He sits at the booth, nervously fiddling with his hands, not knowing where to place them. The camera is lying calmly on the table, making him hot and nauseous.
The fizzy soda isn't making it any better, it's only causing him to feel even more sick than he already is, but he doesn't hesitate with reaching out for it and allowing the cold liquid to fill his mouth again.
He feels the cop's aware eyes that are piercing his back, and it makes him uncomfortable, unsafe.
He knows he's trapped here; no matter where he'll go, he always will be followed.
His fingers begin to tap on the table, leg bouncing, palms sweaty.
Minute or two passes by and his anxiety rises. Tick Tock, Tick-fucking-Tock and they're still not here.
He hides his face in both hands, exhaling tirelessly, trying to turn off his thinking effortlessly. The image flashes in-front-of his eyes and he knows he has to calm down or he'll freak out.
''Nathan?'' He hears, opening his eyes to see a tiny hand resting on the table; a familiar red sleeve.
''Rachel?'' He looks up, but all he sees is her, and he automatically growls, annoyed with himself for being so foolish. ''Whatevathefuck.'' His tone is irritated as he's growing nervous even more than before. Feeling his leg bounce faster, his hand clenches into a fist. ''Oh look, Max Amber. Is that your punk rock girl outfit?''
''Yes, I really did try, thanks," she answers, not touched by his little remark as she settles herself on the opposite side of him, making his eyebrow rise. What could she possibly want from him?
''So, what the fuck do you want?'' He asks harshly, eyeing her coldly. She shifts in her place and sends him a slight smile that ticks him off somehow.
''Your company would be nice," she answers, placing her hand on the table, index finger slightly tapping the surface.
Did she just seriously say that?
''Only 'cause you kept your big mouth shut about me, doesn't make us BFF's now, Max," he says softer, expression relaxing a bit and she smiles again. It annoys him.
He doesn't want her to smile at him, nor look at him with those big, blue eyes that pierce your soul and make you guilty about everything you've ever done. He didn't need that right now.
Especially not right now.
''I know," she nods, looking at her hand. ''I just thought . . . you look kinda lonely.'' She looks up and his jaw clenches, he hates how it came out. It came out as he's weak, alone, powerless, with nobody by his side.
''I'm not like Victoria, I don't need fucking minions that follow my ass everywhere," he scowls, but the brunette still stares right at him which makes him extremely uncomfortable. Making an eye contact with her seems somehow intimate for him, so he looks away, a little embarrassed and confused with himself as the weird emotion overtook him. What is this bullshit?
''I know; you're surely better than that," she exclaims sarcastically like she knows everything about him, his past, his personality, his body language, blah blah.
Wrong. She doesn't know shit.
''Don't fucking analyse me, Caulfield," he spits out rudely, wanting her to just leave and not see him in this condition. He always tried to look prideful in front of people, especially her; but right now, he feels like a wounded animal, unable to protect itself. And it is killing him.
''OK, sorry," she apologises, swallowing with difficulty. He notices her nervousness, he's almost sure she's not comfortable with this meeting either. Then why even bothered to talk to him in the first place?
''Whatever.," he sighs, looking out the window. The silence between them carries on for a minute until the brunette speaks up again.
''So . . . I saw your pictures.'' She's avoiding eye contact as the boy looks up at her, surprised. How the fuck did she get ahold of them? ''They're very . . . unique," she adds quickly enough to make him relax. He was scared for a moment that she'll think of him as a creep.
Well, it's not like he'd care anyway.
''And why's that?'' He asks, mouth slightly opened and she looks at him, biting her own lip teasingly. God, how he loves when she does that. ''Don't you think they're disturbing?''
''Maybe a little. But you've got your own style and a good eye," she answers, looking around, her eyes resting on the TV but quickly move to something else. They look beautifully in the sunlight that comes out the window.
She notices him staring and shots him an asking look; shit. Shit. Shit.
Think. Think. Quick.
''Your selfies aren't that crappy either,'' he sends a hand running through his neatly pushed back hair, feeling his ears becoming hot, swearing in mind for even talking to her. He could just tell her to fuck off, she'd do so after she saw him in the bathroom threatening that blue-haired bitch with a gun then beating the shit out of her little boyfriend, right?
She has to be scared of him. She has to. She has to keep away, know her distance.
''Thanks," she smiles, but he doesn't look, knowing he'll find himself attracted to her freckled face. There is just something off about her; like she knows more than she is telling . . . but he can't talk. He is no better than her.
She is nosey. Weird. Hippy.
But she is beautiful and he can't deny it. She has a good heart, she's brave, caring.
Stop. You have to stop. Shoo her away. Tell her to go before it's too late. Just tell her.
He can't.
He finds her company soothing, he just can't let her go.
He's having a moment of weakness.
And he's hating it.
''I've got a question," she suddenly says, getting a bit closer, putting her both hands on the table. He glances at her briefly before turning to look at the waitress making her way towards some trucker.
''Not sure if I'll answer it, but go on.'' He's massages the side of his neck, tired and tense muscles making her look away, slightly feeling the rush of blood on her cheeks. She finds him attractive, even more than that, so it's hard for her to keep the straight face on.
Her look is a distraction and a weird feeling forming inside of him makes him feel embarrassed for himself. A Prescott being distracted by some hippy-hoe. Fucking ha ha.
But he can't help it. His heart is racing for no clear reason, probably needs to take his meds, or maybe it's something else he doesn't even dare to think of.
