This is what she was reduced to. She was THIS desperate. She had stooped this low. Staring at the door, bland and boring as its occupant inside, Max worked up the nerve to sneak into the place. She took a deep breath, breathing out the last of her sanity.
Max gently eased the door open and waltzed in as if she owned the place. She did. Well, she could if she wanted. But she didn't.
She began with her usual routine. That was the way it was with him, always the same routine. The routine was getting old, and so was he. The same greeting, the same return, the same dinner, the same beeper, the same emergency, the same man was getting old. His routine was outdated, just like his dorky sense of humor, his cowlick-spiked hair, his superhero attitude, his attraction to Max and his confidence that anything was achievable with patience. Well, something in particular was achievable with patience. Well, 'News Bulletin' buddy, Max was out of patience.
"Hey," she began, barely able to control her eyes from rolling.
"Hey yourself," he beamed a shiny smile at her. Instead of shielding her eyes, Max continued with her business of being here. She wouldn't be here for any other reason.
"Ummm.... I need your help." Max got straight to the point.
"Oh. Okay, what's up?" Logan was like a lonely puppy whose owner just arrived. It was almost disgusting. His eyes were wide, begging for a chance to be at her service.
"He... he left." Max tried her hardest to keep her eyes dry. Her Manticore mask covered her features, but it was fractured; she couldn't stop her face from deforming and the tears to tried to break through her tough exterior.
"Who left?" Logan, only slightly recognizing her agony, continued to look at her with a questioning hope. Max's face changed immediately. She morphed from sad and worried to damn right pissed off.
"Who else, Logan?" His strength wavered as the subject of their confrontation was revealed.
"Oh," was Logan's only comment. He was disappointed; when it came to him, Logan was helpless.
Max looked him up and down, loathing clouding her vision making her see red. He was despicable. He went from servant to enemy in a second. He always had.
"Just find him," she spat with more venom than she had ever used before. Max glided out of the apartment, slamming the door. She began her search for something to kill immediately. Right now, it seemed like the only thing to soothe her nerves. But even killing something wouldn't do that. Only Alec could.
Alec woke to the cheerful tune of his cell phone's call. His location dawned on him and he began to search for threat. He found only his humming phone, continuing its insanely happy jingle. The name flashed on the little screen, 'Logan.' Alec let out a cackle that lacked feeling and emotion. So, she gone back to Log-boy? It took her longer than I thought. Then, another call rang in, blasting the annoyingly optimistic song once again. This time, the name was that of his obsession, his desire, his heartache. Max? But then why is Logan calling? Who cared? It wasn't like she owed him anything. She didn't love him, she didn't feel sorry. She never felt sorry. Not when it came to him.
Alec sighed. That was it. He would stop. He had to. She was taking over his brain. It was all he could think about, all he could concentrate on. His eyes took on a malicious gleam, turning a normally carefree man into a killer. All his movements were automatic. He fired up the ignition and shifted the car into gear. His foot slammed on the gas, getting pleasure out of slamming back against the seat. He eyes filled with fire and he sped off into the distance, not knowing where he was going and not giving a damn. No one did.
Except one person, who sat against her windowsill, envisioning him safe and home in her arms. As if slapped out of a memory, she turned around suddenly and she beat the crap out her punching bag, once again envisioning. This time, though, the victim of her imagination was Logan.
Max gently eased the door open and waltzed in as if she owned the place. She did. Well, she could if she wanted. But she didn't.
She began with her usual routine. That was the way it was with him, always the same routine. The routine was getting old, and so was he. The same greeting, the same return, the same dinner, the same beeper, the same emergency, the same man was getting old. His routine was outdated, just like his dorky sense of humor, his cowlick-spiked hair, his superhero attitude, his attraction to Max and his confidence that anything was achievable with patience. Well, something in particular was achievable with patience. Well, 'News Bulletin' buddy, Max was out of patience.
"Hey," she began, barely able to control her eyes from rolling.
"Hey yourself," he beamed a shiny smile at her. Instead of shielding her eyes, Max continued with her business of being here. She wouldn't be here for any other reason.
"Ummm.... I need your help." Max got straight to the point.
"Oh. Okay, what's up?" Logan was like a lonely puppy whose owner just arrived. It was almost disgusting. His eyes were wide, begging for a chance to be at her service.
"He... he left." Max tried her hardest to keep her eyes dry. Her Manticore mask covered her features, but it was fractured; she couldn't stop her face from deforming and the tears to tried to break through her tough exterior.
"Who left?" Logan, only slightly recognizing her agony, continued to look at her with a questioning hope. Max's face changed immediately. She morphed from sad and worried to damn right pissed off.
"Who else, Logan?" His strength wavered as the subject of their confrontation was revealed.
"Oh," was Logan's only comment. He was disappointed; when it came to him, Logan was helpless.
Max looked him up and down, loathing clouding her vision making her see red. He was despicable. He went from servant to enemy in a second. He always had.
"Just find him," she spat with more venom than she had ever used before. Max glided out of the apartment, slamming the door. She began her search for something to kill immediately. Right now, it seemed like the only thing to soothe her nerves. But even killing something wouldn't do that. Only Alec could.
Alec woke to the cheerful tune of his cell phone's call. His location dawned on him and he began to search for threat. He found only his humming phone, continuing its insanely happy jingle. The name flashed on the little screen, 'Logan.' Alec let out a cackle that lacked feeling and emotion. So, she gone back to Log-boy? It took her longer than I thought. Then, another call rang in, blasting the annoyingly optimistic song once again. This time, the name was that of his obsession, his desire, his heartache. Max? But then why is Logan calling? Who cared? It wasn't like she owed him anything. She didn't love him, she didn't feel sorry. She never felt sorry. Not when it came to him.
Alec sighed. That was it. He would stop. He had to. She was taking over his brain. It was all he could think about, all he could concentrate on. His eyes took on a malicious gleam, turning a normally carefree man into a killer. All his movements were automatic. He fired up the ignition and shifted the car into gear. His foot slammed on the gas, getting pleasure out of slamming back against the seat. He eyes filled with fire and he sped off into the distance, not knowing where he was going and not giving a damn. No one did.
Except one person, who sat against her windowsill, envisioning him safe and home in her arms. As if slapped out of a memory, she turned around suddenly and she beat the crap out her punching bag, once again envisioning. This time, though, the victim of her imagination was Logan.