Shut Your Eyes

I’d almost forgotten the feeling of waking up sore.

That tight, tense feeling that radiated throughout your entire body, sending jolts of pain up your limbs when you moved. It wasn’t a feeling I’d missed, but it was painfully familiar and showed up like a distant relative who shows up when you least expect them.

As I woke up, my surroundings started to come into focus. The overwhelming silence that filled the house overcame my senses before I began glancing around my room. Specks of dust glittered in the rays of light that streamed in through the window; a bird sat solitary on a naked winter branch outside. The clock hanging on the wall subtly informed me of the time – 11:27

I moved to sit up, rustling the soft bedding beneath me and making me acutely aware of my outfit. Still dressed up from the night before, I looked terribly morbid – sheathed in glitter and gold as well as a sling and some nasty bruises covering my arms. Vero’s shoes stared back at me from the end of the bed, somehow not as sparkling as brightly as they had the night before.

Sliding off the bed with a sigh, I took a minute to calm the dizzy feeling in my head from too much pain medicine and too much liquor from the night before. After the fuzzy feeling faded from my senses I pulled off Vero’s shoes and set them in a neat line by my dresser. I wandered into the bathroom and turned my shower on as hot as I could stand, before peeling my dress off and leaving it in a puddle on the floor. My fingers pulled numbly at the bobby pins that were stuck in my hair, taking them out and setting them in a pile on the counter.

Who knows how long I was in the shower for. I stood under the steady stream of water for what seemed like an eternity, head leaned against the cold tile wall in front of me while I tried to push the memory of last night away. But as usual, I couldn’t scrub off the purple and blue spots that littered my arms or my cheek. They were like spilled wine – stuck there so everyone could see your biggest mistakes.

I turned off the shower and climbed out into the cold air that filled the bathroom. Goosebumps broke out on my skin as I pulled a fluffy towel off the rack and wrapped it securely around my body before wandering into my closet to find something to wear. As I sifted lazily through a sea of sweaters, I heard my phone ding softly in the background. A text message.

I shuffled back towards my bed and searched around aimlessly in the fluffy bedding for my black phone. Eventually I found it hiding out under one of the pillows. Opening it up, I muttered a soft obscenity when I realized who had texted me.

Sid: Are we still on for today? 12:30 right?

I’d completely forgotten that today was the day Sid and I were going downtown to pick out paint for his cardboard colored home. I texted back a quick reply, letting him know that we were still on, and that 12:30 was the perfect time to drop by.

Since I only had an hour, I quickly made my way back to the closet to find something to wear. After a few minutes of deliberation I settled on something simple, but still nice enough to be seen out and about in: a pair of dark blue skinny jeans with a long-sleeved beige top and a colorful scarf. I also threw on some earrings and dried my hair before going out into the kitchen, opting to do my makeup after I ate.

The house was still quiet even though it was no longer morning. Lights weren’t turned on – neither was the coffee pot – and I wondered if Max had come home from his night of light-hearted debauchery yet. A quick peek into the driveway, though, informed me that he was home. His gray Range Rover sat abandoned on the concrete, covered in a light blanket of snow from the night before.

After starting a pot of coffee I went into the living room to turn on some music, but found myself staring at the face down body of my dear brother instead. With a quiet chuckle I began poking him with my foot in a lazy attempt to wake him up. He mumbled, and groaned, and even grabbed at my leg a couple of times, but eventually he rolled over with an angry grunt.

“Temps de se réveiller, Belle au Bois Dormant.” (Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.)

“Je te déteste.” (I hate you.) He mumbled angrily, face hidden under a couch cushion he’d pulled down at some point during the night.

“Je parie. Quelle heure avez-vous échappé?” (I bet. What time did you escape?)

Max laid there for a moment before shoving the cushion off of his face and squeezing his eyes shut to block out the light. “Quatre heures, peut-être cinq heures. J'ai dû attendre jusqu'à ce qu'elle dormait.” (Four, maybe five. I had to wait until she was asleep.)

I barked out a laugh. “Tu es sans espoir.” (You’re hopeless.)

He smiled lazily before cracking open his eyes to look at me. Max stared at me for a moment with a sleepy expression on his face, but the second his eyes zeroed in on the bruise that had spread across the left side of my face he shot up – quickly regretting the movement – eyes wide with confusion.

“Qu'est-ce qui t'est arrivé?” (What happened to you?) He yelled, gripping the front of his head in pain once the sound of his own voice hit his hangover clouded ears.

“Holt.”

Max watched me for a minute, gears audibly turning in his head as he tried to place the name. An angry spark flew through his eyes once he remembered who Holt was. “Ce connard? Qu'est-il arrivé?” (That asshole? What happened?)

“Il m'a acculé par les salles de bains au club.” (He cornered me by the bathrooms at the club.) Max ran an angry hand through his hair like he always did when he was upset. If he’d been standing up, he would’ve been pacing. In the background I heard the coffee pot beep, signaling its finish.

“Pouvons-nous parler de ce café au-dessus? Tu n'as pas l'air si bon.” (Can we talk about it over coffee? You don’t look so good.) He stared at me for a moment with steely, focused eyes, but then they softened and he nodded.

