Flume
And like that, it seemed like Billy was back to his ways–old ways of inconveniencing her, snatching up the last orange juice and whatnot. It was nothing terrible like before, but They were soft inconveniences, regular if she dared say. To Max, this was what would have been considered him acting normal. At times, it seemed like he was trying to make her go back on her word regarding the deal, and other times, it seemed like he did it for the sport of it. But they were just simple inconveniences, nothing major like he used to. They were random and at most, annoying.
In truth, his actions were more like on-and-off behavior. For the most part, Billy just seemed to ignore her. Not really what she had in mind by her deal, but baby steps. It was better than him picking on her for no other reason than the anger that boiled under his skin.
She couldn't say he was trying to be a little less of a dick. In fact, he still was. And she couldn't say he was trying to be nicer. He was just less . . . cruel. There was now a line that she was sure he had drawn. Never going too far, but still going out of his way to wait at his door to flick her nose or use up all the hot water.
This deal she'd made with Billy was like getting on one of those log rides at Six Flags. That funnel thing. What was it? A flume? And she'd hopped on, knowing full well she'd get soaked. Just how much, she wasn't sure. It was a mystery that looped her in anticipation of the drop, leaving her in constant suspense of what Billy might do.
But Billy's hot and cold moments were nothing compared to how Neil had been acting. When she'd walk through the living room–or whenever she'd walk past him at all–she'd notice his lingering glare on her. He was quick to snap at her if she did the smallest things, like leaving her coat lying on the couch or accidentally leaving the light on in her room when she wasn't in there. He picked on every little thing that he could and had no regard for whether it made sense or not.
That day when Billy got his car fixed, Max noted how Neil watched her at the table, subtly with seldom glances.
"Elbows off the table, Maxine," he'd said.
Since when has he cared about that?
The way he glared at her made her train of thought stop.
She took them off.
There was no doubt in her mind that Neil was acting that way because of what happened the day of the wreck, how she'd stood up to him. And a part of her hoped it would blow over soon, along with Billy's mood swings. As if . . . But that coupled with Neil . . . She felt ganged up on. Not to mention finals were next week.
The mere thought of finals approaching quickly stressed her out more than it should have. Of course, the teachers didn't care too much about how she did. She had arrived halfway through the school year, but she still wanted to do well. Her father was a man who always valued knowledge and smarts, and he instilled that in her. And once finals were over, there'd be the Snowball. Then sweet break. Max wished she could skip straight through finals, but at least she'd be able to relax when it was all over.
Until then, Max had to redo her study guide after Billy tore it up, but remaking it was studying in of itself. So she couldn't complain too much. Still, hours of trying to cram the knowledge into her skull wasn't ideal, but at least she got something out of it. It would have been a waste to lay around all day feeling sorry for herself. With all of the studying, time seemed to have flown by.
That Wednesday, she woke in a sweat with an agonizing headache. Figures. Between Billy messing with her the previous day and her stress, it felt bound to happen. She just didn't expect it to be that painful. Rubbing her head, Max kicked the white sheets off of her and went to open her window to let in some air. As soon as she tried to lift it, she quickly remembered the reason she couldn't. Billy. Max sighed. She made a mental note to find time to pry it open, or get him to.
As Max readied for school, her muscles seemed to ache. She moved slowly. Maybe she was just tired from staying up too late. She sluggishly slid on her white rainbow-striped shirt, pausing when she started to feel dizzy.
"Ma-aax." Billy called from down the hall in a sing-songy way. That translated to, "Hurry the fuck up. I'm leaving." "Where are you, Max? You got 10 seconds!"
Max lightly snickered. He was back to yelling at her. She never thought she'd miss something like that.
She threw on her red jacket as quickly as she could despite feeling hot. She didn't bother putting her hair up as she grabbed her backpack. But she didn't rush out of her room like she'd normally do. Instead, she idled to the opened front door to see Billy's hand gripped tight on the doorknob. She was immediately met with a scowl.
"Why are you always late? Damn."
