Two quick announcements:

1) After this story is over, I keeping it up for exactly a week. One week to read the epilogue, then I am taking it down to reedit, and will be reposting the edited version of the story, (which will be a lot better, considering that I was in sixth grade when I started this and was extremely ill-versed in writing.)

2) I will posting a short story about Max and Fang called "Losing my Last Petal" It has no correlation to this, but has a somewhat similar plot if you guys want to check that out.

Broken: Chapter 33

Broken Brains- Fang

My mind detonated the second that the date was over. The hectic night had sent my brain into overdrive. It wouldn't stop running. I was an Olympic on their 400 yard dash: constant and pushing toward the finish line until the bright red tape at the end of the track broke behind me in a flash of excitement and exhaustion.

My mind was the tape, torn.

I was often torn when it came to Max. For example, the time that I met her. Her chocolate brown eyes glared at me while I sat beside her, and tried to avoid her glance. I could almost hear growls escaping her throat whenever we spoke, or whenever I even came into sight. She had such anger and resentment at the world, and with almost everyone in it; she didn't stop herself at me. I was catnip for her: something to play with, something to fight with. And that was what exhilarated her the most.

I was torn when she tutored me. She'd go through the information well into the night, and wouldn't stop until I could I replay the material forward, backward, in Morse code, and back again. And when my mind flew away into the world of distraction, she'd bring me back and remind me of the importance of studying. I'd soar into the clouds, and she'd tether me to reality. I was the kite, and she was the string, grounded and rational.

But I was irrational. When she dated Dylan, my irritation with the two of them flourished to a new high. My ears steamed at the slightest showing of affection between the two. I picked fights with them, insulted them. I wrote off their relationship as a joke, said that Max could never really like a guy like Dylan. But who was a guy like Dylan: a guy who had been friends with her since second grade? A guy who cared enough about her to be wary of this new guy coming in? A guy who tried to be nice to be, and only stopped once I had first attacked? Dylan wasn't the bad guy. I was.

I was the insane one who tackled him. I was the one who kissed his girlfriend. He did nothing but egg me on, something I would've done if I was in his situation. I hadn't even thought it could be jealousy until I realized how I felt about Max. I had been the asshole, not him.

Max had protected me from his full wrath, which I presume is much worse than what I received. She was always worrying about me, as I was with her. But Max didn't have to worry about me. I was able to take care of myself, even if I was going up against Dylan. Even if I was sick. Even if I wasn't able to pick up the check.

I knew that she had paid for the meal. No girl has to go to the bathroom for fifteen minutes, especially not Max, who couldn't care less about retouching her make-up. I'd tried to reason to the waiter after the meal, and get him to refund Max's money, so that I could pay. But of course, he said that an anonymous customer had paid generously for his meal, and that I should just get out before they decide that they didn't want to be generous anymore.

But I wouldn't let Max win. I made up by taking her to a quaint ice cream parlor on the corner of the street. She had been begging for dessert, and I figured there was no other way I could pay her back, (without, of course, sneaking into her room in the middle of the night and putting the money in her wallet.)

And so we strolled down the path, hands interlocked, as we spoke about the most random things. Music. Celebrities. TV. Disneyland. Friends. Sports. The future. We tried not to talk about the past too often. Life was easier to move on, rather then dwell on the pain and the loss.

When we entered the shop, with the jingle of chimes at the door, Max's eyes flashed from flavor to flavor. Rocky Road, Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Her glance stopped dead in its tracks. She looked up at the ice cream scooper and pointed. Max explained that chocolate chip cookies had always been her favorite food, even as a child, "My mom used to make the best chocolate chip cookies that melted in your mouth," She confessed, her bright smile beginning to fade away.

This is why we didn't like talking about the past.

I tried to smile to her, "Well, I think I'm gonna get Mint Chocolate Chip. And this time, I'm paying." I assured her, my mouth pointing into a suggestive smirk.

She grinned, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

We perched on a bench outside of the shop, where Max leaned her head against my shoulder, while lapping up her treat, "I don't know why we decided to sit outside," she commented, "It's freezing out here."

"It's the middle of April, Max."

"So, it's at least twenty degrees outside," I grabbed my phone, and opened the weather app. 68 degrees. I decided not to bring it up to Max, and reached for my coat, "Oh no, you are not doing the cliché as shit move where you hang your jacket on my shoulders. I am not gonna be one of those couples."

I chuckled, "Fine, freeze to death." She shoved me; the small of my back stroke the bench rest. My ice cream cone splattered on my shirt, and all over the top of my neck.

She gasped as I regained my previous position. Mint Chocolate Chip covered my formerly pristine shirt. Her face blushed, with her hands covering the chuckles she desperately struggles to hide, "Thanks, Max. I think the green in the mint really compliments my eyes, doesn't it?" I proclaimed, sarcasm laced within the words I had uttered.

