Chimney Swift
i am confusion
-
-
basics
-
-
tags
-
TL;DR
Max finally agrees to stop hiding in his room.
Speaking of his room, boy needs to do some serious cleaning.
-
tl;dr
Max Berkowitz
We accept the love we think we deserve.
Max rolled his eyes, but let Chance take his phone once his accounts were back up, slowly passing it over with a reluctant hand. Max's friends were all pretty used to having to confiscate his phone from time to time, but now that he hadn't touched it for three weeks, it felt a little odd for Max to already be handing it over. Chance was right, though: Twitter probably wasn't a good idea when they were both still trying to figure out how to deal with everything they were learning about themselves.
"Okay Maximus, I don't think that trying to reestablish yourself through social media is going to help. Let's go to the stupid college fair, I think seeing your friends in person would be a better method."
Max was already fumbling for an excuse to stay in his room.
Just about everyone was supposed to be at the college fair. Didn't some high school classes give extra credit if you showed up for it? Either way, it was popular-- and this would be the first time Max set foot in public in almost a month. There were going to be questions: questions he didn't think he was ready to answer.
He was terrified of what everyone would say. He didn't know how many people knew what had happened. He didn't feel ready to face everyone, and on top of that, he'd been dreading this whole day since before anything even happened.
After all, Max was never going to get into college; not with his current GPA and class credit. Maybe community college, best case scenario. And if he was fortunate enough to get in, why should he expect to do anything but fail and disappoint just like he was now?
His friends never stopped telling him how smart he was supposed to be, but Max hadn't felt smart since before sixth grade. He was disorganized and forgetful, and distractable, and lazy, and... stupid. Even Isa always called him an idiot, mostly as a term of endearment, but it was true, wasn't it?
Max only ever caused problems. He really was an idiot.
"Are you sure that..." Max could barely form words. He was already being pelted by his own thoughts.
They don't want to see you. They know what you did.
Jenelle,
Mariah,
Lemon,
Zach,
Isa,
Harper...
If any of them were still hurt by what he did, he didn't know what he was going to say. Especially Jenelle... in all the stress over kissing Chance, he could barely bring himself to cope with what happened between them.
Before any of that, she kissed him first. He had... why would she even do that? There was no way she actually...
And if she did...
Max needed to apologize. There was no one he'd hurt more than her, running away like that and then not speaking to her in nearly a month. He didn't know where to start.
He just had to pray they wouldn't run into each other until he figured out how to even begin to make up for the pain he caused her.
But if Chance wanted to go, Max couldn't bear the thought of making Chance go alone. This wasn't just his situation: it was both of them, and they were both trying to figure things out as they went. They were doing this together. Whatever the other needed, they'd be there for each other.
And besides, after everything, was he really going to be able to pass up the opportunity to spend a little more time with Chance?
"...I mean yeah, sure, let's go." He pushed a smile, trying and failing to push down the instant urge to grimace.
If Max had been thinking about it, he would've asked to change into something that didn't make him look like he was the poster child for teenage depression, but no such luck.
He started looking around his room for his shoes, immediately getting a surge of anxiety over the state the room was in: it looked as though an abandoned attic and a greenhouse were smashed together in a hurricane. Books and papers were strewn over every surface, his bed was unmade, things were toppling off of his shelves and shoved into corners, there was an empty water glass left out on his desk, laundry hastily shoved under his bed, the drawers of his desk overstuffed and unable to close properly. And of course, his beloved houseplants were there, all somehow carefully laid out and tended to, juxtaposing the mess.
Somehow, this whole time that he'd been in a place so dark that he was unable to bring himself to talk to anyone, he'd found the time to tend to his plants. He'd sooner die than let one of his plants wither.
Finding a pair of shoes in this hellscape of a room was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. He didn't dare look back at Chance and ask for help. This was too cripplingly embarrassing. It was a pair of fucking shoes, it shouldn't be this hard to find in his own room...
After three minutes of frantic searching, Max finally found his shoes under a pile of folded jackets. "Aha! Got it!" He cheered out loud, holding them up triumphantly and grinning before instantly fizzling out and shrinking back into embarrassment. "Okay. Ready to go. Sorry about... all that." Max gestured apologetically to their dusty and cluttered surroundings. "I'll get around to cleaning up in here at some point."
Max had been saying that for months now.
"Whose car are we taking?" Max asked, desperate to break the stillness. "I mean, technically I'm not supposed to, uh... right now..." his hand shook and quickly started a new sentence before he found himself trapped explaining the limits he was under. His parents had been stricter with him ever since the party, but... well, it wasn't entirely about the party. There had been things that he said to them, that...
It didn't matter. It was over, mostly. And now that he was out doing things again, they'd calm down soon and things would just shift back to normal.
If he acted like everything was fine, maybe everything would be.
Just like always.
Without thinking about it, his hand brushed up the side of his waist, fingers resting for a moment where Chance had held him. "You know, we could probably walk, if you want. It's not that far, right? And you and I could..." His two hands mirrored each other in slow motion, trying to form a verb that wasn't the one his brain jumped to instinctively. "...talk."
code by valen t.
Last edited: