“Yes, ma’am,” I say, stunned into obedience.
“Go,” she says to my father. He lets out a huff and walks away, grabbing a napkin from the table and wiping my blood off his hands.
Mom wipes around to me. “What is the matter with you, Maxwell? Do you have a death wish?”
“I have a wish for his death.”
“Don’t say that,” she chides.
“I’m leaving, Mom. Alright? I can’t be in this fucking house.”
“I know, Max. I know.”
“It’s not you. It was never your fault, okay?”
“I know that, too.”
“I love you,” I whisper, pulling up my shirt to mop more blood off my face.
“I love you too, Maxwell.”
Chapter 25
Clayton
It’sbeentwoweekssince I’ve seen Max, but we’ve texted nonstop. That’s what concerns me since I haven’t heard from him in almost a full day. I’m sitting at the dinner table with my parents, telling them stories about work. I decided to get a job as an ER technician to give me a better chance at becoming an ER nurse.
A little in and out of the conversation from checking my phone nonstop, I’m brought back to the current as the doorbell rings.
“Do you have any company coming?” I ask, rising to my feet as I head to the door.
“No. I don’t know who that is,” Dad says.
Moving through the short hall around the staircase from the kitchen, I unlock the door and open it. Max is standing on my parent's porch. A split lip, a bruised cheekbone, a cut over his nose, and a single duffel bag over his shoulder. He looks like hell.
“Oh my god. Max, are you okay? Who did this to you?” I push out, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. I close the door behind him, taking his bag from him.
“My dad and I got into a fight last night. I found the first flight here.”
We move into the living room, me guiding him the entire way as if he isn’t able to move himself. I sat him down on the couch, shoving his bag to the side and sitting beside him.
Mom comes into the living room. “Max. Oh, sweetie, what happened?”
Max sits here and tells us about the night he had. It started with him telling his father about me but it morphed into his lifelong anger to his father along the way.
“I’ve just had so much rage buried inside of me over him. I just wanted to fight him, but I lost,” he says, waving a hand to his face. “It’s fine though,” he laughs. “Really. Looks worse than it is.”
“Bill! Get an ice pack,” Mom yells out to my dad.
A moment later, my dad is out here with a bag of peas. “I couldn’t find an ice pack. What do you-” his words stop short.
I take the frozen peas from my dad and rip off my t-shirt to wrap around it before putting it to the dark purple bruise along his face.
He winces.
“I just want to lay down, please,” he begs, voice soft.
“Of course, Max. You guys go up to Clayton's room,” Mom says. “Let me know if you need anything.”
