My Apocalypse

Living with Max wasn't as bad as I expected. He was always drinking or watching TV. So in a way, it did kind of feel like I was living alone but I just had a constant visitor whenever I ventured downstairs.

"Ashley!" Max called from downstairs. Speak of the devil.

"Yeah?" I called back as I hurried downstairs. I walked into the living room to be greeted by a very drunk Max. He stumbled off the couch, landing in my arms. I struggled to hold him up. He wasn't heavy, I was just weak.

"I'm s-so happy you moved in with me," he stuttered.

I rolled my eyes, dragging him back to the couch. "You're drunk," That was an understatement. He was oblivorated drunk.

"Drink with me."

"Max, I can't. I'm only eighteen, you'd end up in jail."

"No o-one is gonna find out," Max passed me a beer off the floor. "C'mon, Craig isn't here. Loosen up, Ash."

I still made no effort to take the beer. I had never had a drop of alcohol in my life, I swore not to as a child seeing how it would make Craig act. He started drinking younger than eighteen, he was sixteen when he had his first beer. I was just so scared of becoming an alcoholic.

"C'mon," Max persisted. "You chicken?"

I sighed in annoyance, taking the beer from Max's hand. I opened the tab and took a swig out of the can. I heard Max cheer as I sat the can down on the coffee table. "There. Are you happy?"

"Well, no, you're supposed to drink the whole thing." Max took a swig from his can.

I finished one can, then Max handed me another, and another. I was drunk after my third, but Max kept talking me into drinking more. I knew it was a bad decision, but I felt so good. Not a care in the world, no pain, nothing. Just happiness.

After my seventh––and god only knows how many beers Max had––Max and I were sprawled on the couch together, watching some weird kids show. There were a bunch of colors, flashing lights, it was so beautiful. My legs were draped across Max's lap. He would occasionally run his hand up my leg, but no further than my knee.

My eighth beer came with me falling off the couch, and Max landing on top of me. I laughed harder than I should have, but was silenced when I saw Max's face getting closer to mine. Too close. His lips were just inches away from mine when I finally closed the gap. He pressed his lips to mine, hungrily. He wrapped his fingers in my hair as he kissed me deeper.

I knew it was wrong... way, way wrong. But me being in my drunken stupor, I did nothing to stop it.

His tongue traced my bottom lip, begging for permission. I parted my lips, letting him gain entrance. In the midst of the kiss, he had somehow slithered in between my legs, grinding his clothed hips against mine.

I broke the kiss only to take his shirt off, my hands traced down his arms, admiring his tattoos. I've seen them many times before, but not like this. They were so vibrant. His hands found their way up my shirt, pulling it up over my head. His lips attached to my neck, his hips grinded against me roughly.

His hands moved to my shorts, fumbling with the button. Max finally managed to unbutton my shorts, his hand automatically dove in them. I jumped and pushed Max away. "Wait, wait!"

"What's wrong?" Max's hand retreated.

"I-I'm with Ronnie," I crossed my arms in an attempt to cover myself. I think I was finally beginning to sober up. My head was poundingand so was my heart.

Max inched closer to me, kissing my neck. "I won't tell if you don't," he growled.

"No, get off me," I pushed him back off of me, crawling out from underneath him. I ran upstairs and into my room, slamming the door behind me. I locked the door and changed into my pajamas. I fell back onto my bed, sighing. "Oh fuck,"

I can't tell Ronnie, but I can't hide it from him either. Either way he would be so hurt. Do I tell him? Why would Max do this? Why did I let it happen?

I can't tell if I'm more mad at myself, or at Maxwell. More myself, I let it happen. I was the one who drank. But, Max knew I was with Ronnie. Max knew I had never drank before. Fuck.

***

I awoke the next morning with the most horrible headache I've had in my entire life. My head was pounding so hard I thought my brain was going to crack my skull open. The noises downstairs didn't help either. The TV was turned up and people were laughing and talking.

I reluctantly crawled out of bed, leaving the blankets on the hardwood floor. I shed out of my pajamas, putting on a new outfit. I grabbed a pair of sunglasses and went downstairs, ignoring Max's attempt to talk to me. Rob was on the couch, looking at us awkwardly.

"I might be back," I announced as I slammed the front door.

The walk to Ronnie's was easier than I thought. The sunglasses helped with the headache, but the heat was awful. Not as awful as telling Ronnie. I finally arrived, knocking on the door. Ronnie greeted me, letting me inside.

"What's up, babe?" Ronnie kissed my cheek.

I sighed, sitting down on the couch. "Look, I don't know how to say this so I'm just going to come right out in say it."

"Okay?" Ronnie sat across from me in the chair.

"Max got me drunk last night, well, he offered me the beer but he talked me into it so I got drunk, but Max was drunk too. But then I had too much and we fell off the couch and... well... we made out." Smooth, Ashley. Real smooth.

Ronnie didn't look at me. He just stared at the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Ronnie. If I were sober I would have never let it happen, and I know that is such a shitty fucking excuse, but I am so sorry."

"I––" Ronnie finally looked up, he pressed his lips together. "I-I'm not really mad at you. I'm more mad at Max for taking advantage of you like that."

"But it's my fault too, Ronnie. I was the one who got drunk."

"That's not it!" he stood up, pushing the coffee table over. I flinched at the loud crash it made as everything on top of it shattered on the floor. "He knows! He knows you're with me, and he fucking took advantage of you."

"Ronnie calm down,"

"How am I supposed to calm down? For fucks sake we finally patched shit up and then he pulls this shit! Goddamnit!" Ronnie sat down angrily, burying his head in his palms. I got off the couch, crawling over to him. I hugged him tightly. He ran his hand across my back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to flip out like that. I don't usually get that... upset."

"I understand," I have never seen Ronnie like this, and I never want to again.

"You hang out here, I just––I gotta go for a drive, it'll calm me down." I let go of Ronnie, letting him get up. He grabbed his keys from the end table next to the door. "I love you."

"I love you too," I meant it. With all my being. I really meant it. How could I have let his happen? Why was I so stupid?

I heard Ronnie's car speed away as I was cleaning up the broken glass on the floor. Hours passed and I decided to do something to pass the time. I cleaned everything while Ronnie was gone. I was even about to do a load of his laundry when my cell phone rang.

"Hello?" I propped the phone up on my shoulder, picking up the laundry on Ronnie's floor.

"Ashley? You gotta get over here!" Craig yelled on the phone.

"Craig? Where are you? What's wrong?"

"I'm at the hospital, you gotta come quick."

I dropped everything, running downstairs. "Why? What happened? Craig, talk to me!"

"Max is here, he's not doing so good. Someone beat the living shit out of him. Please, just get here."

"I'm on my way,"

I had a really bad feeling about this.