One-shot Title:
If I Only Could... I'd Be Runnin' Up That Hill
Characters:
Mike Wheeler, Eleven Hopper, Max Mayfield, LucasS inclair, Jim Hopper/Lumax
Alternate Summary:
Max had finally been set free from her prison.
But at what cost?
Life depended on the existence of oxygen.
Humans, animals, insects, any living organism needed to be able to breathe in order to function. Surviving without it was like trying to use a radio with a drained battery. It would die before the speaker could finish inputting their call sign, sooner rather than later.
Air may have been essential to living, but it was also too demanding. Active, turning every corner without a decrease in speed or pause. Like riding a speeding bull and having to hold on for every nonstop, stomach flipping twist. Surviving without breathing was a sanguine concept in theory, but pure fiction when put to the test. The body would fail by fatigue, just as it would cease to exist without air.
There was a fine balance of both, and Max was still finding hers.
She thrived in the still vacuum just as much as she did in the zestful world of the living. And yet, when the ride transcended into a rhythm she couldn't handle, she would hold in her breath. Only seconds of deprived air, and she was enveloped into the cool, tranquil waves of the sea. She would drown if she didn't reach the surface soon. Still, she always risked another second to relish in the quiet, if not to replenish her flickering spirit. The sensation was all that mattered, not how she was rendered there.
Something was wrong, though, because she didn't emerge from the stifling abyss with ease like with her other jaunts. Something - no, someone - kept her from reaching the surface.
Max wheezed against the vice-like pressure around her neck, her fingers clawing at the offending hand. They scraped at the thick, brawny muscle, but her lack of oxygen only persisted, darkening her fuzzy sight. She had almost succumbed to her fatigue until the painful grip vanished, releasing her from the chains.
Air rushed into her lungs, the power of its punch forcing her onto her knees in a violent burst. Coughing only sharpened the burning ache, although it was short lived, easing into a steady flow of gasps. With a hand at the flushed underside of her jaw, she lifted her head to the light.
The longer Max pursued her scan, the quicker the foggy vignette faded from her gaze. Soon, the spots in her vision were gone, and she could see her mother's somber gaze. Its gleam was warm, oozing of a devotion she hadn't seen since her father left. The kind that would have won her over in heartbeat years ago, when she was still a naïve little girl. But she was older, smart enough to see the truth through its charade.
She was better for it, because she wouldn't have had half the strength it took to acknowledge the steaming barrel aimed at the floor. Or rather, the trail it had pointed to, leading right to the fallen mass of Camel cigarettes and Jack Daniel's whiskey.
"Fuck… You finally got some balls..."
Max rose from her slump, teetering back against the wall and far away from Neil. Despite herself, she couldn't hide from him, or the bitter shudder surging through her nerves. She took it all in, but her eyes kept circling back to the hole in his chest, guarded by a ring of red growing with each passing second.
Claustrophobia wasn't her greatest fear and yet she had the urge to shrink where she stood. His booming, choked laughter only added more pressure to the gravity of the situation. The walls closed in, even as his laughter faded with the ringing in her ears. She forced her eyes shut as if the pitch black would erase what was in front of her, but nothing changed when they fluttered back open.
Her clusterfuck of a life was still there, staring her right in the face. If there was ever a doubt in her mind questioning the level of severity - how things couldn't possibly get any worse - it had been snuffed out by a sharp thud. The loud and obnoxious sound lured her to the corner preceding her bedroom, her wide, ocean irises landing on an equally insufferable figure.
Mike stumbled headfirst into the chaos, his pace slowing to a stop once he caught sight of the muzzle tipped in his direction. He gulped, keeping his hands stretched above his head.
"I heard a shot, and we thought- I knew something h-happened, and I remembered your window was still broken."
Her mother lowered the Remington, the smooth surface of its stock scraping her mascara stained cheek. "Karen's boy… you were with Maxine in the spring… on that field trip to Ohio."
Mike nodded, and Max shot him a furtive glance before she stepped in front of him.
She made a single, measured advance around her stepfather, her eyes steeling on her mother.
"Put the gun away, Mom."
Her words were hoarse, bruised from the strain against her vocal chords. Its sound was void of light, sobroken, the realization brought pools of wetness to Susan's red-rimmed eyes.