“Café sonne bien.” (Coffee sounds good.) I wandered into the kitchen with Max close on my heels and pulled two coffee mugs out of the cabinet before pouring Max and myself a much needed cup of coffee. We settled ourselves at the kitchen table, with Max sitting across from me – his hair sticking up in every direction. He took a long, slow sip of his drink before glancing up at me and sighing.

“Ok. Commençons par le début.” (Ok. Start from the beginning.)

And I did. I gave Max every last gory detail I could think of, from Holt slamming me up against the cold tiled hallway wall, to Kris and Geno showing up out of nowhere, and then to my midnight trip to the ER. I let him look at my wrist and give me his own diagnosis – something he insisted upon – and he told me exactly what the nurse had: ice and rest, keep it still, few weeks in a brace.

I finished off my little speech by telling him that Kris and Geno were now in the loop, even though they didn't know the gory details, and that they’d already made sure Holt regretted putting a finger on me. Max nodded slowly, soaking up all the new information like sponge. Suddenly his eyes shot up from the one spot he’d been staring at for the entire time I’d been talking.

“Pas autant qu'il le fera.” (Not as much as he will.)

“Max,” I started tiredly, but he cut me off.

“No, Margaux. Même si je suis content que Kris et Geno étaient là, je suis toujours énervé que tu ne m'avez pas appelé. J'aurais pu tout aussi bien traités.” (Even though I’m glad Kris and Geno were there, I’m still pissed that you didn't call me. I could have handled it just as well.)

“Je le sais.” (I know that.) I reminded him quietly, letting him get all his anger out while he was still in the house and I could keep an eye on him. Max didn't say anything else, just continued to look at me with an unreadable expression on his face. He stood up and walked over to my side of the table before leaning down and pressing a kiss to my head.

“Je veux juste te protéger. Pourquoi ne te laissez-moi?” (I just want to protect you. Why won’t you let me?) I looked up at him with his hangover hair and sad eyes. Pressing a hand to his cheek, I sighed.

“Tu ne peux pas me protéger de tout, Max. Personne ne peut.” (You can’t protect me from everything Max. No one can.) Max said nothing, just pressed another kiss to my head before wandering back into the living room to pick up the cushions.

Sid POV

Max was the one to open the door when I rang the bell, and I struggled to hold back my laughter. He looked awful. His hair was everywhere, he hadn't shaved, his eyes were half-closed, and to top it off his shirt was on backwards.

“Not a fucking word.” He ordered quietly, obviously still nursing a hangover. I gave him a shit eating grin, but held my hands up in front of me.

“I wasn't gonna say anything.” Behind Max, I heard Maggie calling that she was coming. She popped up under Max’s arm that was gripped onto the door-jam like he was holding the house up himself. Climbing under it, she smiled up at me and pulled her coat a little tighter around her once the cold air hit her.

“Hey Sid.”

Maggie looked fantastic, but then again, she always did. Her hair was down - a brown waterfall of curls hanging down around her face, and a knit beanie pinned securely to her head. She was smiling at me as she came out onto the stoop from under Max’s arm.

Before joining me, she pressed a quick kiss to Max’s cheek and muttered something at him in French. He waved her comment off with a small smile and a flip of his hand. Maggie turned to me and nodded towards the car.

“Shall we?”

I nodded with a grin and ushered her in front of me. “We shall.”

She shuffled off towards my car and I turned back to Max. “Have fun with your hangover.”

He gave me a snarky grin. “I hate you.”

I laughed and jogged after Maggie, pulling open her door for her before she could get to it herself. She smiled and thanked me quietly, then climbed inside the car. I saw Max watching us from the house, still standing in the doorway.

I knew why he was watching me. He might as well have been letting me borrow his car. Max was notoriously picky about who he let drive his car – no one. He barely let other people ride in it. And here I was, taking Max’s most prized possession out of his sight for the day.

The second I climbed into the car though, I forgot all about Max and his death glares from the front stoop. The pretty girl in the passenger seat next to me had sucked up all my attention in a matter of moments. My car that normally smelled like Old Spice and leather now had a floral scent spreading through it. Maggie watched me inquisitively while I started up the car and pulled out of the driveway, trying to focus more on not hitting Talbot's mailbox than his sister.

“So,” She began cheerfully. “Where are we off to?”

“I was actually hoping you could tell me. I don’t know how to decorate a house, remember?” Maggie laughed in her usual musical manner and then turned her head towards me with a mischievous grin.

“You’re hopeless, Sidney Crosby.”

“That’s why you’re here.” I reminded her with a smirk. She rolled her eyes, grinning the whole time and pointed me towards downtown.

“There’s a paint store downtown that I went to when I painted the condo. They have a lot of good colors to choose from, and the people there know what they’re doing.” I trusted her opinion, and moved into the other lane to go downtown. I’d seen the inside of the condo since Maggie had put her spin on it, and needless to say – it looked amazing. She had the magic touch that was for sure.