He paused upon seeing her, his nose scrunching as he studied her face. His eyes softened a little, and his eyebrows furrowed. She knew how she looked even though she could feel more than see it. Her face was damp, strands of her red hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. The way that Billy was looking at her felt unfamiliar, and she would go as far as to say worried.
"What?" Max said snippily. He didn't say anything, just kept looking at her as if he were debating something. She got tired of his stare. "Let's go."
She slid past him and headed to the car. After a few seconds, Billy followed.
Even out in the chill air, Max felt warm and damp, the wetness clinging to her skin. She pulled at the neck of her shirt to try and relieve the heat as Billy pulled off. Billy's car was in better condition than it had been a few days ago. If she didn't know any better, she would have never guessed it'd been wrecked. The dents were fixed, the door actually opened properly, and the scrapes where paint was missing had been painted over. The shattered window was seamlessly replaced, encasing the blare of his music. He tapped on the steering wheel, but no words were spoken.
After a moment, Billy started aggravating her, teasing her, but she just remained quiet. To be honest, she didn't have anything to say.
"You look like the dead," he said. "How is it that you're always late getting ready and still end up looking so shitty?"
Max supposed this should be normal older sibling banter, and even though the teasing did get to her a little, she said nothing. Just looked ahead with a blank stare like she wasn't hearing him.
"What, no comeback?"
There was a rushed feeling that came through her, like all of her nerves were screaming at her that something was happening. She was dizzy again, and there was a taste in her mouth that definitely couldn't be strawberry jam.
"I don't feel so good . . ."
Billy knitted his brows and turned to her. When he looked at her, his eyes widened at the way that her face was going green. She heaved, and he slammed his brakes, stopping his car in the middle of the street. As he put it in park, Max threw open the door, hunched over, and threw up on the side of the road. She could do nothing but let it happen.
She could feel Billy looking at her, but the face he was making wasn't disgust. There was something that she couldn't put her finger on. He was frowning, and she really hoped it wasn't because there was a little bit of vomit that got caught on the car.
Billy got out of the car, grumbling as he circled the front to see Max hunched over in the grass. He scrunched his nose and turned away. "Shit. He looked away from the grass. He looked like he was getting a little green in the face himself.
"I'm fine," Max said, wiping her mouth.
Billy cocked his head to the side and gave her an "Are you kidding me?" look, gesturing towards the abomination that was piled in the grass.
"Just get in the car."
"I said I'm fine," she snapped.
"And I said get your ass in the goddam car!" he snapped back, going back to his side. He pointed furiously. "And you better not throw up in it!"
Max grumbled, but did as she was told. As soon as she was buckled in, Billy whipped the car around, driving faster than before. Before she knew it, they were back home. She looked at him, wondering if he had forgotten something.
Billy got out, but she stayed inside. After a few steps, he looked over his shoulder and furrowed his brows.
"Let's go!"
"What are we doing back here? I said I was fine!"
"Don't make me drag you, Max."
She huffed and got out, following him into the house. The first thing he did was disappear down the hall, stomping back seconds later to shove a thermometer in her mouth.
"What are you–"
"Shut up."
He stared intently at the thermometer for what seemed like forever before yanking it out of her mouth to bring it closer to his face, squinting. "101.4? Really? You couldn't have said something?"
"Why would you care?"
"Because then I wouldn't have had to waste my time hauling your ass to school. Now get your ass in bed right now. I better not see you up."
She was almost shocked. He didn't seem to be backing down, but she wouldn't either. She stood there, giving him a challenging glare. He huffed.
"Look, knowing my dad, he will be mad if I let you go to school with a fever. And we both know how that would end. So get your ass in bed and don't get back up."
Max scoffed, wondering if his reasoning was the truth. Sure Neil got mad over the tiniest things, but for her getting sick? If she were to get a Billy translator, it would probably say, "I needed to get an excuse to get out of school anyways." At least she would think so.
"But today was supposed to be a review day."
"Max . . ." he warned.
She smacked her lips. Ugh! Why was he being bossier than usual? He's never cared about her being sick before. Just wants another excuse to boss me around.