"I did it, sweetheart." She shrugged away her tears with a vehement shake of her head, her lips drawing into a weak smile. "I protected you, just like I promised."
A raging hurricane ravaged the depths of Max's core, but she thwarted its influence over her exterior, her features free from any rage that could set ablaze the thickening air.
"You did." She took another stride forward, but stopped to maintain her distance.
" And now we don't need the gun anymore."
Her hand stretched into the space between them, and after a beat, her mother seemed receptive to the plea. However, just after the butt had shifted from the crevice of her arm, flashes of red and blue tinged the window. Even with the curtain, their hues shone through the crystal lens, painting away at the ivory walls.
It was the deep bellows of the sirens that broke the camel's back, Suzan's grip around her weapon tightening. Before she could pull it back to her chest, Max seized the stock with both hands.
"No- no they're gonna separate us! I need to keep you safe-"
"You're gonna hurt me," Max croaked, choking on the lump that rose to the back of her mouth. "Or yourself. Or my friend and then I will never want to see you again!"
Despite her mother's sobs, she pulled on the rifle, her knuckles turning white against the bruising hold.
"So if you love me- if you ever loved me, just let go Mom. Please."
Waves of shallow gasps deluged her ears, along with a deep roar and a bang, but she wrote the sounds off as white noise. She tugged one last time, the gun's entire weight forcing her against the back of the skewed sofa.
Within the same beat, two men in uniform had flanked Suzan from both sides. She fought with great vigor, wailing her daughter's name as they snatched her up by the backs of her arms. She was no match for their combined strength, and they steered her outside with little to no effort.
Even after the harrowing cries had faded, Max's head remained downturned on the rifle. The back end fell beside her foot, one corner ramming into the protruded bone of her ankle. Instead of reacting to the throbbing, she reviewed the state of the weapon in her grasp. She pushed on the safety before moving onto the chamber, her fingers clinging to the bolt before her brain could even finish the command. The cartridge popped out like a hot pocket, launching across the floor faster than she could blink.
Max flinched when a heavy hand engulfed the forestock, her frazzled eyes meeting the cool but tender gaze.
Only one man besides her father possessed that kind of warmth, even though it was overshadowed by his inflated arrogance.
"You shouldn't be messing with this if you can't hold it upright," Jim grunted, tilting his head toward her neck.
"And that needs more than a coverup."
She scoffed, but the contemptuous breath left her twinging throat as a rasp. "With what money? They'd stick me with a CPS lapdog before I'd even get seen."
"Better than spending the night in my office with an incident report."
Both options were utterly laughable, but her throat twinged every time she spoke. Hell, it ached when she made the slightest of sounds - even without opening her mouth. So, she forfeited her right to choose at all.
Jim procured the rifle from her loose grip, giving the tarnished specs a once over before passing it off to a gloved hand.
He parted his lips before his scan could make the trip back to her, a terse command ready and willing to blast from his tongue. However, the words expired as he took in the bloodstained carpet and the stretches of vivid, bold-lettered tape.
He exhaled and channeled the barest chunk of himself, a benevolence reserved only for his family.
"I'll take care of the bill and CPS. I did a few favors for one of their caseworkers back in the day. Damn, she never could turn down a good chili dog…"
A carnal fire burned in his steel blue irises, but it was the guttural breath that lured the reappearance of Max's focus.
She shot him a glare, one burning with a disgust hot enough to halt the repulsive sound in its tracks.
"I can get her to hold off on doing anything major, at least until this gets to court," Jim finished, clearing his throat. "But you're not staying here, or running off again. We'll see the doc and take things from there, alright?"
He was getting warmer, but nowhere near enough to wipe away her disgruntled frown.
"For Christ sake… OK, we'll come back in the morning for your stuff. Or whatever memento you want to take if it ain't already in lock up, deal's not getting better than that."
All the heat had dissipated, yet she kept her gaze sharp for kicks. Soon, it became clear he was no longer amused, and the cheeky twinkle in her eyes finally broke through the smokescreen.
