Jeb was gone. Thank god. Probably away for some 'business' trip again. I quickly ran to my room, wiping the blood from my feet off on a towel placed in the bathroom. Now was a time to think. A time to look over my actions. He knew. Nick knew. The scars.

I shuddered slightly, feeling the sensation of nervousness boil inside me. He wouldn't tell, would he? Oh please, I thought. He's probably sent a text to each and every one of the jocks and populars in the school. Imagining the ringing of each and every phone in the entire building made me shiver.

Looking out through my window, I noticed the drying and crumbling leaves fallen on the browning grass. It was winter. The season Mom died. I felt a cool sensation arise from my cheek, the slow and agonizing dripping of the tear slowly falling down my face. I wiped it away furiously, knowing that crying wouldn't help.

But it was too late. I let my emotions take over. The anger and hurt was speaking for me. Running to the bathroom, blade in hand. I stared up at the mirror noticing the stained cheeks and blood red eyes.

I glanced down at a small patch of skin on my wrist, ignoring the common sense in my brain telling me not to do it. Pressing the blade roughly on my wrist, I saw the thick liquid pour from the incision, rushing down my hand and falling down the sink from the tip of my finger.

Red, red, and red. My lower arm was covered in the color. Blood spreading around the cut, pooling the warm substance around the opening. Wincing, I quickly turned on the water, relishing the stinging of the liquid rushing into my wound. Max you stupid idiot.

And then pounding. The sound, I mean. It was coming from my room.

I picked up a notepad and a sharpie writing down what my words could've said for me. Hello?

Then I saw him. Leaning against my window. His ruffled black hair swaying in the winter breeze. I glared at him, mentally cursing. He turned and faced me, eyes pleading me to open the window for him. So I did only the harshest thing possible. I covered the windows with my lacy black curtains, blocking out Nick and his stupid shenanigans.

"Come on Max! Please! Just...let me in! I'm freezing!" I smirked at him, pleased. I grabbed a small slip of notebook paper and wrote down my response to his plea. Good.

"Real mature Max!" Looking at the thermometer placed outside my window, a small bubble of concern blew up in my stomach. 14 degrees. I sighed and unlatched the window handle, opening it.

The room was automatically enveloped in an awkward silence and I could swear I heard crickets chirping. "Max..." he said slowly, pointing to my arm. I glared at him, angry that he would dare ask about the scars again.

My fingers curled around the rings of my notepad, writing furiously, my response. 'None of your buisness Walker. Since when do you care? You and your merry gang of idiots made my life a living hell for...how many years again?'

"Talk." he said. I cocked my head to the side, confused at his command.

"Talk to me. I want to hear you, not read a small slip of paper." He continued. By now, my vision was a deep shade of crimson. How dare he think that he has the right to tell me to talk after everything he's done to me. I shook my head vigorously, hearing a small sigh erupt from the shadow beside me.

"Why? Why don't you speak?" I heard his voice start to rise, apparently frustrated from my resistance. I put the black cap of the sharpie on the tip of the marker and wrote down a different question, wanting to change the subject quickly.

'How did you get here?' I wrote, still curious of how he knew my address.

"Ever heard of a school directory?" A cocky smile plastered itself on his face, my lips still a straight line.

'Get out.' I wrote, wondering why I didn't write that on the first note.

"No. I want you to tell me what's that from." Again with this?

'You really want to know?' I scribbled down.

"Yes." He said sternly, probably thinking I'm gonna tell him. Pshh, Yeah right. Get real.

'None of your goddamn business! Now get OUT!' His eyes searched mine, making me feel very uncomfortable sitting down on the soft cotton sheets of my bed.

"I will find out Ride. And I will hear you talk." He stated, sure of himself that he could do it. But that, my friends, would be impossible. Especially for him.

'Good Luck' I wrote down, wanting to curse him out for the past 10 minutes. Glancing nervously at the watch above my wooden desk, I saw the handles frozen, not working.

"Well, I know you're probably just begging me to stay but...I must go." He looked up at me, voice dripping with sarcasm. I rolled my eyes and wrote down the last note of the night.

'Yay' His big grin slowly faded as I saw his eyes glance over the newly written note.

"Goodbye, Maximum." I glared at him, his hands reaching for the handles to the window. And just like that, his tall figure flew down the tree, landing on the crisp white snow. Goodbye Nick.