A/N: Decided to update early :) Thanks for all of the reads, everyone!
The next couple of hours are very boring. More than anything I just want to talk to Jackson right now; I need to hear his voice, hear him telling me it's all gonna be okay. I miss him so much that it's like a physical pain in my chest. I wonder how people communicate here…back in Washington we just used our Patronuses. I don't even see any type of phone in this house; in fact, I don't see anything even remotely electrical. Where the hell is their TV?
"Are you ready for your check-up?" Mrs. Potter comes in, closely followed by Ben, who looks anxious and tired.
"Yup," I shrug. "Whatever." She then proceeds to make sure my heart is beating normally, listen to my lungs and breathing, all that good stuff. I'm perfectly fine, except for some minor flutters of my heart. And who knows what those are all about.
"Your heart isn't beating in the usual pattern…are you relaxed?"
"Yes." Kind of.
"Are you thinking calming thoughts? You know, thinking of…erm…romance can sometimes speed one's heart…"
"Trust me, I wasn't thinking any romantic thoughts until you said something just now. You wanna feel my heart when I'm thinking of 'that special someone?'" I ask sarcastically. I start thinking of Danny first, expecting to feel all fluttery like I used to. Nope. Now Jackson; this only gives me an uncomfortable, sick sort of feeling in my stomach. I miss him so much. Hmm…maybe I really don't have anyone right now who could make my heart go all spastic…
"Hey mum, do you mind if Remus comes over tonight for dinner?" I look up; James is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual sort of elegance. Our eyes meet; I feel a slow blush creep up my cheeks. My heart stutters. Mrs. Potter gives a small intake of breath, looks at me, and then looks at James, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Of course, Remus is always welcomed here, you know that. Tell him his family is all invited as well; lovely people, the Lupins." She smiles fondly. "James, dear, would you do me a favor and show Max where the bathroom is? I'm sure she'd like to get cleaned up."
Sneaky, sneaky woman. Trying to get James and I alone together. I do really feel like taking a nice, long, very hot shower right now, though. I stand, swaying a little, and follow James, who leads me down the hall and to a room on the right. It's huge!
"Holy shit on a—I mean, gosh darn, this room is large!" I quickly correct myself. He grins.
"There's some clothes for you in that drawer. And here's a towel." He hands me a large white towel, looking awkwardly at the floor. "If you need anything, feel free to—"
"Actually, I do need something." I say seriously. He looks at me, surprised. "How do you guys talk to each other, huh? I mean, you must write to your friends who live far away from you…do you use your Patronuses, or what?"
"We use owls," he says, confused. "Why?"
"Can I borrow yours? Please?"
"Sure…let me just go and—"
"You can't tell anyone, okay? Especially not Ben. Please." I'm looking desperately at him. I've only just realized that we're standing very close. Too close. I think about stepping away, but decide against it.
"Sure," he shrugs, looking unconcerned. "Nobody has to find out. But why all the secrecy? What are you hiding?"
"It's not a 'what,' it's a 'who.'" I say softly. So softly that at first I think he doesn't hear me.
"Oh. I see."
"Yeah." Awwwwkward. Ahem. "Thanks…can you help me, then? I've never even seen an owl, much less used one to send a letter to someone." I feel weird asking for his help.
"Yeah, cool."
"…Cool."
He shuffles out of the bathroom, and I lock the door behind him. I slowly undress, not really thinking about anything at all, then wash up. I take an amazingly long, hot, and soapy shower that makes me feel tired all over again. I'm so relaxed by the time I'm done that I feel at peace with the world. Which, you should know, is a big deal since I almost never feel that way.
I comb through my hair until it shines, and change into a green t-shirt and some fraying jean shorts. I look in the full-length mirror, examining myself critically. I'm definitely not ugly, but I'm not beautiful either. I was always the 'cute' one; the one with the flowing blond hair and round green eyes, the one who was shorter than everybody else in her class and always seemed too small for the clothes she wore. Somewhere between fourth and fifth year, though, I changed. I got taller, and curvier, and I starter actually caring about the way I looked. My parents used to always tell me how pretty I was. I look just like my mom used to.
Some people confuse me for being really pretty, just because all my features are in the right places, and there are no major flaws with my face. But if they look closer, they'll probably realize that my nose is just a bit too long, my eyes just a smudge too far-set. My teeth are white and straight, thanks to four years of having to wear braces on them; but I have a slight overbite, and my lips are just a bit too round, like a child's.
The point that I am trying to make is that there are, like, billions of girls who are probably way better looking than I am for guys to choose from. And a guy like James probably has at least three girlfriends already. So basically, I have no hope. Ah, well.