Eleven swarmed her with a hug the second she set foot outside. Her strength was exceptional, but it was the rate at which she moved that had knocked Max off her guard. Nonetheless, she returned the embrace, allowing the warmth to soothe her frazzled nerves. Her shift in stance unearthed a view of Mike and his statue-like demeanor. Yet, she couldn't place any emotion in his features. There was always something - usually a toss up between anger and irritation - but his mouth was firm and his dark eyes were just as obscure.
She made a move to part from her best friend, but another bear hug had swept her up before she could complete the partition. Mike's lanky arms were somehow just as strong, clutching onto her as if it would be their last embrace. When in reality, it was only their first. He was scared, and yet he had pushed past his fear to ensure her safety. He fought for her as a party member - he saw her as a friend, contrary to what she had so boldly stated before - and comfort burned from her chest.
The longer that warmth had stayed fresh in her thoughts, however, the more her solace cooled to melancholy. It was stupid, and Max wanted to kick herself, but she couldn't forget the darkness no matter how much light took its place. She didn't dare overlook the horrors she survived, or the person that had shielded her from all the impact.
Billy had been many things, but a coward wasn't one of them. He endured Neil's barbaric behavior for most of his short life without so much as a peep, shouldering every nasty word, every last bruising punch. Even while he was forced to play nice with a proxy of his mother and a sister he never wanted.
For the longest time, Max had believed that he was just an asshole who spit in her face, made fun of her friends, and broke her things. Then she woke to shouting one night, and the sound of banging against the walls. She left her room after the apartment had gone silent and found Billy in the bathroom, his eye splattered with the deepest shade of purple she had ever seen. His reflection seethed upon spotting her, but he didn't snap a curse or insult her way. Instead, he ordered her inside and locked the door.
His instruction was harsh and straight to the point, but every word was seared into her memory. And once they had made the big move to Indiana, she was confident in her ability to hide a bruise and stitch a cut.
She could bite her tongue, know when to not let her heat boil over and give her third degree burns. She was still alive because Billy gave her the incentives to survive, even at the cost of his own life. And her innocence.
He was her brother in the only way that mattered.
...
Elsewhere…
...
Hip-hop had the power to pump Lucas full of adrenaline. Listening to the sleek rhymes and bumping bass didn't just hype him up for basketball practice or other exercises aimed to help him stay active, but also kept the mood high during the ordinary parts of his day. Like when he did chores around the house, finished whatever assignment was due, or if he just sat in his room for hours on end. No matter the occasion, there was just something about the genre that could reach him more than rock or other kinds of music.
The rapping backbeat of Run-D.M.C.'s latest track kept the rhythm of his knee steady, though the reason behind its bouncing arose from the turmoil in his gut. It was a tight, nauseating feeling, sinking in right when his bike accelerated like it didn't just carry another passenger.
He carried on - inhaling the cool bursts of wind that smelled like the spicy mint of Max's shampoo - because he wasn't the one who had to live in a toxic environment. A supposed home , chewing him up and spitting him right back out. Still, it didn't ease his jittering nerves, and neither did his first taste of popularity.
Sure, the party was a nice change of scenery. Lucas didn't partake in the drinking, but the snacks were decent and he hadn't been bowling in a while. He could talk away the night, make as many connections as he wanted, but it would have all been tethered to basketball. Or some obsession with money and fame, two things he couldn't care less about the more they were brought up in conversation. To him, he was in a crowd he didn't belong, and he would have left without a second thought if he hadn't run into Chris.
He was an upperclassman and the Blue Lions' powerhouse of a player, in spite of his role as the small forward. He played almost every game of the season, even racked up the most rebounds in today's charity game. But he wasn't just an athlete or a young man with the same brown skin and just as big (if not bigger) dreams. He had strong ambitions but didn't shy away from new experiences or new people.
Their friendship was just beginning, but Lucas already felt more at ease with his decision to make the team. He was going to ace his tryouts in the fall.
For himself and for his greatest muse.
"Hm. Just when I think of asking about those honeys drooling over you at the pool, you hit me with that look."
The street lights blurred by Lucas as he swiveled to the driver's seat, his eyes narrowing at the grin curved his way.
"That puppy look, man. You're whipped!"
Chris snickered, his gaze dancing between the stretching road and the passenger seat. "You should be focused on learning how to fly those wings, leavin' the nest . Not lookin' for a mate before your balls have even dropped."