His mouth is getting dry, so he takes a sip of his soda and turns to look at the brunette shyly. Shyly. What's wrong with you, are you becoming a delicate fairy?
''Well, it's not really a question. It's more of a . . . request," she says carefully and he watches her with amusement painting over his face.
Did she just fucking dare to ask him a favour? A fucking Prescott? Who does she fucking think she is, eh?
''I mean, I didn't 'bitch-snitch' on you, right? I could, I didn't.''
He laughs.
''Just tell me what you want," he says, tirelessly, massaging his cheek, knowing she's definitely blackmailing him right now. How naïve he was, thinking she just wanted to have a chat with him.
"I want answers.'' The girl looks at him with doe-eyes that he hates and loves at the same time. They always remind him of how innocent and pure she is, while he's the devil, the cruel person without a soul.
''Answers to what? What weather will be like tomorrow?'' He asks mockingly, and she sighs. They both know it's better to drop the subject or it might take the wrong direction.
He knows she's smart. She's nosey, likes to pry. Loves to ask, get all of the answers she needs. She won't back off. She will always get whatever she wants.
He thinks that's why he hates her so much. She's free, doesn't have to solve the mysteries she's solving, but she does anyway. Not because she has to, but she wants to. Unlike him, she is independent. He, however, has to do whatever they tell him. The fucking prick that's daring to call himself a father, and this sicko thinking of this fucking disturbing obsession as a 'profession'.
She is so naïve.
He is an actually surprised that she didn't see him through yet. No; instead she admires him, wants to be like him. Just like Victoria. They both might be smart, but not smart enough.
Hell, if it was him, he would of seen who he truly is right away.
A bastard.
''OK, so this is getting nowhere, then," she sighs, placing her hands back at her thighs, and he knows she's about to leave. He reaches out and she moves back like he was just about to burn her and he looks at her weirdly, slowly backing his hand away.
''I was just getting my soda, dumbass," he says, irritated. It was pretty funny though. And somehow not. It was opposite of funny. She is supposed to be scared of the Prescotts, but does he really want her to be scared? No. Not at all.
''It's weird to entrust you after you tried to choke me on that parking lot," she says, somehow amused, chuckling without humour and a shot of guilt washes over him, remembering his uncontrolled behaviour.
''I–'' He doesn't have an excuse. He did what he did.
''You said yourself that you love to watch the chicks fight. And I'm sorry about your face. I must of misunderstood you," she says confidently and he laughs, amused with the unexpected amount of humour in her.
He remembers sitting at her desk, saying how he'd love to see her and Victoria fight, bringing the claws out . . . And there he was, with four scratch marks on his cheek, made by no one else but her.
''But, I have to get going now," she says, getting up and then he unexpectedly raises his voice.
''Stay.''
She stares at him, raising her eyebrow; not in a rude way, but a surprise.
She thinks she misheard him, and she looks around nervously, but then he repeats it.
''Stay . . . " This time it's quieter and her lip moves, like about to say something, but no sound comes out of it.
She doesn't know what to do, is he making fun of her? Or is he serious?
He isn't too certain either. He doesn't know what's gotten into him. He knows he can't become friends with her, she's too nosey and she'd find out sooner or later, and she'd hate him, she'd hurt him even more than he already is.
He'd never meant to hurt her. And he didn't get why she kept everything to herself. She could easily get his ass suspended. Ruin his reputation or whatever. She could do so much, yet she did not.
The looks she gave him sometime, were the looks of pity, and it pissed him off, because people were supposed to look with fear when looking at him. Not a fucking pity.
This girl is fucked up. She saw him through.
Yet he couldn't stop feeling attracted to her.
Why? She is ugly.
No, she isn't. She's beautiful. But Victoria is as well, and he doesn't feel that way towards her. Then why the hell does he all of the sudden felt so weird around that hippy girl?
There's nothing special about her. Well, not at first sight. Then you get to know her. And then you want to become a part of her life, badly, because yours is worthless.
''Whateverthefuckever, just go," he says, not meaning it, looking away, feeling his eyes sting, and mouth go dry; stomach turning in weird emotion, chest tightening, mind exploding.
It was impossible to think and act clear. No wonder he said something stupid like that.
''No, that's . . . that's alright," she suddenly says, slightly stuttering, obviously shocked. She reaches to touch his arm but she moves it back and awkwardly links her fingers together, mixed emotions written over her face. He knows she doesn't know what to say either.
''I'll stay with you. Whenever you need me, OK?'' She says softly, her voice soothing, it's like a cure for his broken heart and he feels like he's choking on air, like it's all a dream and he's about to wake up, drenched in sweat, having a daily epileptic episode or worse.
She's ending up touching his arm, the sudden contact making him shudder, nearly gasp with something he cannot explain. Excitement, surprise, shock, what is it? He can't find the right word.
He's speechless, his expression probably giving him away, because the corners of her lips are lifting themselves up, sending him a wide smile.
A smile he doesn't deserve, but really needs.
''We'll get through this together," she adds quietly, stroking his hair like a caring mother and he can't hold back anymore, letting a sob out.
Embarrassed with himself, he hides his face in hands, and she kneels, gently and unsurely wiping the tears away from his soft skin.
He doesn't know if she's lying just to get some info from him or whatever she needs, but he doesn't even care at the moment. He's just so touched with her action that he's not being able to speak.
But he knows, that after all, Maxine Caulfield isn't that bad at all.