Just Breathe
2AM, Max and OC's Pad
Half asleep, Max realized something was buzzing. When did I fall asleep? After a second or two of more buzzing it clicked that her pager must be going off. Max rolled over on the bed and grasped the small vibrating beast in her hand. It was Logan, something was probally up. Max glanced over at the glowing red digits on the alarm clock quickly registering the time. Why is he calling me this late? Is something wrong? What's gone sideways this time?
Max grabbed a discarded sweater off a chair, and slipped on some shoes. She made it down to street level at a normal pace. Something about blurring to the phone just didn't seem right. Max punched in the familar set of digits and waited for the ring to be answered. What is wrong with me?
Slightly after 2AM, Logan's Fogle Towers Penthouse
Logan sat staring past his computer screens, hoping and trying to not keep glancing at the phone every five seconds. His hands went idly to the rims of his wheel chair. And absently mindedly Logan began to lazily rock himself back and forth. Come on Max answer the page. Seconds ticked by with the speed of hours. Maybe she's mad or something? Or maybe she'll be mad when she finds out why you called her Cale. It was silly, worrying. Logan pushed back from the desk and turned towards the kitchen. Just then the sleeping beast brayed out loudly.
Logan caught a sensation of suprise before it left his throat, and grabbed up the phone. He let it ring two more times in his hands before hitting the blinking call button.
"Hey, it's me hitting you back" her voice filtered through the lines of electronic communication.
"Hey Max. We need to talk about earlier" Logan let the words go on auto-pilot.
"There's nothing to talk about Logan," Max answered with another well rehersed line. What is that sound in her voice?
"Max" Logan tried to show concern. Then it clicked and he stepped out on a limb, "Max you've been sleeping. You can't tell me it's nothing. I know better"
"Logan, I -" Max was faltering. "I, I gotta go"
He barely caught her before she hung up the phone, "Just stop by later. I'll even whip you up one of those culinary miracles you're so fond of"
"I'll think about it." a vaugue promise escaped just before the phone clicked and the line went silent.
Slightly after 2AM, Street Level Outside of Max and OC's Pad
When she hung up the phone, the shaking began. "Shit" Max exclaimed to no one in particular. The seizures and the associated Tryptophan were a rather normal part of Max's otherwise abnormal life. Max bumped into the door on her way back into the apartment building. She made her way up the steps at a near crawl. It was the only speed that felt safe as her bodily convulsions steadily and rapidly worsened. Crap. Crap. Crap. After a near eternity Max reached her own apartment door. Just a little further. Max dragged herself past the kitchen towards the bathroom and those lifesaving pills. Milk wouldn't cut it this time, the spasms were already too intense.
At the bathroom medicine cabinet Max grasped at the bottle of pills barely capturing it with her badly shaking hand. Why did sleep come before seizure? This isn't right. She struggled to open the cap and get a set of pills from bottle to mouth. Isn't right. Max sat shaking on the bathroom floor waiting for the pills to do their job. What's wrong with me?