"Sounds better than waiting around and missing my chance, likeyou," Lucas deflected, wrinkling his nose. "And I can handle both."
"Not sayin' you can't. I just don't think it's smart to put so much into one girl in high school. Especially since things change so much afterwards, you feel me?"
Most of the humor had seeped from his tone, leaving behind a hint of reason Lucas couldn't disregard.
"But hey, I'm just sayin' my piece. You won't really know until you shoot your shot," Chris shrugged, his grip on the wheel firm while he made the turn into Maple Street.
"And this girl, she sounds like a real one."
He didn't know the half of it. Max had to have been the realest person Lucas knew. Before he could confirm it with a reply, the car rolled to a stop in front of his mailbox.
He dove a hand to the seatbelt before hovering over the gearshift.
"Thanks for the ride, and the girl advice."
Chris matched his beaming features, his own palm flexing to meet in the middle of their handshake.
"Don't sweat it. B-Boys gotta stick together, yeah?"
Lucas gave a fervent nod, his fingers lingering on the last twisting glide. He turned to exit the car and retrieve his bike from the trunk, but froze upon opening the door, his gaze finding his mother's silhouette.
He pulled his brows together at her race down the driveway, but a smile had still been present in his expression. But , the light dwindled, just like his breathing as soon as he sensed the gloom laced within her dark eyes.
"Baby, it's Maxine… There's been an accident."
He recycled those exact words, without pause. He had no other choice, because he left for Hawkins Memorial as soon as he heard them. They were all he heard, even when Chris had tried to calm his worries with spirited yet misguided reassurances.
The resonance was less severe once he finally raced through the sliding, crystalline doors of the emergency room. But they were still louder than his own words, no matter how much he amplified the volume of his voice. It was a miracle he was even able to speak at all under the palpitating pressure in his chest, let alone in a coherent and direct manner.
He was in the middle of hounding another nurse with his questions when his gaze wandered to the waiting room. A third of the weight tumbled from his shoulders at the sight of Mike, hunched over the edge of the chair.
Lucas' approach, although slower than his previous pace, stirred him from his thoughts. "Have they said anything about Max?! How is she?"
"Rattled, but still with us. Hopper wanted to make sure she was in the clear - better to be safe than sorry - and all that," Mike sighed, plucking a stray string from a hole in his jeans. "Can't say the same for Neil, though. Asswipe isn't safe but he sure as hell is sorry, a bullet'll do that."
Just when the tension in his fists had eased, they grew rigid tenfold. As did the rest of his muscles.
"B-bullet-! He shot her?!"
"No, I told you she was fine. Just another bruise, but it's getting treated in one of the rooms down the- Hey!"
Mike shot from his seat, his thin fingers forming a surprisingly strong wall against the rock hard frame.
"We're supposed to wait here. No death wish is worth pissing off the chief."
"Oh yeah? Not even if it was Eleven instead?" Lucas shot back, waiting only a moment for the silence to prolong before he continued. "Exactly. We wouldn't even be speaking right now because you'd already be in the room with her! That's where I'm going."
Once again, he made a move to pass, shrugging off the hand pressed against his collar. However, just when he thought he had the last word, the pressure returned. Only it was a taut grip around his shoulder.
"If this were El, I'd be thanking you for stopping me from making a fool out of myself. After everything, she can take care of herself and so can Max. The last thing she needs is to worry about your ego-"
"Last time I checked, it was your ego that hurt her when she moved here."
He yanked his arm free, his words boiling over faster than he could put a lid on them. "But that doesn't matter because she shouldn't have to keep fighting for her life every fucking day!"
Mike clenched his jaw, and Lucas chalked it off as a reaction to his outburst. He was in for a rude awakening when he whirled around. All of that pent up fury in his soul faded as soon he met her stare, glossy with a haze he didn't recognize.
Her features were just as clouded, holding such a firm grip over his attention. Lucas didn't register Nancy's expression as she passed him to reach her brother. Or the steaming, bitter aroma of coffee she had left in her wake. He didn't understand the weight of his words until she plodded towards him, the glossy sheen over her ocean irises softening his resolve.
