I Cannot Change You

~*Tuesday, 13th of October*~

"A, you'll be late for school." My aged father groggily warns me as he prepares coffee for Michelle and himself. I respond quickly, my eyes going wide and I fling myself off the musty couch, grabbing my shoes and jacket off one of the beaten armchairs that sits lazily in the corner. "Good morning!" I shout in the general direction of my father before running down the hall and barging into Max and I's bedroom. 

His bedcovers are pulled over the top of his head, a position in which he occasionally remains for whole days. "Max, get up. We're going to be late." I prod the large lump filling one of the two tiny beds. 

A low groan sounds from underneath the heap, but slowly an artificially colored arm emerges into the cool morning air, the untouched pale skin of his chest contrasting with the dark shade of the thick blanket covering the rest of his body. I've always wondered how Max convinced his mother for him to get tattoos, though maybe they're of some significance to his family. I pick out clean clothes from my drawers and rush out of the room to leave Max to get dressed, and head to the bathroom to get changed myself. 

I stare at my sad reflection in the dirty mirror. My bones protrude through the little flesh protecting my rib cage. Spindly fingers pinch at the heavy purple bags underneath my big, exhausted eyes. My usually wavy hair sticks out in matted clumps, as a result of sleeping at odd angles. I look and feel in no way attractive at all, just a tired, undernourished mess. I sigh but carry on dressing, thankful that I've chosen the biggest t-shirt I own to hide the skeleton underneath. Although I may seem anorexic, I don't look in the mirror to spot the tiniest bit of flesh and call it fat. I know I'm too thin, and I hate it. Normally I don't have time to eat, I'm too busy worrying about homework or my family, or crying over my mother's death. Last night was the only 'Me' time I've had in a few weeks. I am always alone, but I've often got a billion thoughts running through my head at one time. 

I exit the bathroom a minute later, fully clothed, hair brushed best as possible and any traces of tiredness concealed. I greet a fluffly robed Michelle when she makes her way into the living room, as I sling my bag over my shoulders and unwillingly wait for Max. I can't understand why he'll want stay up all night, because then he won't want to get up int the morning. He doesn't, either way. 

I catch the time on our kitchen clock, which reads 8:25. My hand automatically slaps my forehead. "Max! What are you doing?! Come on!" I screech frantically. The parents look a bit startled from their place on the couch. I glare at them, and they quickly avert their wide eyes back to our beaten television.

As if on demand, he appears at my side. His midnight black hair is a mess and his hazy green eyes are glassy. He rubs a calloused hand over his pasty face before pulling the front door open and rushing out. I roll my eyes and follow him.

I'm about to tell him how I liked his song he played last night, because honestly, I did. But I don't. I don't want to waste a compliment on someone who's not worth the time, and I don't want him to think I can tolerate his attitude, like I'm putting my walls down. It would just lead me into a downward spiral in his stupid little games. He'd make me think that he appreciates my compliments, then he'd be all friendly and nice, then, like all girls, he'd use me as a last resort to fufil his needs. Basically, he's just a horny prick who wants only one thing. 

When we get to school, we're already about half an hour late. It doesn't surprise me, I'm used to Max having trouble getting up in the morning. What does surprise me, though, is how terrible the teachers are at their jobs when it comes to Max. I supposed they've had to deal with him countless numbers of times, so they take his rule-breaking lightly. It's only become part of their routine. 

As Max walks out of the school gates after school, to my surprise he is accompanied  by someone. A boy, too, who must be around the same age. They walk side by side, laughing and shouting at cars going past. The two are almost indistinguishable from the back, only the mystery boy is much taller than my step brother. I follow them a few meters behind, like everyday with Max, but with my eyebrows scrunched together. The boy is unfamiliar to me, and I know for certain he is not involved in Max's circle of friends, but it seems as though he has known him all his life. They look totally compatible with one another, like best friends.