The inside of the car was quiet as we drove, the two of us opting for a comfortable silence instead of the radio. Eventually, I noticed the wrist brace that stuck out of Maggie’s coat sleeve. I’d tried to get Geno to tell me exactly what happened the night before but he was adamant that it was her business, not mine. He was probably right.

“What happened to your wrist?”

Too bad I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut.

She looked down at the brace that was secured to her arm and ran her fingers over it lightly as if she was examining it herself. A short grin flashed onto her face, but it wasn't a happy one, and it didn't tug at the corners of her mouth like they usually did. Flashing her eyes up at me, she shook her head with a small chuckle. “Just ran into someone. No big deal.”

She was lying, it was written all over her face. Besides, Kris had already told us that someone had grabbed her, but he wouldn't say who. I didn't press the matter though since she was clearly not going to tell me, and if she didn't want me to know then I would leave it alone until she did.

She changed the subject quickly. “Enough about that, though. Did you have fun last night?”

“Yeah I did. I don’t think I had as much fun as Max though.” A knowing grin broke out onto her face as we pulled into a parking spot on the side of street in downtown Pittsburgh.

“I don’t think anyone has as much fun as Max does on New Year’s Eve.”

I barked out a laugh as we both climbed out of the car and began walking down the street towards the paint store. It was cold out, so we were two of the only people wandering around downtown. Maggie brushed up against my side as she walked, trying to keep out of the cold wind that was blowing at us. I glanced down at her before unwrapping the black scarf I wore around my neck and wrapping it around hers instead. She looked up at me, surprise written all over her face. When she realized what I was doing, she smiled and thanked me quietly – a pink hue painted on her face from either my action or the biting air we were walking around in.

We continued on in silence for a moment or two before she veered off to the right and grinned. “Here we are.”

I followed her into the warm paint shop, quickly realizing that we could be in here forever. It was two floors, and the walls were lined with those displays of paint chips, any color of the rainbow and every color in between staring back at me. Maggie must have noticed the look on my face because the second she glanced back at me she started laughing sympathetically, staring at me with all the pity in the world.

“Oh, Sid! You look absolutely terrified!”

I blew out a huff of air and looked down at her before waving a hand at all the colors. “There is a reason I haven’t painted my house yet.”

With a giggle and a smile she lightly took hold of my hand and began tugging me towards the first wall. “You’ll be fine.”

An hour later, she wasn't so sure.

“Sidney, just pick one.” Her voice was tired, but still sweet as she attempted not to snap at me.

We were seated on the floor of the second level, with lines of paint chips set out before us – one for each room we were painting. My only job was to pick one color from each line that Maggie had given me; the problem was that I liked every color in every line and we were nowhere near leaving the store until I was sure. I’d begged Maggie to just pick the colors herself, but she refused, insisting that I should have the last word in what colors were going to be splashed across my home.

I knew I was testing her patience though, because she was lying on her back with the fringed end of my scarf splayed across her face like a sleep mask in an attempt to keep light – and my stupidity – away from her line of vision.

“They all look the same to me.” Maggie chuckled and peeked at me from behind the scarf.

“You’re such a man.” I gave her a snarky smile and looked around at the paint chips that were still on the walls.

“Maybe we should keep looking.” Maggie sat up without and word and scooted over to where I was sitting. Leaning over my shoulder, she proceeded to pick a color out of each line. I didn’t know what colors she picked. In all honesty – I didn’t really care.

Every ounce of my attention was focused on the fact that she was inches away from my face. A quick cut of the eyes to my right put me staring right into her determined baby blues. Her breath was soft and steady against my cheek while she worked, and the light scent of her perfume overwhelmed my senses. She could’ve told me we were painting the living room purple and I would’ve just gone with it.

Maggie finished picking out all the colors she wanted and stood up, straightening out her jacket and smoothing her wild curls down. Then she bopped me on the head with her handful of paint chips and nodded towards the stairs. “Come on, Crosby. Your house isn't gonna paint itself.”

I followed her down and let her talk to the man at the counter since Maggie was the expert out of the two of us. She chatted pleasantly with the man, talking about the colors she’d chosen and the other plans for the project. It was cute to see her get so excited about colors and types of paints. She was in her element, almost like she was with a camera around her neck.

Whenever she came to practice, or even a game, Maggie always had her camera and was constantly snapping pictures of everything. We weren't sure what she did with all these pictures – she’d probably taken hundreds of them – but Max assured us that Maggie always had more pictures than she knew what to do with.

Maggie finished her conversation with the man behind the counter, and turned to look at me with a grin. “He just has to mix up the colors and then we’ll be all set. I’m gonna go get some brushes really quick.”

She headed off into the back of the shop where the racks of paint rollers were, leaving me to fend for myself at the front. The shopkeeper leaned against the counter and looked in the same direction I was staring, watching Maggie stare intently at two brushes in her hands.

“Your girlfriend has quite the eye for color.” He commented politely. I glanced back at him, wondering if I should correct him or not. After a second, I smiled and looked back at the curly headed girl at the back of the store who was watching me with the famous Talbot grin spread across her face.

“She really does.”