I Cannot Change You

~*Sunday, 18th of October*~

I stare up at the ceiling above my small bed. The shower that hung over the old, abandoned home that Max and I used to hide from the storm is slowly subsiding into a light shower. The parents were lucky to make it back home this morning, after spending the night at a cheap hotel. They found and took us home early, and since then all I've done - or rather, all I can do - is sleep, and think. 

Michelle and Dad aren't working today, and Max and I are forbidden to go anywhere for now, since 'The weather is too unpredictable', and we could 'End up in the same situation as last night'. I can tell that Michelle is certainly not happy with Max at the moment either, for whatever reason I'm unsure of.

I think about doing something useful like cleaning our room, but I don't. There's no point, with what little mess lies on the floor. I'm exhausted anyway, and I can already feel my eyelids beginning to slowly seize shut.

I woke up again early this morning, maybe a couple of hours after discovering Maxwell's jacket encasing me in warmth. Max himself was was asleep at the time but noticing the chill on my bare arms suggested that he'd taken the thick piece of clothing back. Sure enough when the parents arrived and woke us, it firmly clung to his shoulders like it hadn't been taken off in the first place.

None of us have said anything regarding the events of last night. Each moment I think about it I want to punch myself, as I know I'm turning his simple gesture into a bigger deal than it is. I glance at him from the corner of my eye and he does the same, as if he'd been listening to my thoughts. He raises his eyebrow at me in a menacing way that makes me feel uncomfortable. I shift in my spot unnervingly, feeling like I should say something, although I don't know why I would bother.
The boy abruptly stands up and shuffles down the hall, taking his cigarettes and sealing the packet so tightly in his hand that I notice a couple of veins protrude through the skin of his wrist. 
My face twists in disgust. His repulsive habit has caught my attention these past few weeks a lot more than normal. I couldn't name the first time I've seen Max with a cigarette between his lips but I know that it's been going on for a while now. It never used to bother me.

Staring blatantly at his half of the bedroom I've once again noticed that it contrasts deeply with mine, which is perfect considering Max and I are like Yin and Yang. His guitar leans lazily against the end of his small bed. I suddenly recall I the tune that I began to hum last night and it starts to play in my head, but only repeating one little part over and over.

A tiny shelf of old books fills the gap between the two beds and as I read each title my eyes close for a few minutes, remembering every word of the stories my mother and father read to me as a child, right before I went to bed. Sometimes I'd even attempt to read them one in return.

I soon doze off to the imaginary sound of my mother's soft, sweet voice as she sings me a lullaby; as if I was three years old again. I can't quite remember the words to the song, but the unforgettable melody remains a quiet memory.  

He doesn't smile from his seat in the water tree, but instead taps his lips with one finger, and stares straight into my eyes, like burning holes through them. He blinks once, and then starts to climb higher and higher until he's so high that I can only see the bright green orbs of his eyes peering down through the silky blue branches. 
But in the distance, there's a flash of bright orange light and a thundering crash. I see the fear in his eyes...

The loud rumbling of my stomach tells my brain that it's time to get up and eat something, fast. My vision still a blur, I quickly slide off my bed and onto my feet, craving a huge meal for the first time in a long while. I frown when I read the clock above the stove, having just realized that I'd slept the entire day. No wonder I'm absolutely starving. It's already late afternoon, and I haven't had breakfast yet. 
The clock hands tick slowly. 

"You're so weird." The edgy voice startles me and causes me to jump out of my tired trance. Frustration starts to work its way into my head as I spin round and meet his eyes. 

"It wasn't my fault that I was up all night having to sleep on the floor in a dusty, crumbling old house while being completely soaked and frozen, Maxwell." I turn and hiss back at the boy as he raises his eyebrow in the same devilish way as he did earlier today, leaning an elbow on the table. Nothing but his phone lies on the wooden surface beside him. 

"Well, don't pin it all on me. You went for the walk." His face remains blank, eyes flickering slightly in the low unnatural light of the lamp on the counter. "Quit being so sensitive." 

My eyebrows furrow in annoyance. "You did too." I'm not sensitive. 

"I'm not complaining."

I force my mouth shut and slowly taking a chilled apple out of the fridge, now only focused on getting something down my throat. I'm not in the mood for an argument, and to be honest, Max isn't worth my time. Hypocritical I know, but true.  
"Typical." Is all I mutter under my breath before taking a bite into the crisp flesh. 
At this weak retort, he knows he's won and shows it in a sly smile. I poke my tongue out at him. He smirks. "Mature." 

Our squeaky couch heaves under my tiny frame as I sit down. Although my back is turned away from him I still feel his eyes on me, mischief swimming in the dark depths of the pair. 
I stare through the window in front of me, beside the television. Michelle and Dad, completely sodden, are working on the garden, raking out a new patch of soil. Dad has always been a garden fanatic and will take any opportunity to work on our backyard.

"Anyone who sets fire to a school is obviously mature." My reply quiet, I take another large bite out of my apple. 
I can't help but grin a tiny bit when Max laughs softly.

                                               ***

More rain, as predicted, scatters over the old roof and drowns out my thoughts. 
My bedroom seems completely soundless. After a while, the pitter of the heavy droplets fades away to nothing, yet they're still falling heavily. The noise blends in with the quiet air, as if camouflaging itself in silence.
The moon is hidden behind thick cloud which renders me temporarily blind.

I feel senseless, yet too aware of everything to attempt to sleep. 
Whether my midday slumber or the frustration of an unclear mind is responsible, I'm still wide awake. I wonder if this is what it's like to be dead - to feel free, but at the same time confined and unable to process anything. I wonder if this is how my mother felt when she passed away. 

The time to me is unknown at this point, although I know it's at least midnight. It seems like I've been awake for days, but unable to remember anything between them. My brain is telling me to get to sleep immediately if I want to function properly at school tomorrow. 

School. I cringe at the thought. Not only do I have to wake up early in the morning, but I know I'll have to put up with everything thrown at me regularly, once again. And again, and again, and again. 

I sink my face into my fluffy pillow and sigh deeply, muffling the rain. Hurtful laughter replaces the sound, echoing.
Why should it be me? Out of hundreds? Why would anyone want anything to do with the shy, pale faced, Augustine Leffer? 

'Because you stand out. Because they all know your story, and that makes you vulnerable.' My own mind gives the answers. 'They know you're not going to fight back.'

But what if I did?