The old ironic taste stayed on his tongue. The same old lingering taste. Stayed for two years and even longer. The fact is that he wanted him back. He missed him. He missed the drunken mistakes and highs. He's just been alone. Hidden from the rest of the world. He hasn't seen his brother since '06 and now it's 2014 and he's sitting alone in an apartment with a lone mattress. He finally got his money but he's not even going to spend it. It's just been darkness for him. For Ronnie.
Because of Max.
Ronnie was crumbling from the inside out, telling himself that he's fine. He's not. He couldn't tell whether it was buried hate or current lust but his feelings were contradicted. The fact is that he knows he's gone. He's nothing anymore. No one actually gives a shit about Ronnie Radke. He doesn't know Max does though. Max is just sitting in his own empty apartment just small hours away from where Ronnie lay. Max's high is still current, and that's why he's gotten kicked from his bands.
Max rolled over, the past smoke clung to his lungs sending burnt signals to his eyes. He tumbled off his mattress his hands searching for something to help him up. Clinging onto the lamp post he stood, blundering towards his excuse of a kitchen grabbing a bottle of vodka and taking a gulp as breakfast.
Thoughts clouded his blurred mind as he slid down the wall. Max ran his fingers through his grease-filled hair, un-clumping strands. The bottle slipped from his grip, the glass shattering on the tiled floor. "Fuck" Max groaned as he pushed his foot into the shards in disturbance.
Before his eyelids shut once again, a knock sounded on his door. He could barely move, he crawled to the door using the doorknob to pull himself up, he opened the door. A look of astonishment crossed his face.
"Uh. Hey Maxie." Ronnie said, putting his shoulder on the intoxicated boy.
"What are YOU doing here?" Max stuttered, trying to pick a piece of glass out of his foot but falling over on the ground.
Ronnie took it upon himself to walk in, and help him. He leaned down and collect shards of glass out of his now bleeding foot. "Do you have bandaids anywhere?" Ronnie asked, going through his cupboards like he owned the place. All he found was prescriptions, lighters, and empty bottles.
"No." Max finally spoke after a while. Ronnie shrugged and sat down on the floor by him.
"How do you live like this?" Ronnie asked.
"Like what? I'm still how I was almost seven years ago, Ronnie. I'm still here. I'm still doing everything. Fuck rehab. I'm having fun. I'm having fun alone. I'm having a great time never saying a word to anyone or seeing anyone's face. The best time ever." He exclaimed, but Max was choking up towards the end. The tears pooled and over-flowed.
Ronnie didn't know what to do. He's been sober. But craving again. But he needed to be here for him. Though he hasn't for years. He did all he could do. And that was pull him in his arms. They stayed like that for a while.
It's like the old days.
But only one person was fighting addiction.
And lost.