Max reluctantly stomped to her room, threw down her bookbag, and slipped into her pj's. She was just ready to get into bed but stopped when she heard Billy talking on the phone.
"I'm calling for Neil Hargrove. Is he around?" He paused. "Billy, his son . . . Yeah, I'll hold."
Max stepped slowly and quietly down the hall through the living room to the kitchen, pressing herself against the wall as she peered around the corner. Billy shifted on his heels, taking deep breaths like he was preparing himself. He bit the nail on his thumb, then suddenly pulled it away.
"Dad? I'm–" Max heard Neil's sharp voice cut through before Billy could get the first word out. It was a hushed but harsh tone that sliced through all of the words Billy spoke, or tried to. "No, no, I'm–No, I'm not skipping. I'm trying to . . . Well if you let me, I'll tell you!"
There was silence for a second while the harsh whisper came through the phone. "No, no . . ." Billy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not talking back, sir. I'm sorry. I'm just . . . I wanted to call before the school did. Max wasn't feeling well, so I had to bring her back home . . . She threw up on the side of the road . . . Yeah, she's in bed now . . . No, I didn't call her yet . . . OK . . . I will . . . I know, dad. I'll watch her . . . OK . . . Bye."
Billy hung up the phone in earnest, sucking in a deep breath. He paused for a moment and sighed, like the conversation zapped all his energy. Just a small conversation with the man seemed to drain him. His head rested against the cold wall for a second while he tried to collect himself. Then he reached for the phone again and started to dial another number.
"Don't call her."
Billy turned. Max stood from behind the wall now, standing in the entryway of the kitchen. "What the hell are you doing? Get back in bed."
"Don't call her." She'll never let me out of her sight and start coddling me if you do.
He groaned. "You really don't listen, do you? Get your ass back in bed!"
Max balled up her fists and planted her feet, standing her ground. When she didn't comply, he slammed the phone on the hook, took quick strides across the room, and grabbed her upper arm.
"Hey! Let go of me!" she protested as she desperately tried to claw at his hand.
Billy ignored her and dragged her to her room by the arm and roughly dumped her on the bed. He was stronger than her; that was a fight that she knew she wouldn't win.
"Now stay in here and do as you're told. You leave this bed one more time, and I'll barricade your fucking door again."
Billy turned swiftly and stomped out of the room. With his back turned, Max threw a pillow at him as he turned to leave. It was a pitiful miss that barely grazed him, hitting the wall in the hallway instead. He turned slowly and stared, giving her a final scathing look before walking off. Taking a shaking breath, she laid down in the bed. She was fully expecting him to try and attack her, but he seemed to have had himself under control. She slumped there with arms crossed, pouting and really wishing she was in class right now. At least then she would be able to pretend she was doing something important.
With her door still wide open, she could hear him calling her mom. The longer it went on, the more her nostrils flared. Max could have listened in on the call with the phone in her room, but she didn't want to risk having to speak to her mom. Her mom was always worrying and had conniptions from Max getting the tiniest scratches. Now, she probably thought she had a terminal illness. Which meant she'd never leave her side and be even more cautious about what she did.
Eventually, Billy hung up the phone and went into the bathroom. Moments later, he sauntered back into Max's room clutching a small white basket.
"Susan's on her way," he said plainly.
Max sunk deeper into her bed, not too happy to hear that. She ignored him and gathered her blankets to turn her back to him. But he dumped a basket of medicine in front of her and sifted through it, before sighing. "Okay, what shit does Susan usually give you?"
Max didn't answer even though he knew the name of the medicine more than she knew her own. She only wanted to sleep now. That was all she could do since school was off the table.
Billy sighed again. but this time, it was more irritated. He shuffled through the medicine again before picking one up. He stared at it for a second, then threw it back into the pile and slid the basket over to her.
"Here. I'm sure something in here brings down fevers."
As he looked at the bottles, Max glowered at him, still upset. "Why'd you call her?"
