Hurtful Words

It was a strange feeling having Max sitting on the floor of my room again after all that time, but it wasn’t necessarily unwanted. It was well after nine at night but Max had no intention of leaving. “Remember that thing he could do with his tongue? That twisty thing, remember?” Max asked, sticking his tongue out and trying to do it for himself. I gave a soft laugh. We had been doing this for most of the night, passing our memories of Dane back and forth. I leant my head back against the wall looking down at Max from where I was sitting on my bed. “Oh, he loved you, though,” Max said, pointing his finger at me a couple of times, “I remember this one time when we were going to the strip and you,” he pointed his finger at me once more, “you wanted to come with us so bad. You were like, I don’t know, fourteen or something.” I bit down on my lip gently. Max kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye to make sure what he was saying wasn’t upsetting me. I nodded for him to keep going. “So, it was like ten o’clock at night and your mom was in the kitchen. Me and Dane ha-,”
“Dane and I,” I corrected, out of habit more than anything. Max gave me a lopsided smile.
“Right, Dane and I had to sneak out of your bedroom window. I was almost half way out when you grabbed my hand. And I turned around to look at you and you tugged on my shirt. You said something like,” Max began to shake his head slowly trying to remember what it was I said, “’Don’t let him go, Max. He’s going to get himself in trouble, don’t let him go.’” I nodded, though I didn’t really remember. “And as soon as Dane heard that, that was it. We couldn’t go. He just couldn’t leave you behind. We sat in this room all night playing that stupid board game you had.” I laughed, the memory of that night flooding back to me, my eyes bleary with tears.
“I remember,” I said softly.
“Yeah?” Max asked, looking up at me sadly.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You know,” he began to say as I laid down on my bed, bringing my knees to my chest, “I used to come visit you. Even after you were gone.” I raised my eyebrows at him and he nodded in reply. “Yeah, well, your window is the only one you can climb through. It was already open so, I…,” he trailed off, running a hand over his face. I realized that was the reason my bedroom window was left open when I first got home. “I don’t mind, Max,” I sighed, reaching out and grabbing his hand, “really.” I’m not sure how much longer we spoke for but the familiar, growling of Max’s voice had eventually put me to sleep. And when I woke up, he was gone.

I stretched my arms above my head, my limbs aching. The sun was pouring through my window, warming my face, the glare causing my eyes to water. I lay in bed for a moment more before I realized I had probably overslept and was late for work. I sat bolt upright, causing my head to spin and my vision to blur. I groaned loudly, pressing a hand to my clammy forehead. I slowly climbed out of bed, slipping into an old sweatshirt, and wandered downstairs. I could hear the clinking of glassware and followed the sound to the kitchen. “There you are, sweetheart,” my mother beamed, bustling past me to get to the oven, “I came in to see you last night but you were asleep.” I smiled as I noticed my mother was wearing her red silk night dress, her dark hair sticking up in wild directions, her long, slender legs visible from the knees down. Her glowing complexion suggested she had gotten a good night sleep, probably the first in a while. “Morning,” I mumbled, sitting on the tall wooden stool behind the island counter, “how did your date go?” My mother tried to hide her smile.
“Oh,” she replied nocholantly, “it was okay.”
“Just okay?” I asked, smirking at her. She began searching through the refrigerator frantically to hide the blush that had crept up her face. “Oooh,” I teased, “so, it was a little better than okay.”
She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” she asked.
“Oh,” I sighed, looking up at the clock.
“Are you feeling okay, Lindsey? You’re looking a little pale,” my mother informed me, setting down the cake she had baked and walking over to me, pressing her hand to my forehead. I was going to mention that almost everyone looked pale in comparison to her, but decided against it. “I’m fine, Mom,” I answered, pushing her hand away, “I think I might call the clinic, though.” My mother nodded, turning back to her baking. I grabbed the cordless phone and wandered into the entranceway, sitting on the stairs as I dialled the number of the clinic. An older woman who worked there, who I was yet to learn the name of, answered. I explained how I was feeling unwell but I might be able to come in later that day. The woman insisted I take the day off and hung up the phone. I let out a sigh, tying my hair back off my face. "Mom?" I called out to her, only to get a loud clattering of pots and pans in response, "Mom, I'm just going to have a quick shower." My Mom always hated not knowing where you were in the house. If you were to go upstairs to your room, she wanted to know. If you were in the downstairs lounge, she wanted to know. It was almost as if she were always keeping my brother and I in check. Like a lioness protecting her cubs, my mother wanted to know where you lay in her den.