"Are you done in there? Hurry up!" Ben's voice filters through the door, waking me from me reverie.
"Yeah, just a sec." I take one last look at myself, take a deep breath, and open the door. Ben is standing out in the hallway, looking grumpy.
"You better not have used up all the hot water, or else you are SOO going down." He threatens. I just snort at this, and push past him. I'm not really sure where James's room is, but I guess I'll find out soon enough. I peek my head into every room I pass. Eventually I find him; he's lying on his bed, reading a magazine that looks suspiciously inappropriate. I clear my throat, and he jumps, stuffing the magazine out of sight.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" He asks crossly. I raise my eyebrows, ignoring him, and come into his room, closing the door behind me. I go over and sit on his bed beside him, crossing my arms and glaring at him.
"Well?" I ask expectantly.
"Well, what?"
"Where's this owl you said you have?"
"Oh, she's over there. Her name is Mindy. Careful, she pecks."
"Pfft. Animals love me." I stand, and walk over to her cage. Mindy is huge, with golden feathers and large, amber eyes. I coo at her, reaching in to stroke her feathers. I open up the cage, and she hops onto my shoulder, nipping affectionately at my earlobe. James just stares, looking impressed.
"Wow…the only person she's ever reacted to so well was me…here, bring her here and I'll show you how to send a letter." I walk over to James and sit down beside him again. Mindy hops down from her perch on my shoulder and goes to sit on James's lap, where he goes on to pet her and stroke her feathers. "Okay, so first you have to write your letter. Here's some parchment for that," he says, handing me a small scroll of parchment. I take it curiously, unfurling it and staring at the large expanse of off-whiteness. "You write your letter, and then you roll it up, and take a piece of cord," he holds up a long piece of cord, "and tie the letter to the owl's leg. Mindy prefers her letters to be on her left foot, but every owl is different. Here, let me show you," he says, taking my hand and guiding it to Mindy's left claw. She raises it obligingly, hooting importantly. "Take the cord," James continues guiding my hand through the steps, showing the exact way to tie the string and position the scroll so that it won't interfere with her flying.
"Can't she just carry it in her talons, though? Why go to all of this trouble?"
"She can carry the letters that way, but it's just easier for her to have it tied to her. Especially on longer flights; that way she can use both of her claws to hunt and balance while she's flying."
"Oh." I look down at Mindy; she's pecking at James's shirt; he doesn't seem to notice. I look up to James; he's watching me, an odd look in his eyes, almost like he's pained about something. "Are you okay?" I ask, concerned. He nods, sighing.
"I'm just curious…mum didn't really tell me what's wrong with you. Something about confidentiality. So…what is wrong with you, huh?"
"Oh, nothing really. I just have weak lungs. I'll be fine."
"Oh. Where are your parents; shouldn't they be with you if you're ill?" He says this so concernedly, so innocently; he must not know yet. Well, I'm not going to be the one to tell him.
"They're away a lot. I don't want to bother them," I lie dully, not looking at James. "Ben has always been the one to take care of me."
"He seems nice."
"Yup."
Well, that basically cut our conversation right in half. We sit there awkwardly for another couple minutes, and then I stand, the parchment, quill, and cord in hand.
"Thanks," I mutter, before shuffling out of the room. I think he says, 'No problem,' but I'm not quite sure.
Dear Jackson,
I miss you so much. These last couple of days have been really hard on us; I had another attack once we got here. Don't worry, though, I'm fine now. James, this boy I met, saved me; his mom is a nurse. I'm at their house right now, but I'm not really sure where exactly that is, now that I think about it.
Ben doesn't want me to write to you. But I don't care; you are the only thing that keeps me from just up and killing myself. I mean I'm going to die anyway, why not speed up the process? Part of me thinks that Ben would be better off that way. He's had to worry about me so much, and for so long that I think it might come as a relief to him. Sorry if I sound a bit crazyl; I'm just really confused and upset. I miss you; I want to go home.
Love,
Max
That's the letter I write first. Of course I won't send it. Jackson would totally freak out, and probably do something really stupid. Instead, I write a second, much warmer one.
Dear Jackson,
How are you? How's G-WAM? I miss Washington sooo much; you have no idea. But it's cool here; I'm getting used to it at any rate. I even made a friend the other day; his name is James. God, though, I miss you so much. Ben is being a friggin pig and not letting me play any sports, like usual; also, I don't think he wants me writing to you, so try and keep this little exchange pretty hush-hush if you can. I can't write that long of letters, but I'll try and keep you informed if anything major happens.