"Because I was told to," he said as he squinted at a bottle of Robitussin cough syrup. He put it back in the basket and picked up a bottle of Tylenol. "I don't see what the big deal is. You should be lucky your mom gives a shit enough to leave work for you."
"As if you'd know what that's like!" she snapped, but as the words left her mouth, she paused. She didn't realize what she said until it was too late.
Billy just stared at her. Hurt, anger, and a hint of something else that she couldn't put her finger on clouded his face. He slammed the Tylenol down on her nightstand with a loud thud and left without a word, slamming the door to her room on his way out, and after a few heavy footsteps, she could hear the sound of him slamming the door to his room.
Goddammit, Max. Why do you have to be so mouthy all the time?! Her dad always said her mind moved fast, but her mouth moved faster. She sighed. Why couldn't you just keep your freaking mouth shut?
Max uncrossed her arms and sat up in the bed, staring at the basket of medicine he left. She rose to her feet and went to her door. It creaked on its hinges as she slowly opened it again. She set the basket on the floor and looked out across the hall, wondering if he'd be back. But the minutes ticked by, and his door had yet to open.
The house was quieter than it had been when they first moved in. It was so void of sound that she could hear the air vibrate around her ears. She almost missed Billy's loud music.
She took the Tylenol, wishing he'd brought water for her to wash it down with. But then the voice in her head told her that she deserved it, deserved to feel the scraping of her throat as it went down. She laid her head down on her pillow, facing the hall. She stared at his door, hoping he'd come out.
He didn't.
. . .
She fell asleep without realizing it.
Max felt the grime around her eyes as her lids slowly flapped open to the hall. Billy's door was wide open, but his room was empty. She looked at the clock. Only 10 o'clock? Is mom not here yet? Max rose and dangled her feet over the bed. She almost tripped over the basket she'd left on the floor.
Max went to the bathroom to put it away before relieving herself. Her headache was practically gone, and she felt slightly cooler. Slightly.
When she was done washing her hands, she headed to the kitchen to get some water, but a loud clunk stopped her in her tracks.
"Shit."
Max slowed her stride and peered into the kitchen. Billy was at the counter, a can of Campbell's soup half open, the can opener on the counter. He looked at his thumb, a thin line of red forming. He must have cut himself trying to pry the can open with it.
Billy sucked the blood from his thumb before wrapping it in a paper towel. He grabbed a fork from the drawer and forcefully pried the lid open, splashing a little soup on his shirt. He cursed under his breath as he put his hands on his hips, his eyes flicking between the stovetop and the microwave as he struggled in the kitchen trying to figure out how to heat up the soup. She watched him and shook her head, then went back to her room. How hard is it to heat up soup?
About ten minutes later, Billy walked into the room with a bowl. He just glowered at her but said nothing, obviously still upset. He walked closer to her bed to nudge the soup at her.
She grumbled. "What's with the special treatment? It's just a stupid cold."
"Not just a cold, moron. Aren't you supposed to be the nerdy one?" He paused. "It's the flu."
"How would you know?"
"Because you threw up, genius. And you don't typically get sick, so it could be the change in weather. Your body's not used to it yet. Hawkins is a shithole and the weather is even worse. Temperature changes are always one of the main reasons."
"Didn't know you were such an expert."
"I'm not. Now shut up and eat. Here."
He handed her the bowl and she eyed it skeptically. "Did you spit in it? Poison it?"
"Who's to say?"
Max looked at him, and he just watched her face, looking a bit pleased by her wavering expression. Playing his mind games.
"Eat."
"I might puke again." She took the bowl. "No spoon?"
"What do you need one for? It's soup."
She rolled her eyes and lifted the bowl to her lips. "It tastes like dish soap. Are you seriously trying to poison me?"
Billy seemed puzzled, almost like he actually considered her words, but he quickly narrowed his eyes. "You hate it so much, then make it yourself next time."
"I'm kidding. God. It can't be that hard to make a can of soup." She paused. "Did Neil teach you this stuff?"
"You really think he would give a shit if I was sick?"
"So your mom then?"
