Smiles :-: Chapter Four :-: Do Me a Favor and Smile
:-: MAX :-:
The next morning when I wake up, I immediately go to the bathroom to shower, deciding to leave both of the connecting doors unlocked, but the shower door locked. I'd rather not run into Fang, until he's brushed his teeth.
I lean against the shower wall, sighing to myself and shaking my head as I remember last night. It wasn't every night that Fang Walker told you he was going to make you smile.
Pfft. I hope he has fun with that.
Although it wasn't necessarily funny, that single thought made me crack up. If professional doctors and therapists et cetera can't make me smile, what makes Fang think that he, out of all people, can?
Nada. Ain't gonna happen.
Maybe there's a .0000000000000000001% chance that he was some magically smiling wizard—as if, the kid barely smiles more than me—and then he might be able to achieve the impossible.
But then there's the .99999999999999999999% chance weighing him down on the other side of the balance labeled 'Chance of Making Max Smile', shortened down to 'Chance of M&Ms'.
As I said before: not likely.
After I rinse off in the shower, I wrap myself up in a towel, making sure it's secure around me. I wasn't in favor of a repeat of last morning… and definitely not with the rolls switched.
Exiting the separate shower/toilet room of the bathroom, I peek my head out to make sure Fang's not in the bathroom, and that both doors are shut. Satisfied, I walk out into the open air of the sink-area of the bathroom.
And that's when my eyes zoom in on a bright, neon blue sticky note, stuck onto the mirror.
Clutching the towel's edge to my chest, I slowly walk towards it to read what it says, careful not to slip on the waxy tile. Scrawled on it in messy, boyish handwriting are six—well, if you counted the name, seven—words:
Do me a favor and smile.
Shortly followed by:
Fang.
Like hell I would do him a favor. I repeat: Who does he think he is? Superman?
I leave the sticky note attached to the mirror and stomp to my room to change. Then, I grab a pen and go back to the bathroom, snatching the small square paper, writing furiously on the back.
No. Yours Truly, Max.
:-:-:-:
"Tell me why you—why everyone—calls me Moxie," I demand, holding Fang's phone away from him. I was in Ar—the room Fang was staying in, trying to focus my attention on keeping the phone away from Fang, rather than the walls that once used to be my brother's.
He shakes his head, his messy black hair—which believe it or not, I've heard people call it sex hair—falling in front of one eye. "Just give me my phone, goddammit," Fang mutters, making a grab for it, and missing, since I stepped back.
I purse my lips, shaking my head. "Nuh. Tell me. Now." I figured, if Fang staying with us was inevitable; why not take something 'good' from it?
"Why does it even matter?" Fang asks, taking a step towards me and reaching for his phone in my hand.
"Well if you want your phone back, I'm pretty sure it matters," I reply, narrowing my eyes at him.
Fang's quiet for a moment, and I'm sure he's going to tell me why everyone at school calls me Moxie.
But I'm wrong; he quickly takes a step forward and puts his arms up, trapping me between his body and the wall. Shiiit. He leans his head down towards mine, and my breathing quickens to an unbelievable rate.
Breathe, Max, breathe.
It's not because of Fang's proximity to me—which is preposterously close—but rather, my contiguity to the wall.
This wall… It wasn't just any wall… It was the wall that… that Ar—we had painted together with hand prints and silly drawings. It was our wall, and despite the blue paint that layers over it, it would still have our paintings beneath the paint.
"Give me my phone, Max," Fang whispers in my ear, his voice low, husky, and dangerous. Slowly, he slips the phone out of my grip, and I don't do anything about it—I'm frozen in place.
Memories flash in my head, and it's almost as if I'm watching it in front of me.
:-:-:-:
"Ahhh! Stop it Max!" he squealed as I tickled him with my yellow paint-coated fingers.
I grinned down at him. "Say it!"
He shook his head no. "Never!"
Tickling him even more in the ribcage, I said, "Come on! Say it!"
"Noo—Uncle, uncle! Max is the best and most awesome sister in the entire universe!" he relented, tackling me, and getting blue paint all over my shirt. I hugged him to me. "I love you, Maxie," he whispered, grinning at me.
"I love you too, little bro," I smiled.
He looked up at mischievously, before rubbing his hands all over my face, efficiently coating me with blue.
I laughed, before I playfully glared at him. "ARI MARTINEZ!"
:-:-:-:
Ari… Ari… "Ari," I whisper, my eyes widening as they focus on Fang.
He looks at me in confusion, bringing his hand up to cup my cheek. And… I don't move away. Ari. It's all my fault. "Max," Fang says softly. "Max…"
My eyes clench shut, willing all the pain and guilt I had stored inside me away. Please. I hang my head downwards, and it lands on Fang's chest. His arms wrap around me and for some reason… it's comforting. He's not trying to mock me, or make fun of me.
I try to control my shaking, and push the tears away from my eyes. For so long, I had forced myself not to think about it—not to remember. Him. Me. What I had done. It made me so vulnerable… and I promised him never to let go of myself.
"Max…" Fang says again, stroking my hair. "I'm sorry."
Those two words knock me back into reality and away from his arms. I stare at him with widened eyes, shaking my head. He isn't Ari. He can't bring him back.
Fang looks back at me, his face blank, eyes showing concern.
I shake my head, and with one last meaningful—and almost threatening—glance, I leave his room.
:-: FANG :-:
I had her trapped against the wall to get my phone back. And she just… she had just let me. It was as if she had turned into a marble statue—frozen, immobile, and unmoving.
And it… it wasn't because of me.
There was something else about Max—something in her past, and probably the thing that, figuratively, prevented her from smiling. Normally, she always had her guard up… but in those few minutes, her eyes had cleared.
She was in pain and overridden with guilt.
I couldn't help it when I had held her cheek—she had just looked so… Un-Max. So vulnerable. And then she leaned on me, and I felt as if she was opening up to me for once. It was… different.
But then it all changed back to normal, and she retreated back to her room after one expressive stare at me.
I lean back on my bed, my arms crossed beneath my neck, breathing slowly, and trying to think.
There was something else behind Max. Some secret or event in her past that was eating her up alive.
And I am determined to figure it out. Determined to figure Max out.