"Max… I didn't- I'm sorry."
"Why? Mom's off to jail, step-prick is stuck in a hospital bed, probably for good. I'm free." She shook her head, her lips pulling into an all too shaky smile.
It trembled from her face as soon it came, but her gaze didn't waver. Even as she shuddered at the brush of his touch, the chills inducing her to sidestep away from his warmth.
"Hop's still back there with the papers. I'm gonna stay with El. So thanks, but… I don't need you."
A white lie, too trivial to ease the ache in Max's heart, which seared her more than her sore throat. And yet, she bore it without a crack in her cold exterior. As soon as she stepped into the just as frigid dusk - Eleven adjoined at her hip - it crumbled like the feeble structure of a kicked sand castle. She was more unkempt, nipping a sore inside her cheek to stop that stupid sob from tearing free.
She did need Lucas, but need was a hell of a drug.
The more she relied on him, the less she trusted in herself. That lack of faith would spiral into an endless cycle of sacrifices. None of them could compare to what he had already surrendered: his time, his heart, his sense of peace.
She couldn't take any more from him without selling her very soul.
So she didn't.
Max gathered her own shattered pieces and glued them back together.
It took four sleepless nights and three fuzzy days of settling into her new normal. There were moments that still felt like she had been chewed up and spit back out, but she had a whole household to make sure she was comfortable. Even when she was too prideful to accept their support, which had also been too persistent from Hopper's end.
On the bright side, his backyard had a lake.
The waters were murky, an ugly shade of green paling in comparison to the vibrant blue of the West Coast. And the waves were nonexistent, besides the occasional ripple from whatever creature lurked beneath her toes. The air, however, remained unchanged by the turbulence of the land.
Max took a breath, allowing the stale odor to wash away all the ill thoughts from her mind. Once the raw lacerations from her inflictions had healed, her eyes flicked to the envelope in her lap.
She ripped off the seal before she could change her mind, her fingers sliding free with a folded sheet of paper. Revealing the contents was a whole other marathon entirely. Her true point of no return. Yet, she took another leap of faith and perused through each word.
November 1st, 1985
My Little Big Tooth,
I lost the right to call you that after I left. I'm not even sure I deserve to write this, but I do know that you deserve the world. And that includes a halfway decent essay from your old man. Bear with me, I hated writing those in school. Speaking of... you're in high school now! How's that going? Any boys OR girls (a father always knows) I should address this to next time? Cuz' I'd be more than happy to send a rule book. Or hit the road, you just say the word and I'm there. Though I'd probably have a heart attack because you're not so little anymore.
I don't regret splitting with your mother, it was the best move for the both of us. I do hate that we hurt you though, more than anything. That's the last thing I would ever wanna do. But you're a Mayfield, strength is in your DNA. Although, one thing I would change about our genes is the warm blood. Yes, unfortunately you get that from me. I bet the winters are god awful there, but I know you're managing just fine. Better than I would, that's for sure.
Anyways, I miss you kiddo. More than you'll ever believe. I hope this reaches you as soon as possible, and in mint condition. If you'll have me, I want to be in your life. No matter what way that is or how small a role, I will be there. Always.
I love you,
Dad
P.S - I figured you missed the shore, so this shot of my drive to Surfrider should make you feel right at home. Number's on the back!
A stray tear fell, dotting the ink of her father's signature. Despite the droplet's size, it made swift work smearing the margin of his last name. Instead of fretting over the stain, Max unveiled the photograph from its shadow behind the letter.
Radiant light scoured the top edge. However, no matter the brilliance of its shine, the luster couldn't compare to the dazzling smile. She swept over his face, imagining the light hairs of his beard and the bluest of eyes. In an instant, she was there, testing the limits of the deep end. She was eight years old again, digging mole-sized holes in the sand, fixed on finding scraps of buried treasure.
She was home, but affinity came from more than just a place.
Soft, recurrent thudding trembled the floorboards, staggering her back to the present. The footfalls were deliberate, dawdling at a slower pace with each step.
Once the wood groaned at least a foot away from her back, she sighed, squinting at the clouds.
"Either I'm too predictable, or you've finally added 'improved stealth' to your stalking résumé."
"Both, but I get plenty of practice."