Silence.
The words sank in, and she looked down at her lap.
I did it again. Max looked up from under her eyelashes. What is it about the mention of his mother that makes him go quiet like that? Suddenly, she was in that Chevette again, remembering how Neil insulted his mother . . . Remembering how Billy had said, "Screw you."
She lowered the bowl. "Billy, I . . . I'm sorry for what I said earlier . . . About your mom . . . That was wrong of me."
Silence.
Max squirmed and bit her lip. "I just . . . I didn't want you to call my mom because she'd come straight home and freak out. I don't want to worry her."
Silence.
She tapped the bowl to try and relieve some of her nervousness. "Why are you doing all this?"
"Because I'll get in trouble if I don't."
She thought about how he had said the same thing about the car wreck, how he said he'd be in trouble if she were hurt. "How long are you gonna keep using that excuse?"
He stared at her and scoffed. "An excuse for what exactly?"
Max didn't say anything. Just raised a brow in a glance that she knew was calculating. That was usually how she got information out of people.
He just stared as she scanned his face. "It's not an excuse."
"You've never gotten in trouble for me being sick before. Especially for not doing . . . this." She gestured to the bowl of soup.
"Yeah well, apparently things have changed since coming to this shit hole."
Max thought about Neil and Billy's recent punishments. Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, you already said that."
"This is for something else."
He said nothing for a moment, then scoffed. "Whatever."
"I mean it."
Billy narrowed his eyes at her, and she sunk back into her pillows. He didn't believe her . . . Of course he didn't believe her. Why would he? Her apologies meant nothing to him, especially after she'd gotten him in trouble the second time. He probably thought she'd go back on her word . . . eventually. But she just had to let him know that that wasn't true.
"I really mean it."
He paused, this time scanning her face like she did his. "You apologize a lot now. Being here has made you soft."
"Sorry."
Billy groaned and shook his head. "Ugh stop talking. Can you just hurry up and eat so I can go?"
Max eyed him up and down. If she reached out, she could touch his bare arm. "I'm not taking care of you if you get sick," she told him since he was so close to her.
"Then don't get me sick. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can go."
"You don't have to stay."
He stared, almost like that was news to him. She waited. Seeing if he'd make another excuse. But he stayed silent and turned his head away from her. But he didn't get up.
She took another sip. "Hawkins isn't so bad. You just gotta give it a chance."
Billy sighed. "There you go, not listening again."
Max ignored him. "I think the people are what makes Hawkins tolerable." Billy would usually say something, some cutthroat retort that would leave them both sitting in silence. But he didn't say anything, so she continued. "I thought making friends would be hard, but it was way easier than I thought. When you have people to be around, it's not so bad. I know this place is dull compared to California, but when there are so many people that are interested in the same things as you, and that actually care about you, it's not as boring. I don't know if I would still be sane if I didn't meet the people that I have."
"You should be lucky you have someone to worry about you," he mumbled.
She looked up from her soup. Billy was looking down at her floor, his jaw tight. She thought of Neil and his first reaction to hearing Billy was in an accident, and something in her chest grew heavy. Before she could say anything, Billy got up and left, leaving her door halfway open.
. . .
After eating, Max drifted in and out of sleep, like power naps. So she decided to watch TV in the living room while working on piecing the scrapbook together to ease her boredom. When Billy passed by and saw her, he grumbled under his breath, "Never listens," before walking off, shaking his head. Moments later, he came out to start his workouts. For a while, nothing but the clinking of weights and the mumbles of The Price Is Right filled the room.
Then, the snap of the lock on the front door sounded. Max quickly put the scrapbook under a pillow and laid on the couch just as the door flew open.
"Max?!"
Susan barreled through, not bothering to remove her coat. As soon as she spotted Max, she rushed to her, placing a hand on her head.
"Are you alright? I tried to come sooner, but the bus route was delayed." She smacked her lips. "Sick twice in a month? Oh, I knew something was wrong that day Billy told us you had a stomach ache."