She pecked me on the cheek, "Let me take care of that," and her lips traveled down to my neck where a stream of melted ice cream flowed. Her kisses covered my neck, as she sucked away the sticky dessert. She broke apart from my neck, and grabbed some of napkins she had brought out with us, and wiped away the remaining residue. I pulled her into a proper kiss, and I could feel her smile arise on her lips.

A familiar voice cut us short, "Oh, uh, hey Max." My eyes averted to his face, tan and chiseled with eyes opened wide. My breath hitched; Dylan stood in front of us, hand in hand with a girl I didn't recognize.

Max's eyes struggled to meet his, "Oh, hey Dylan, how are you doing?"

"Good, same old same. Hey Nick, didn't see you there." I nodded; my mind rushed with memories of fighting and more fighting.

"So, um, what are you doing here?" Max stood, trying greatly to not make this situation seem as awkward as it was.

He motioned toward the girl, "Just taking Rachel out on a date, I'm guessing Nick's doing the same with you,"

"Yeah."

"Well-um-we better get going," Dylan stammered, "Maybe, I'll see you around school." Max reiterated his statement with sincerity.

"Oh, and Nick," Dylan interjected, "I think you spilt some ice cream on your shirt." I almost chuckled, as he walked away.

Max and I were inseparable after the first date. Every Friday night we were either at a movie, or at Iggy's house, or at the arcade, or at the library. We found any and every place to go to together. At lunch we sat together, and held hands under the table while the Kayla rambled about her next master scheme to get out of a test, or while Iggy and Gazzy explained the next bomb they planned to set off. Lauren and Kayla would talk about the new stores that had opened at the mall, and I'd talk to Iggy about the last soccer practice, but at every moment I kept my hand on Max's. I would tangle our fingers together until it was a fully functional rope, unbreakable.

We'd go in between classes together, even though we had only two classes with each other. We'd talk, and we'd laugh, and we'd smile, and we'd joke.

And we'd kiss.

We kissed a lot, whenever we got the chance. And after each one, we craved more, we wished we could just hide away and be with each other, where no one could bother us, or tease us, or hurt us. We often wished to run away.

We planned unbelievable futures. Suddenly my grades would spike up, and I would become a National Merit Scholar, and I'd be able to go to Stanford with Max, and on a soccer scholarship. Nudge and Juliet would be safe, and Jeb would be out of the picture. In my version, he was killed in a (not so) tragic and (not so) sober lab mistake. In Max's version, he went to jail for his crimes, and later went to rehab to straighten up. We agreed to disagree.

Study sessions soon became extremely ineffective; we'd push our books aside and kiss for hours on end. I'd talk to her, and she'd talk back. No, she wouldn't just talk back: she would gush back. We told each other everything, and the things left unsaid, we'd be began to infer. When she'd get a heavy beating, I could tell. Her eyes wouldn't shine as bright, her head would stay down, as she tugged at her clothes, ensuring all bruises were covered.

Countless times, Max tried to break it off. "Jeb's getting suspicious," she'd say. "It's for your protection." But each time, I called his bluff; if he wanted to come after me, then he could. He was a middle-aged drunk, who couldn't maneuver his way. I could easily take him.

We began to hang out at my house. Lately, Anne had been away at nights, off with other suitors and new people who were just as put together as her. She tried to introduce Juliet and I to some of them, and almost immediately, I had run off into the night with Jules, desperate to get her away from the pervy guys who didn't care about harming someone, or about age, or about consent. Max didn't come over when this happened.

Many times, I'd be awoken to hear beating and screaming. And every time, I'd run over to Jules room, to see her huddled in a corner, crying from the loud noises coming from my mother's room. Jules and I began to sleep in the same bed at night, so that when the sounds took over, we had each other to comfort one another.

Soon it became harder and harder to have Max over. Billy, my mother's newest tormenter, had begun to spend more time at the house; I'm sure that Anne had even offered to move in a couple times. The only thing was, Billy hated children. Every time he'd see Jules or me walking around the house, he'd tell us to scatter, if we knew what was best for us. A couple of times, at night, I'd seen him drunkenly wandering the halls, sometimes stopping in front of Jules's room, and seeing if she was in there. I'd lock my door, and tell him to leave us alone. After a few shoves and a punch, he finally went away.

We had just gotten away from our abuser, and another came knocking on our door.

Eventually, Max couldn't come over anymore. She knew why, and though it angered her to no ends, she knew she had no choice. We decided to meet at the park, and everyday we would sit with each other, and just enjoy each other's comforting. Enjoy each other's understanding. Enjoy each other's silence.

And at school, we hated to part ways, but the separation helped keep the relationship fresh. Sadly, we had hardly any classes with each other; I was in majority of AP and honors classes, while he was in regular classes. And though I tried to stop it, my jealous nature roared at school. Like once, Marcel was insistent. He was telling me, (or rather telling Max,) about another one of his famous parties after the soccer games. I never went, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. But that didn't stop him telling Max all about it with that mischievous look he always wore on his face.