Max bit back a snort, her head craning to Lucas. After a brief once-over of his loose-fitting attire, she deduced he had just finished his workout for the day. The box bolstered in his glistening arms, however, threw her for a loop.
He smirked, his glance loitering an inch behind to treasure her adorable, wrinkled nose.
"I heard you still had some stuff at the house, so I got the rest of it. Along with some… other items."
His eyes flashed brighter than his grin, prompting her own stare to narrow. She couldn't wait for him to adjust the box after he had set it down, shooting a hand out to the nearest corner. Upon the first peek, her scan moved with haste, counting every crinkled comic book and tarnished VHS tape. But the longer she explored, the more she discovered things.
Prized possessions from her stash at the junkyard: her softball gear, a rope of bandannas, a baggy sweatshirt, the snow globe she had been gifted last Christmas. Even the shark plushies took shelter in the box, guarding the edge with their flimsy- and not so menacing - lines of teeth.
"How did you…" Max reached for the biggest cartilaginous fish, her fingers pinching around the soft, crescent tail.
"Why did you bring these?"
"They were just sitting there, collecting dust in a grave of literal junk. I know we put them there so they wouldn't get trashed, but since Neil's out of the picture... I don't know. I thought they could finally come home."
His shrug masked the swell of his heart before joining her at the edge. The heat from her flushed stare only made the inflammation worse, but he ignored it and directed a peek at the envelope in her hand. Despite the time limit, he could make out the address, the sight suspending his heart from spiraling.
"Cypress Drive, San Diego… Wait! That's from your dad?"
"Nope, just a love letter from Nate. Y'know, the doofus who got me into skateboarding. My old, first best friend."
Laughter strong armed its way through her sneer, the muffled sound only growing deeper at his petulant scowl. Soon, she put the joke out of its misery with a breath, peering down at the ink of her father's handwriting.
"It's kinda funny. I haven't heard his voice in so long, I thought I'd forgotten it," Max began, her vision blurring despite her dry, focused eyes. "And then when I read it, I could hear him as if he were sitting right here - I could hear echoes of him after I found it there, just sitting on my mom's vanity. Even when…"
Without thinking, she raised a hand to her neck, her knuckles brushing trails against the red skin there. She could sense his eyes without meeting them, dark and clouded with a sporadic fury.
Every spark came from a place of love, his endless supply of warmth. But with a lit match, that heat could just as easily fuel an explosion.
"You were so mad that night, you would have hit him. Mike."
Lucas stiffened under her allegation, but the strain in his muscles hadn't been a result of shock.
"If you didn't step in? Yeah, probably."
A still fog clouded the air as the waters of the horizon lapped with undulation. He became mesmerized with each flicker of light. Before he could get sucked into a never ending loop, a soft voice broke him out of his spell. Softer than the barbs of a feather, but heavy.
Thick with more emotion than he had ever thought she could express.
"You have the biggest heart, Lucas. That's what I love about you, y'know."
He turned to her, his russet irises stretching almost three sizes as soon as he caught on to her watering eyes. Of course, they were barred by the bags of her eyelids, but that didn't stop him from wanting to erase their very existence.
Max inhaled a sharp breath, her eyebrows pulling in a frown.
"But it's so… infuriating sometimes. You can't always drop everything to protect me when shit hits the fan, it's not fair - it's not healthy. If we're ever gonna get to that beach house, you need to have a little more faith in me."
"I do trust you," Lucas defended, his voice light in spite of the heavy timbre. "More than anything."
Again, an itch to cut her from his peripheral vision flared within his core. But he couldn't, not while she had eyed him with a searing ardor.
"It's everything else that I doubt. You're the strongest person I know, Max, but that doesn't stop me from wishing you didn't have to be."
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't have these scars," she breathed, brushing a finger along the distended vein inside her wrist. "They're ugly, and they sting sometimes when I look at them. But I- I'm still here."
A stream of wetness broke through the floodgates, but she dried it with the back of her hand before it could drip to her chin.
"And now I do whatever the fuck I want with whoever the fuck I want..."