How are my friends? Tell them I miss them a lot, okay? And say hi to Mr. Claire from me; tell him I hope he and his hubby can have that kid they've been hoping for. Okay? Thanks. And most of all, know that I miss you a lot, and even though I can't tell you where I am, that I hope that you can find me some day. I feel like there's a part of me that's missing without you. I know that sounds cheesy and cliché, but there's really no other way to describe how I feel right now. So please hurry and find me, okay?
And finally, I love you, and I miss you, and I just wanna cuddle with you like we used to; watching Saturday Night Live together, eating popcorn and picking the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms box, and making fun of lame-ass celebrities and their bad hair days. I miss that so much.
All my love,
Max
PS. Can you believe they send letters via owl here? God, what is this, the seventeen-hundreds?
After reading over this a few more times, I roll it up, walk back to James's room, and tie it to Mindy's leg. James isn't here; I wonder where he went?
"Take this to Jackson Davis, in Washington, okay? Take your time. Don't overwork yourself," I whisper to the owl. It clucks impatiently, and with one last nip to my earlobe, flies off, my letter attached firmly to its left leg. I watch it fly off into the sun, and sigh deeply. Then I turn around and head back to my room.
Where James is, apparently.
"What are you doing in here?" I ask harshly; he jumps up, trying to hide something behind his back. But it's too late. "You READ my PRIVATE LETTER?" I screech, diving at him and tackling him to the floor, trying to wrestle it out of his grip. He puts up an admittedly good effort, but I have my age, and therefore my ability to use magic outside of school, on my side.
"Accio letter!" I say, and the thing flies right into my hands. We're both sitting on the floor, breathing heavily. "How could you, James?" I ask, feeling betrayed, and then I run from him. Until I remember that I'm not supposed to run, and start walking again, hot tears sliding down my face in humiliation. That letter was never supposed to have been read. Never. And Now James knew what it said. He probably thinks I'm some sort of suicidal maniac now.
I storm into the kitchen, angrier than I have been in awhile. It's empty. Where the hell is everybody?
"Max, please…I didn't mean to—"
"Forget it." I say dully. "It's nothing. It doesn't matter any more."
"What?" he looks taken aback by this sudden change of attitude. He comes closer.
"I mean it's not like you wouldn't have found out eventually. I'm depressed, James. My parents are d—never home, I'm a constant burden to Ben, and my best friend in the whole world is back in Washington. How do you expect me to feel? I'm not that brave, you know. In fact, I'm the biggest coward—you have no freakin idea—" I'm sobbing, great shuddering cries that wrack my body. In two steps James is in front of me; he pulls me to him, and I cry into him, holding onto him like he's the only thing keeping me here, keeping me from flying away. And this reminds me of Jackson, and when we last said goodbye, and this makes me cry harder still, until my throat is raw and aching, and my lungs feel like they're about to explode.
"Inhaler!" I gasp eventually. James, looking alarmed, rushes to my room, grabs the inhaler, and races back to me. I inhale; the medicine tastes disgusting, but it helps almost immediately. "Thanks." I say after I'm done. "I'm sorry about that; I don't know why—"
"Don't sweat it." James grins. I notice his shirt is all wet, and feel a tidal wave of embarrassment wash over me. I'm tempted to laugh at the situation, but don't. "It's not often that a guy gets the chance to have a hot girl crying all over him." He laughs; his laugh is pure male, dark and sarcastic, and yet honest at the same time. Or something like that, anyway. I'm about to respond when there's a knock on the door. I jump, startled. "Hey, can you get that? It's Remus. I need to quick do something."
"O-okay…" I say nervously, and head to the door. My face is still wet with tears. I open the door.
"Oh, hello there." Remus says, looking surprised. "You must be Max. Nice to meet you." He reaches out to shake my hand. Afterwards I let him in, and explain that James will be back shortly. "Umm, I know it really isn't my place to ask, but are you alright?" He looks so concerned, this boy who I just met. Concerned for me. I grin.
"Don't worry, I'm good. In fact, I'm excellent. But poor James—he had to endure about twenty minutes of me slobbering and sniffling all over him. I feel bad now." I run a hand through my hair.
"Nah, you don't have to feel bad. I'm surprised that he let you, though. He must me making progress."
"Progress?"
"You know; curing himself of his addiction."
"Addiction?" I knew James was too good to be true. Damn. I wonder what it is—pot, meth, alcohol-
"Yeah. His addiction to Lily Evans."
Double-damn.
"Oh, hey Remus. I see you've met Max." James himself enters the room, his hair ruffled and disheveled as usual. "Were you two having a nice little chat, then?"
"Ohhhh, yeah." I mutter under my breath.