AN: I don't own Max Ride.

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::: Chapter 0.5 :: Prologue :: 21 June 2014 :::


if the whole world was blind

how many people would you impress


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"Max, Maya, dinner's in the fridge if you get hungry!"

The front door slams shut and with that, I'm alone in the house with my sister. For now, anyway.

I wait an extra five minutes after the telltale rumble of the pickup fades down the driveway before changing into a tank and basketball shorts. My phone buzzes from my bed and I hastily type a quick reply to the text.

Backlot in ten, k?

I head out from my room, only stopping in front of another one two doors to the left of mine. The white door is slightly ajar, and I walk in without knocking.

She's lying on her bed, book in hand, with her headphones on. She hums a tune without the words but even then I know what the lyrics are-it's their song, even after all the heartache he put her through.

I do know that she knows the words, but the fleeting memories are still tied to every single syllable and they're laced with heartbreak and poison of the sweetest kind. Words to wound and not to kill, but close enough. Enough that I know that they could never make up her throat and out of her mouth.

"Maya?"

She shifts and looks at me, placing the book down on her nightstand. How to Kill a Rockstar. Huh. Fitting.

"I'm going out," I say.

Her mouth quirks into a soft half-smile as she hears the unspoken "To see him."

"Mom's coming back at six," she replies. "You know the drill; cover, lie, wait."

I walk over and hug her, breathing in the familiar lavender shampoo.

"Thanks, Maya."

She pulls away, but keeps one arm around my shoulders. "Take as much time as you want, okay? You've come so far, don't sell yourself short, Max."

I hear the whispered "Unlike me," and squeeze her free hand.

The pain fades, but it never gets better; I'm no stranger. I know the blond boy still haunted her days and nights, no matter how much much she denies it.

I look into identical chocolate eyes and see genuine concern. There's something else in her eyes, something I can't quite decipher, but it's something like understanding, like she knows, with that clear, innocent gaze masking years of traveled roads.

She may be a year younger, but this is one of the many times she's ten years older.

I slip away and take one look back over my shoulder.

"Change the song and put your iPod on full blast."

It's the least I can do.

x /\/\ x

I enter the backlot through the park, weaving my way through trees and overgrown shrubbery, keeping an eye out for hidden boulders until I reach the far right corner of the lot. As I near the drooping willow tree, I spot a black shadow behind the curtain of leaves.

"When did you get back?" I ask, voice low, ignoring his failed attempt for a quick scare.

"Yesterday night," he answers, coming out of the overhanging greenery and facing me. The sun shines behind him, casting shadows over his face and turning his dark hair a burnt copper at the edges. "We're camping out at Dylan's house."

I nod and smile, stepping closer until we're almost touching.

He's the poster boy for a fallen angel, all right. Dark hair, clothes, mysterious eyes swirling with secrets. Sinful smirks that rob me of sleep. Prominent cheekbones, angular jaw.

But this time, he's paler, thinner, and there's something I can't place, but it's definitely wrong. An awkward silence builds around us.

"Max?" He's on edge, unimpressed with the silence.

I jerk my head up to meet his eyes, and then I know.

They're a beautiful dark brown, as expected, but they're slightly blank and glassy; I can't see the gold flecks in them anymore.

I shove him back. Caught off guard, he stumbles, nearly tripping over a root. He growls and steadies himself with the rusty chainlink fence.

"What the fuck, Max?"

I snarl back. "Don't bullshit me, Fang. You've been using."

A pause. We both know it's not a question.

"I'm sorry, Max." He keeps his calm composure, damn him.

I snort, shooting him an incredulous look. Sorry, Max. I said I was sorry, Max. I'm sorry, Max. Funny how often I heard this. Funny how it's become so meaningless in such a short period of time.

"I bet you are," I spit. He senses the danger in my voice and hastily tries to amend his previous statement.

"I mean, I'm not exactly an addict-"

I snap, and somewhere in the world a volcano must have exploded, too.

"What are you, seventeen again, Fang? That's what they all say." I try hard to keep my voice down, but it's becoming increasingly hard. "And look what happens to them. The ones that actually make it to rehab are considered the lucky ones. And are you forgetting that your fucking career is on the line, along with the band's? I swear, Fang, you really need to get your shit together."

He runs his left hand through his hair, disrupting shades of copper. I see the bags under his eyes now. He doesn't say anything.

I heave a sigh and remember Maya's words. Don't sell yourself short.

"When I think everything's gonna be okay, you go and cause a trainwreck. When I think we're gonna be okay, things get fucked up. And when I think I think I'm gonna be okay..." I trail off, as the words choke up in my throat.

He places his hands-both of them-on my shoulder, and I don't draw away. I don't flinch, because there's things to be said and done.

You've come so far. Don't sell yourself out.

"When I think I'm finally okay, you go and make me want you one more time," I finish brokenly. I've heard stories about how letting it all go will make situations better, but I feel even more weighed down than ever.

He runs his hands down my bare shoulders now.

"I'll always want you, Max," he whispers and nuzzles my hair. He grabs my hand and places it over his heart. "You keep this beating," he breathes out, "you make it soar."

Even the most twisted angels are what they are: beautiful. It doesn't matter if they're so broken and flawed; they can drown you in lies coated in honey and you'll still believe them. They could break your heart for kicks and giggles and you'll come crawling back for more.

It's the most fucked up cycle, but it flows like water. We gravitate towards each other, I want to pull away, he wants to hold on and never let go. And somewhere down the road I'm forced to watch as our love goes up in flames. Maya was right. He's a different kind of heartbreak, a different kind of war. The kind of heartbreak you know it'll take an eternity to heal from, even after you move on. He's the kind of war you know you're not gonna come home from, no matter how badly you want to win.

I feel the walls and what little resistance around me crumble and fall. And once again, I'm reminded of how helpless I can be. At times like these, I don't find the invincible Max. But I bet if I could find her now, she'd be disappointed.

He cups my face and kisses me, soft and slow. Sinfully sweet and poisonous, the one true slow killer.

I know I'm past the point of no return. There wasn't anything anyone could do to to save me now. I'm drowning in the ocean, and nobody, not even Maya, can pull me back up to the surface and breathe in the new air before he came around.

He pulls away but I grab him back, not caring about all the nameless, faceless bodies he could pick from when he's away on tour. I want to live in this moment, and I don't care about the consequences that will surely follow.

If I was I good girl, I would walk away and never look back. But his hands slip under my tank and I feel the love, no matter how unstable and fucked up it is, through his callouses.

"Let me love you," he begs, pleads, and I succumb to him.

I nod, and he grabs my hand. I inwardly curse at how perfectly they fit, curse at his existence.

He brings them up to his lips and kisses mine, and I look into his eyes. They've redeemed some of their life, and I smile softly.

Our road leads to destruction, to war, to drunken bar fights, but I trust him. The unsaid words still burn between us, but I push them away into the wilderness. I'll let them incinerate the shrubbery rather than us.

"Come on, Max," he smirks. "Let's get lost."

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I think you'll impress me


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AN: And there you have it. A beginning. I tried.

As much as I hate writing multi-chaptered fics (especially in first person) my friend prompted me and I hate to turn down a challenge.

Wanna drop a review?