Max scrunched her face, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Then she rolled her eyes when she remembered. Her mom was talking about that time when Max had pulled her disappearing act and Billy rambled an excuse about her being sick or whatever. That first time wasn't real. Maybe Billy jinxed her.
Max heard Billy make a noise in his throat and a Tsk sound across the room as he continued lifting like no one was there.
Susan lowered her hands. "Sweety, why aren't you in bed? You need to get some rest."
"I'm fine, mom. Just got a little bored in my room. Plus I kind of already had, like, three naps today."
Susan sighed, relieved. "Well, did you at least eat something?"
She nodded. "Billy made me some soup."
"Oh?" Susan said, her eyes fluttering in surprise. "Well, uh . . ." She turned to him as he bench-pressed. "Thanks for looking after her, Billy."
Billy slammed the weights back on the rack and got up. "Not like I had a choice," he grumbled before leaving. He disappeared down the hall, and they heard a slam.
Susan's shoulders slumped, almost like he'd slammed a door in her face. But then she shook her head. "So . . . what are you watching?"
Max tried not to groan.
For the rest of that afternoon, Susan stayed close to Max. She made sure she took her medicine and retook her temperature. Then sat with her and watched a rerun of Miami Vice with her on the couch. It was a fairly new show, but she'd never paid attention to it. She was more of a horror girl. She didn't even know what was going on. When some of the characters posed as hookers, Susan got squirmy but didn't say anything. Usually, her mom wouldn't let her watch things like this. Guess being sick had its perks.
And surprisingly, Max enjoyed her mom's company, and almost felt guilty for snapping at Billy for calling her. Sure her mom could be over the top sometimes when it came to Max's safety, but it wasn't always so terrible.
Around 4 o'clock, Susan got up. "I think I'll get started on dinner a little early. I can finally try making that beef stew. Max, why don't you go rest in your bed?"
"Can I stay out here a little longer?"
Susan pursed her lips, contemplating. "Oh, alright. Just . . . make sure Neil doesn't catch you sleeping out here, OK?"
Max gave her mom a nod. Perhaps her mother also noticed he'd been snippy lately.
The sound of pans and running water was what let her know that her mom was starting. Just the idea of her mom's beef stew made her mouth water. It'd been so long. A sudden feeling of warmth filled her, melting her body into relaxation. It wasn't the warmth from the fever, but just the thought of her mother there in the house with her that reminded her of old times when it was just the two of them. She'd missed that, and she'd almost taken her for granted. If it wasn't for what Billy said earlier, she might have never noticed.
Billy . . .
She tried not to think about him. Usually when she did, it was because of fear or annoyance. But Billy was acting strange. She knew that it had something to do with the fact that she brought up his mom more times than she should have. It was like the mere mention of her put him on the defensive.
I wonder what she's like . . .
For the umpteenth time that day, Max dozed off, the chatter from the TV slowly turning to silence.
. . .
Billy grumbled when he heard Susan in the kitchen. It was bad enough she had to come early, taking up his only chance to roam around the house without being pestered or having to look at anyone. But now she was on a rampage in the kitchen for what seemed like hours. Great. She could be so annoying, that was for damn sure, but he had to hand it to her. Her cooking was great. And whatever she was making now smelled good.
He turned to head back to his room but stopped when he saw Max passed out on the couch. See, this is why she should stay in her room. He shook his head, grumbling at the thought. Then something caught his eye.
He spotted something poking out from under her pillow. Her hand was lazily draped over it, almost like she was shielding it. Curious, he walked over, knelt down, and slipped it from underneath her head. It was that scrapbook. She hasn't thrown this thing out yet?
Billy glanced at Max's comatose face before sitting on the floor. He opened it to see a taped-up mess of colors. She'd been trying to repair it. How long has she been at it? It was like putting a puzzle together.
He sifted through the tattered pages–candid photos of her and Susan, tacky patterns, random California knick-knacks, and so on. Another turn of the page, and he stopped to see a pile of black and white photos of Max with a man he didn't recognize. He picked it up and stared at him. The guy was plain looking with dark hair. Is that her dad? He glanced at Max, then at the photo. Explains a lot.