I went back up the stairs and opened the door to my bedroom, almost jumping through the roof in surprise when I saw Max lying on my bed with his hands behind his head. He laughed at me, sitting up a little straighter. I scowled, marching across the room, and pulled my bedroom window closed. “Miss me?” he asked smugly as I went to my closet in search of something clean to wear. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you know that right?” I snapped, throwing a dirty t-shirt at him. He laughed again.
“I didn’t mean to,” he replied honestly.
“What are you doing here, anyway? You can’t just break into someone’s house like this,” I argued, searching through open drawers.
“Why not?” Max answered, sounding indignant, “I always used too.” I simply rolled my eyes, grabbing the clothes I had found and headed toward the door, Max following closely.
“Max,” I sighed, slightly annoyed, “I’m going in the shower, and I really would prefer it if you didn’t come with me.” He gave me a sheepish smile but obeyed, sitting on the edge of my bed.

When I returned from the bathroom, he was still there. A part of me hoped I had taken so long in the shower that he would’ve gotten bored and left while another never wanted him to leave.
“Damn, Lindsey,” he said as I entered the room, “you really grew up.” I groaned at his comment, throwing my dirty washing in the hamper. I could feel Max’s eyes on me, looking me up and down, and, for reasons unknown to me, I couldn’t help but blush like mad. “Would you stop that?” I asked causing him to break out of his stare. He shook his head quickly before looking up at me again. “So,” he began to say, “what are we doing today?” I looked at him in disbelief.
“Nothing,” I replied, “you might be going to work, if you have a job, that is, otherwise you’re going home.” He looked slightly disappointed.
“But,” he replied, looking up at me earnestly, “I am home.”

I couldn’t get rid of him, no matter how hard I tried, and he ended up following me downstairs to the kitchen where he took my place on the stool. “G’morning Mrs. Paige,” Max greeted my mother. She jumped at the sound of his voice, but didn’t look entirely surprised to see him there. “Even after all these years,” my mother muttered, shaking her head, “I still can’t manage to kick you out of this house.” Max grinned in reply while I poured myself a glass of orange juice.
“What are you doing here this early?” my mother asked him, slipping a second tray of cookies into the oven. I’m not sure what it was that sent my mother into one of her baking frenzies but once she started there was really no way of stopping her. I was about to mention that ten o’clock in the morning really wasn’t that early but Max interrupted me. “I’m just here to pick Lindsey up,” he replied, reaching across the counter and grabbing one of the cookies my mother had left out to cool. “What?” I spluttered, almost having choked on the juice I was drinking. My mother didn’t notice.
“Oh, really?” she asked feigning interest. I narrowed my eyes at Max who simply smiled smugly in return. He shot me a look, provoking me to answer. I glowered at him a second longer before replying.
“Yeah,” I said, “actually, I was just telling Max how I haven’t been feeling well and he’s offered to drive me to the clinic.” I gave a contented smile as I noticed Max’s jaw drop from the corner of my eye.
“I’m what?” he asked in disbelief, looking between my mother and I, helpless.
“I told him I’d be fine, but he insisted,” I said, smiling sweetly at my mother. Max glared at me.
“Actually, I-,” he began to argue, pulling a face. I elbowed him in the ribs to quiet him and he let out a small growl. “Oh right,” he mumbled, rubbing his side tenderly, “the clinic.” I’m not sure my mother believed us but I wasn’t about to give her the chance to ask any more questions.
“Just let me grab my bag and we can go,” I told Max. I head him say a quick goodbye to my Mom before following me into the entranceway, still complaining about where I’d elbowed him. I grabbed my bag and opened the front door, calling out to my mother to let her know we were leaving.

I smiled to myself when I saw Max’s dirty, old car at the end of my drive. The same car he had owned the day he finished high school. “Nice ride,” I joked, following him to the curb. He scowled at me as I climbed into the passenger’s seat. “So,” he began to say as he got in the car, “we’re not really going to the clinic, are we?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “yeah, we are.” Max let out a deep groan as he pulled away from my house.
“You know, when I asked you if you wanted to hang out today,” he said, “this isn’t what I meant.”