Lucas' brows flew to his forehead at the tantalizing shift in her tone, but it was the abruptness in her change of expression that had rendered him a complete mess. He gulped, too attentive on the flicker of her coy smile and fluttering eyelashes to notice her red herring. By the time he broke from his trance, liquid with the bulk of a water balloon had socked him in the face.
He rubbed at his eyes with furious vigor, a viscous mix of snot and dank lake water blustering from his nostrils. His vision was a blurry mess when he opened his eyes, but the view of her fleeing figure forced him to a staggering stand.
"Oh, you are so done!"
"And you're too slow!"
Max was fast, but there had been one little detail she failed to remember: she wasn't the only one with rocket-powered legs. She was on a high, too pumped of thrilling adrenaline to anticipate her sudden spring from the ground.
If it were anyone else's arms hugging her frame, she would have put more power into her blows against his back - more pitch in her vivacious shrieking. But it wasn't just anyone else - no one's touch could leave such a fixed, yet soft imprint on her skin.
Still, no matter how snug his warmth felt, she downright refused to be some beach ball he could toss into the water. Hitting him wouldn't work, even the most sensitive parts of his body were immune to her stabbing. The card didn't leave her sleeve until she launched an audacious kick to his foot. Her toes scuffed against "The Swoosh" emblem of his sneakers, smearing a tire track across the pristine center.
"Lucas- Just think about this, OK? You'll ruin your Jordan's! You're g-golden ticket to the NBA!"
He slowed to a stop just before he crossed into the shoreline. For a moment, all she could feel was his pulse racing behind hers, coupled with his hands while they rested over her waist. It took a minute to trick her into thinking she had won, and even less to flip the script.
"Yeah, you're right… It would be a shame for them to go out like this."
Lucas hauled her off the ground again, timing the momentum boost with his legs as he brought the insides of his feet together. The friction was firm enough to underpin the removal, leaving his ankles in nothing but elastic cotton. With her frame secured in his grasp, he made a mad dash for the lake. Turbid water frothed above his knees, but he rode the tides of the lake and Max's thread of indecent threats.
She was the first to get soaked, her denim shorts and graphic t-shirt drenched to the bone. Her hair wasn't spared in the flood either, the blazing tendrils clumped in one wave over her shoulder. In spite of the sun's blinding shine, the arresting tone of her mane couldn't hold a match to the livid heat in her cheeks. They scorched like a forest fire, setting her whole face ablaze. Even the tips of her ears burned, red with a ferocity hot enough to spook an outsider to their very soul.
He knew her well enough to deviate between the temperatures of her heat. She was angry, sure, but there was an artless gleam to her ocean irises, a light he hadn't seen since that night at Starcourt. They were playful, endearing even as she launched her attack, pelting him with wave after wave. He took each one like a champion, but not before sending off a few brisk slashes of his own.
Somewhere along the way, Hopper's booming voice had cut through their match. Max could make out his famous "three inches" rule, but the words went over her head like the lake she waded through. She was too keen on catching Lucas, her hands shooting to his back. She soared into the air like a fish out of water, but he spun so fast, she had missed her predetermined landing pad.
Again, his hands clutched her by the waist, droplets spritzing all around them.
"Surrender now, and I'll spare you."
She arched a damp brow, her hands latching to the shamrock green straps of his top.
"Oh yeah, from what? A wounded ego? I don't know… sounds more like your thing."
He studied her features, his own dimming with each passing second. It wasn't until her grip had tightened on his clothing, yanking his face an inch closer to hers, that he made his move. He captured her mouth in a sizzling siege, his arms welding around the small of her back.
Max was numb against him, yet the feeling came flooding back to her singed nerves once she gathered the strength to match his speed. Soon, she rivaled him in every facet, her touch burning hotter than his while she parted his lips. However, just as her fingers had dug into the trimmed curls at his nape, a glacial cold replaced the caress of his warm skin.
She was stunned from the climate shift, but a peal of raffish cackling pierced through her dark realm.
"Who's 'too slow' now?!"
Her eyes flew open to witness Lucas sprinting away. She caught his smirk just in time, her gaping stare pinched to seething slits.
Two can play that game, and she had every intention of winning.
And that concludes Part 6! Hope you guys enjoyed. As always, please favorite/follow and comment your favorite part. I love hearing your thoughts/constructive criticism.
Until next time!
XD