He continued flipping through them, laughing at some, and mocking others, but he stopped at a picture with a small Max beaming as she sat atop the man's shoulders, staring down at him as he looked up at her with the same heartfelt smile. Billy remembered this picture. That day he barricaded Max in her room, she'd left it on the dining room table. He thought about tearing it up to teach her a lesson, but something about it made it feel impossible to. Something about their smiles . . .
"Leave that alone."
Billy turned to see Max staring at him, her eyes half open. She reached out her hand. "Those are mine."
He scoffed. "Your dad was one fugly-looking dude."
There was a small sound she made–a laugh? A scoff?–before she reached further, barely moving from the couch. "Give it back."
"Why don't you make me?"
He pulled the photo out of reach, ready for a fight. But as he watched her, he realized her lids were slowly closing. Her arm fell limply until she was out once again. Was she sleep-talking?
Billy clicked his tongue. Killjoy.
He better not take the blame for her passing out on the couch. Knowing him, Neil would be livid thinking he directly disobeyed him and threw her there to let her germs marinate on the couch instead of taking care of her.
And the way he'd been going at her lately–It didn't take a genius to see she bruised his ego. Stupid of her to be put on his radar. But why had she done that? Speak up for him? Billy shook his head. Just another one of her stupid attempts to "reconcile."
He looked back at the picture. He never heard Max talk much about her dad, other than him teaching her how to pick locks or drive in a parking lot. But even in those short conversations, she always spoke like he was the best thing in the world.
Please.
But Billy couldn't help but think of Neil. He'd never say he wished he could talk about Neil with as much admiration as Max talked about her father. No. But he could think it . . . He looked back at the photo with Max on his shoulders. If that were Neil, then Billy would have been under his foot like the man went bear hunting. Neil didn't care. He never cared about him, at least not enough to look at him with the smile that Max's father looked at her with. Just one, "I'm proud of you" would have been enough to fuel him for a lifetime. But what was the point of dwelling on fairy tales?
But then there was his mother, the light in the darkness. She was nothing like his father, and it was a wonder how they even met. And like everything else, that glimmer was now gone, faded to a point where it might as well not exist. Still, even though her flame was dim, it had not died out. He wondered if it ever would. He wondered if he wanted it to . . .
Billy turned back to the mangled scrapbook to distract himself from the thoughts. The tears and tatters took him back, and he remembered that day in Max's room so vividly.
Fuck you, Billy.
The words had actually sent a chill up his spine. He'd never seen her so mad, never saw that promise of vengeance carved deep in her eyes. It felt like a victory at the time, getting her so riled up, but now he supposed it wasn't.
He didn't regret tearing up the scrapbook. At least not to spare Max's feelings. But he regretted the way she looked at him after. The way the hate burned in her eyes was brighter than ever. The cold look made him flinch away and would forever be engraved in his mind. The look was almost similar to how Neil would look at him, like he was a curse to everyone around him. Her eyes that day were a reminder of this stupid chain of events–the flat tire, the clocks, the beating, the fear, the hate . . . If he hadn't torn that book to shreds, none of this would have happened.
Billy pursed his lips, anger seeping through. Since when did Max get so much more determined and stubborn? So much . . . bolder? It's like she was a different person. It's like she didn't fear him anymore. Like he was losing control. If he couldn't hold onto that, then what did he have?
Nothing.
He'd be powerless.
The thought put a lump in Billy's throat. He wanted Max to shudder at his presence. He wanted to feel satisfaction from seeing he still had control over something, but she didn't even flinch. Not anymore.
Little brat probably thinks she's the one in control.
The smell of the food distracted him. It was amazing considering he hadn't eaten anything. He looked around as he tried to remember what he was doing, and his eyes fell on Max. There was a little trail of spit on the corner of her mouth. It reminded him of her drooling on his leather jacket. Why hadn't he moved her that day, or woken her up? Why did he stay in that room while she ate her bowl of soup? He didn't know. Maybe he just wanted to make sure she couldn't speak against him, saying, "Billy didn't take care of me." The proof that he did was there–the meds, the dishes, the empty cans of soup, and whatever. But even Max could turn that on him if she wanted.
