I went into the art room, turning on the light upon seeing that nobody was there, and setting up a piece of paper at the table. This was my secret escape. In this art room that smelled of paint and clay, I could come in here sometimes and just do whatever I wanted, letting images appear on paper. My stuff's appeared in the hallway's and been given two 'awards' for it. I say 'awards' because all they really are are thicker sheets of paper with my name and a bunch of stuff written all over it. Not that I really cared.

I'm pretty much certain I'm not going to live long enough to go to college, anyway.

After a considerable amount of time passed and I glanced up at the clock, I put my stuff away and marched to my locker, the bell ringing right as I turned the lock.

After the first few hours of being in class solo, I made it to gym, and when I saw Max coming out of the locker room into the gym area, I have to admit I trembled a bit.

He glanced at me once as the teachers took attendance, and then immediately announced our new unit. Volleyball. Each person was to find a partner and wait until everyone was seated on the gym floor.

I hesitated before walking over to Max, who's lips twitched up in the ghost of a smile. We sat down together on the floor and soon I went to get a volleyball.

After a while I grew more relaxed, as I generally do, and we set and bumped the volleyball back and forth in practice motions. I could tell Max was probably incredibly tense, and I didn't blame him. I was too.

The entire day passed without incident, although I noticed at lunch Ronnie was shooting Max and me confused looks. I guess we weren't in much mood for talking. Ronnie must be pleased.

Finally the day was over, and as Ronnie, Max, and I began walking the hallways of the school, Ronnie announced the explosion of his bladder would soon happen if he didn't empty it soon. I didn't ask him to elaborate, and instead stood outside of the bathroom awkwardly with Max.

"Charlie...I..." He began, clearing his throat. I looked over at him, already knowing what he was trying to say. "I mean...I'm sorry..."

I shook my head, cutting him off. "You read my journal didn't you?"

He hesitated before answering, but nodded.

"I fucking knew it! What, did you have a look in my underwear drawer while you were at it?!"

He stepped back a fraction of an inch. "God, Charlie, I would never do that, alright! I just...I don't know..."

"Did you tell him?" I asked, jerking my head towards the bathroom. Max shook his head, and my shoulders sagged in relief. "But that doesn't mean I might not tell him eventually, Charlie," He warned. I glared.

"Charlie, you're dad's...hurting you...right?" He grabbed my shoulder softly, although it still hurt. I nodded my head.

"And now you know," I said quietly. "But there's really nothing you can do. I'll be dead before you know it."

The words seemed to shock him, and he looked at me in disbelief.

"You shouldn't try to save me Max," I said, before the door opened and Ronnie came out, stretching.

"Jesus, that took a while."

"I hope you washed your hands, Radke," I teased, and he rolled his eyes.

"Yes I did, Fallon, but you shouldn't go insulting me when you're dying for a cigarette."

"Too late," I quipped, the package already in my hands. Ronnie groaned. As we exited the school I put the cigarette in my mouth, lighting it and giving the package back to Ronnie.

I could feel the concern and shock coming off of Max in waves. Well this was his punishment for telling me. One of the reasons I don't want Ronnie to know.

But it was too late.

[>>>]

The moon was shining, I was smoking on the porch, my father was asleep, and my ass was freezing out at two in the morning.

I sat there on the cold concrete step, inhaling the various toxic chemicals that would blacken my lungs, trying to find some way to sit without my body wracking with pain.

"You fucking whore!" My father screamed. "What did I tell you about hanging around that queer kid and his buddy?"

"I'm sorry!" I screamed, although I didn't mean it.

"No you ain't, you little bitch. But you will be."

I looked up to see that he was unbuckling his belt, unwinding it from the belt loops. My breath caught in my throat. He hadn't hit me with a belt for years.

I was backed into a corner once more, unable to defend myself, and with each blow I felt my determination wear away.

Eventually he was through, and then I crawled upstairs to my room, tears silently streaming down my face. I couldn't cry loudly. If I did it would make him mad.

I wondered how much longer I could keep this up.

Across the street I saw a front door open, and Max came shivering out of Ronnie's front door. I nearly swallowed my cigarette.

He sat down next to me on the steps, but we didn't say anything for a few moments.

"Why are you out this late?" I asked. I glanced over to see him biting on his lip ring nervously.

"I couldn't sleep, and since I can see out the window I saw you sitting out here alone and well...yeah. Charlie," He started, turning towards me. "I want to talk to you."

"If it's about earlier today," I sighed. "I meant what I said. You shouldn't try to help me Max. My father already hates you and Ronnie. He'd gladly kill you two if he could get away with it. Fuck, he'd kill me. Which he will, eventually."

I heard Max moan from next to me, and I looked over to see an angry look on his face. My immediate response was fear.

"I don't fucking care what you mean, Charlie. I'm going to help you, whether you want it or not."

"Don't-" I began, but was cut off by Max grabbing the sides of my face with both of his calloused hands.

"Charlie, listen to me. I like you. I like you a lot, okay? I'm going to fucking help you. I'm going to get you through this. And I don't care if you'll hate me for it. I'm doing this."

I felt the tears roll down my cheeks, over his hands, and I looked down at the ground. I was shaken softly by Max.

"Look at me!" He demanded, and I slowly looked up at him, sniffing. "Charlie I care about you a lot. I know every fucking thing about you now. Just let me in. I won't hurt you, I swear."

And then, as if to emphasize his words, he leaned in towards me and placed his lips on top of mine, his hands never leaving my face. I trembled against him. It was brief, but it was sweet. When we pulled apart Max pulled me into his lap, where I cried softly.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

"So am I," Max agreed.

I don't know how long we sat on those steps, but before too long it was time for both of us to depart, and as I lay on my bed trying to get some sleep, I thought about this.

The reason Max was so different from Ronnie was the undeniable fact that when faced with a problem, Max will find any, any, way to get around it, while Ronnie will pretend that it doesn't exist. Max cared. He doesn't just want to fuck around with me.

The entire reason he read my journal, the reason he was so persistent, the reason he wanted to learn about me, that was because he wanted to know. He was curious, concerned, and he knew something was up. And he wanted to help me.

I just prayed that he wouldn't end up like my mother. I don't think I'd be able to live then.