They turn onto a street, in the opposite direction of Max and I's house. I assume, because obviously Max wouldn't want any of his friends to come to our house, they're headed to Mystery Boy's. As I cross the road towards my street, Max watches me from over his shoulder and gives me a look that I assume means he won't be home tonight, which is relieving. A whole bedroom to myself, no Max, and more food. My stomach rumbles at the thought, and I remember I hadn't had breakfast this morning. 

A cold, quiet house greets me, which tells me the parents are again working long into the night to sustain an income for their family. They did however leave me a ready-made lasagne, which I appreciate greatly. 
After scoffing down Michelle's cullinary masterpiece I sit at the kitchen counter in utter boredom, so subject to doing my homework. I complete the whole week's worth in matter of an hour, and once again I'm stuck with nothing to do. My bed is basically screaming my name, so I pad down the hall and slump into my soft covers. 

The whole house is silent and I don't bother to turn on a light, so as I lay peacefully the sunset shines through our window, and disappears. The room goes pitch black soon after and within a couple of minutes it seems, I hear the front door open then slam shut, hard. I wouldn't be surprised if the neighbours woke up, let alone the parents.

Max comes stumbling into our bedroom a few minutes later, reeking of alcohol. The moonlight illuminates the room, and as I take a glance at him I know that he's completely drunk. This wouldn't be the first time I've witnessed this. I watch him stagger toward his own bed and strip down to his boxers. He flops onto the mattress and rolls over so I can see his face. 
His sad, solemn face. The green tint of his eyes glow in the soft light and I can tell they're watching me. I don't bother to hide my consciousness, and instead just stare blankly back at him. He frowns slightly, and whispers something inaudible before his eyelids flutter closed.

I yawn, too tired to care, and quickly fall into a deep sleep to the sound of Max's low growls. 

Max is sitting high in a tree. What is Max doing in a tree? 
A sudden wave of desperation washes over me. I have to get to him. 
Every branch is liquid, and my hands go right through. They're like skeleton hands, and I can see every bone in my fingers.

"You can't reach me." Max whispers tauntingly. He is now sitting on one of the watery branches right in front of my eyes. His face is contorted and his once green eyes are blood red. I cannot recognize his face, yet I know it is Max. I scream and try to run from him, but my feet are glued to the spot. 
"You'll never change!" I shout at him. He lunges at me and I feel like I'm falling...

My eyes snap open and I sit up straight. I wiggle my toes and my fingers to assure myself I'm not still dreaming. My whole body starts to shiver and soon I realize I'm freezing, so I pull the warm covers over my head.
I don't want to look at Max, I'm afraid that he'll be the same monster he portrayed in my nightmare. I can still hear his deep rhythmic breaths over the heavy thumping of my heart, and the duo sends me back into slumber as fast as it pulled me out. 

I'm asleep for a second before I am fully conscious. The darkness has progressed into a dim hazy light, suggesting that it's very early morning. I sigh and egress from under my blankets. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a pair of green eyes watching me, like last night. Normal green eyes. I turn fully and smile at the mossy color, quite frankly unconcerned of who they belong to as I look into their mesmerizing stare. 

"I knew you always wanted me." Max smirks and wiggles his eyebrows as he turns onto his back. It pulls me out of my trance, and I roll my eyes. Wrong. To be honest, I don't know who would. 

"You're the last thing I would ever want, Maxwell. Sorry to disappoint you." I smile sarcastically and turn to face the wall. 

"We both know that's not true..." He whispers in the same voice as in my dream. I cringe at the disturbing images of 'Dream Max' carved into my mind. I can now recall every detail of the dream, and it makes me even more uncomfortable than I've ever been in his presence. He frightens me. This is what he wants.

My heart starts to beat faster until I have to squeeze my eyes closed to block out the pictures that take over my vision. He's manipulative, and he's trying to mess with my head. It's all part of his games. I'm going insane over this boy.