Thankfully, Max never accepted. In her nicest tone, she would say, "I'm sorry, but my father doesn't allow me to go to parties. And he definitely doesn't approve of random guys hitting on taken girls." Then she'd stalk away, hand-in-hand with me, and I once I'd even seen her flip him off.

Sometimes, I wished that we were both graduated. That we were both at Stanford, me on a soccer scholarship, and her living her dreams with Nudge by her side, and Jules on mine. But I knew that would never happen. I'd never get into Stanford in the first place. I was still nervous I would ever be accepted into a college. But Max could. Max could soar without me. Could reach her dreams, and further. I was holding her back, and it scared me.

On May 15th, only three weeks until the end of school, Max didn't show up at school. I tried calling her a couple of times, even tried to sneak by her house (with no avail.) She had dropped off the face of the earth.

I asked Kayla about it, but she stayed silent, deadly silent. More than anything, I just wanted to find Max. She held my ground when I couldn't, and vice versa. What if she's hurt? I would wonder. But Jeb hit her all the time, and that never stopped her from coming to school. Not unless it was bad. My face smoked with the thought; and soon the thought caught and a full flame kindled. What if Jeb stabbed her or something? What if Max is actually dead? What if Max is sick, Jeb might beat up on her all day long?

And then my thought engulfed my heart.

What if Jeb had touched her?

I'd thought about it more than once. From the other people that I knew that were abused, I'd heard a lot about sexual harassment. It was just as bad, if not worse than regular abuse. Not degraded regular abuse, trust me I had lived through it.

But that wouldn't happen. Jeb would be at work, and Max was probably lying in bed, thinking about me. That almost made me forget about worrying about Max.

But soon my anxiety continued, even to the next day at school, when yet again, she was missing. I scoured the halls, maybe she had just been late. That was probably it, she probably just got stuck in traffic, or maybe she had a doctor's appointment. Or maybe her family was on a vacation. It was entirely possible. Entirely. Even though Max would never want to go anywhere with Jeb. It could still happen.

And yet I still couldn't convince myself. She's fine. I kept forcing into my brain, but for some reason it wouldn't stick. So when I found Iggy, I almost pissed myself. "Hey, have you heard from Max at all?"

He looked up from the Chemistry homework he was finishing, "Aw, is Fang worrying about his girlfriend?" He said in a patronizing tone, while still completely avoiding my question, "I'd say that you guys are even more sappy than Kayla and I, and that's saying something. You're probably just still in the honeymoon phase. A month and a half is kinda pushing it, but you never know." He rambled.

"Have you heard from Max?" I repeated. Iggy was my best bet. He was the closest one to Max, even closer than I was. He was the only one who knew about Jeb, besides me. Kayla didn't even know to the entire extent, since Max had been insistent of lying about it.

Iggy sighed, "Look man, Max usually doesn't come to school around this time of the year. She kinda falls into a slump, doesn't really want to talk to anyone. Avoids calls, texts, any real form of communication. The first few years, I always got kinda worried, but I kinda realized why after a while. She usually comes back in a week or so, Jeb finally forces her. She'll be back to her normal self in two weeks, tops. She's gonna be fine, don't worry about it."

My eyes narrowed a bit, "But why? What's going on? Can I help her with it or anything?"

He sighed again, "Her mom died today." I racked my brain, her mom had already died, almost five years ago. "I mean, she died five years ago today. Jeb usually gives her a bunch of shit about it, saying that she was the reason why or whatever, so she just stays at home, sulking. Kinda dramatic, but reasonable. She'll be fine. In fact, last year she was back by the end of the week, record time. She's getting over it, slowly but surely. I wouldn't be surprised if she was back by Thursday." I was lost in thought. Thursday was two days from now, I didn't know if I could handle being away from her for that long. I didn't know if she could handle it.

Everything in my body told me to go to her. To comfort her. To tell her I understand. Everything in my body except my brain. My brain tethered me; it was something that worked quite well and quite often. When God or fate or science or whatever it was that made me, I was made with an impulsive heart. My brain was the only thing take control, tell my heart to shut up, and listen to logic. But instead of listening to it, I turned it off. Shut it out completely. It was the worst mistake I had ever made.

Hey Guys, I know it's been forever. I've been writing this chapter for two months. Yes, two months. I know that seems completely absurd, but I just had no desire to write it. I already know how the ending to going to be, and it kinda hinders the creative process. I know exactly what I'm going to write about and exactly what needs to be in each chapter, and it kinda seems less desirable. But, I will try to update this story extremely soon. I left you guys with quite a pleasant cliffhanger to look forward to. The next chapter is going to be fun! I can't wait to write it, in fact I'm already in the process.

And to give you guys a bit of a gift, I'm extending the story by one chapter (and it isn't at all because I miscounted the number of chapter I need for the story and not at all that I forgot that it is dual point of view!)

So, only three more chapters (and an epilogue.) Are you excited? Are you nervous? I'd be a bit of both.

See you soon, I promise!

~Maximum Reading