And then it hit him like a brick. The sudden dread of realization that he didn't want to admit. He was afraid that, in a twisted way, she had Neil on her side, that if pushed too far, she could actually hurt him. Not physically herself, but with the one thing, the one person Billy never wanted to be in the room with. She could hurt him . . .
But then she just had to start apologizing. God, he was getting sick of it. If apologies solved everything, a lot of shit in the world would be better by now–And now that deal she wanted him to make? The promise that she'd stop getting him in trouble? Pfft.
He didn't want any more of her apologies. Yet she kept trying.
How annoying.
Billy looked down at Max's smiling face in the photo once more. He didn't think he'd ever seen her smile like that in all the years he'd known her. Can't blame her. No one smiled like that in this "family", especially Neil.
Do you really want things to stay the same?
He didn't know what he wanted.
Billy tucked the photos back and closed the scrapbook. He figured he should tear it up again for sending him through that rollercoaster of conflicting emotions. He hated how it sent his mind wandering so carelessly, and it continued as he thought about the way he froze up when Neil charged at him after the wreck, how Max threw herself between him and Neil. The fact that she could stand up to him when he couldn't . . .
His shoulders drooped thinking about it. The loud whispers of his father blaring in his head; Pussy.
Maybe he was right.
Billy tucked the book back under Max's pillow, then got up to leave. If she wanted to be found sleeping on the couch, that was her problem.
Giving her one last look, he walked away; there was nothing left to do. She's stood up to Neil before, she could do it again.
. . .
Max heard Neil's voice and startled awake. She shuffled from under the covers, threw her feet to the floor, then stopped. Everywhere was dark, and voices were muffled. Her eyes adjusted. It took her some time to realize she was in her room, sitting on her bed.
How did I get here?
She slowly lied back down. When she moved, her hand brushed against something. Max flipped on her hanging lamp and found her scrapbook under her covers next to her hand. She'd had a strange dream that someone was looking through it, but couldn't remember who. Max wondered if it was one of her friends. They did ask about her dad sometimes. That was a piece of her that she didn't mind sharing. But the question came again: How did it get here?
How did I get here? No way Neil brought her in. She'd have woken up from his furious babble long before they made it out of the living room. And her mom was too weak too. She would have woken her up and asked her to go rest in her room. Then how–
Billy.
She didn't stop the thought. Didn't even second-guess it. All she did was ask herself, Why? She got a strange feeling that he wasn't asked to, just like he wasn't asked to bring her back home when he found out she was sick. Something about her knowing Billy carried her and brought her scrapbook along relaxed her. Taking her back home when she didn't feel well, taking her temperature, giving her food, and talking to her like an actual person? That can't really be Billy. Yet she'd witnessed it.
It was like watching from a distance as others settled at the top of the flume, looking down at all the water and others who went before you. The excitement of jumping in and buckling up, just knowing what was to come. Coming up to the water and holding your breath with the anticipation of getting soaked. That was the whole point of getting on the ride.
Max knew what she was in for when she got on this ride to make things better with Billy, but that didn't make it any less terrifying. And after seeing this strange side of him, it didn't make it any less . . . exciting. Knowing what was going to happen and experiencing it were two different things. She already knew that if she tried to get better with Billy that it would help in the long run. But she always asked herself, how could she make a difference if he wasn't willing to get on the ride?
Now, she wondered if he had.
Even though getting caught in the huge wave seemed bad at first glance, knowing your clothes were going to stick to you for what seemed like hours, you still got on. Because the drop was always fun. It was scary at first, but scary always turned out okay when you've had fun and your clothes have dried in the heat of the sun.
Maybe that would happen with Billy someday.
Maybe he'd gladly ride with her.
Maybe.
To be continued . . .
A/N: The Miami Vice episode I was talking about was S01 EP10: Give a Little, Take a Little.