* * *
The factthat I left without leaving a note or letting her know eats at me the moment I pull out of the garage. She laid herself bare to make me feel better, and she seemed surprised that I didn’t already know how she felt because she assumed I’d already read her notes when I trampled on her life, and yet I left her without a word because I didn’t know what to say.
Traffic is heavy in the city by the time I retrieve the items. It takes twenty minutes just to cross a few blocks. At one point, I seriously consider abandoning the car and hoofing it back to the apartment, because I know it will be much faster, but I finally decide against it when I realize that getting another vehicle would be a fucking headache when this one gets towed.
I enter the code on the lock from memory and hold my breath as I push through the door. What I said about finding her if she left me is true. There is no place she could hide from me. Rex gave me tiny tracking devices to insert into her shoes, which is why they were in the closet and not in her room back home, but there’s still a part of me that worries about her escaping.
A pot clangs on the stove, and I look over to find Max in the kitchen, staring at me. Her eyebrows furrow when she spots the boxes in my arms, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I should have asked if you wanted to come.”
“Was that all still in the car?” she questions.
“No, I had it delivered to a locker. I should have walked, it would have been faster.”
“You would have had to steal a cart from a bag lady to get all that back.” She returns her attention to the stove. Her shoulders and back are stiff, so unlike when she woke up earlier.
“I got you a few things since I didn’t give you time to pack,” I offer. Women like gifts, right?
She turns back around, her eyes narrowed as if she’s suspicious.
“You can order anything else you want.” I should have offered that in the first place, but she was sleeping, and I wanted to make sure she had some of the items as soon as possible.
She makes a grunting sound and stirs something on the stove. That’s not the reaction I was hoping for. There’s a blue box on the counter—Kraft macaroni and cheese. It’s one of the things I picked up because I noticed it in her apartment when I searched through her things. Should I tell her that I bought it because I thought she liked it to show her she isn’t the only one of us who’s obsessed?
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” I admit instead of digging myself in any deeper.
“I understand why you would think I was lying, especially after what I said that day about your nose. I didn’t mean it. I was lashing out because I was mad. I regretted it the moment it came out of my mouth.”
Silence fills the space between us. I know it’s my turn to say something, but I don’t know what to say. Sorry doesn’t feel right, so I peel off a piece of myself and offer her that. “The scars are my fault.” I set the boxes on the counter and step back so I can look at her, even though I don’t want her to see me when I admit this. I’ve never told anyone else, not even Rex. “I didn’t start the fire, but I didn’t try to get out either. I lay on the floor in my bedroom and waited for it to come to me.” I was so willing to die that day, and I would have if Rex hadn’t gotten to me first.
The spoon she was using clangs heavily against the side of the pot, telling me she must have lost her grip on it. She turns around, and it’s almost like she’s moving in slow motion, but I know she’s not.
“I’m not comfortable in my own skin, I just know I don’t deserve to look any other way,” I finish.
Her chest rises when she takes a deep breath and blows it out between parted lips. “Did you ever hurt yourself again?” Her question catches me off guard.
“Not… Not on purpose,” I stammer when I force myself to really think about her inquiry. There have been times, like the night at the club when I smacked my head on the door in frustration. There was no intentional thought to hurt myself, but the pain helped me focus on not careening out of control.
“Will you talk to me if you do?” When I don’t respond quickly enough, she demands, “Promise to tell me.” Her gaze is wild, and I can’t ignore the sheen covering her eyes.
“I promise,” I agree. I would agree to anything for her.
“Okay.” She nods with a single jerk.
“Okay?” Could it be that easy?
“Do you want some mac and cheese?” She spins back around, hissing and shaking her hand when she grabs the spoon that must have gotten hot while sitting in the pot.
“Maybe when you’re done.”
“There’s plenty. What’s in the boxes?”
Relief relaxes my shoulders. I’m happy that conversation seems to be over. “I think you’ll like it.”
MAXINE
As if the tension weren’t thick enough, it gets worse when I leave the bedroom in my new swimsuit and cover-up that Winger bought me. There were four suits in the bag. I chose the one piece with two large cutouts that make it look more like a bikini, but I liked the color and the fact that it actually had some coverage on the bottom. Call me a prude, but thong bathing suits just aren’t my thing.
