I don't own MR
Max
How many beers does it take for a teenage mutant to get drunk? Nine. Nine strong bottles of beer. Every last drop of alcohol in those bottles. I learned this two weeks after staying with a useless Fang and a constantly-frazzled brother.
It wasn't my first choice, the temporary release of stress, but today I had finally decided to get away from it all for a few hours, and after my ninth beer I was completely gone. Although considering this was my first time drinking, I obviously didn't think the side effects through. How does a teenage mutant act when drunk? I doubted I would remember when morning came. I wasn't even sure of what I was doing at the moment, but I did notice one little detail that at least stuck out in my mind. My stomach hurt.
Not the kind of pain someone would normally feel after drinking themselves into another world. No, this was different. This was… inconsistent. At any given time a slight knock on the inside of my stomach would send my intoxicated mind into a state of confusion as I giggled at the colors on the walls.
Yes, giggled. I was a hot mess when drunk. Although I wouldn't even know that when I woke up the next morning, hopefully.
My mind went blank as I looked around at the room that spun along with myself as I twirled in circle after circle, jingling laughter falling out of my throat even as a slight pain stretched across the back of my neck, probably from staring at the ceiling and watching it go around and around as I did so as well.
At some point I was skipping down the halls in the large one story home, however everyone was already asleep so I doubted they even bothered to care. I think, in a way, this was my cry for help. For Fang specifically, but how could a hollow body know how to help? How could a broken person even think about it? They were too busy looking for the pieces of themselves to bother dealing with other's.
And so I skipped, and giggled, and thought about sneaking out to buy more alcohol before realizing I had fallen down and was laying on the carpeted floor of the living room wondering where my legs were.
Of course, I was sure they were still attached to me, but I wasn't quite sure how I ended up with my face against the scratchy carpet. The question made me laugh, and I soon realized I was the kind of drunk that was too cheerful.
Wonderful. The complete opposite of my actual personality. Just what I needed; an alternative Max to escape to. One with no worries, one who could chuckle at bad puns in movies and one who somehow thought her legs were missing.
Or if they weren't missing, they weren't working either. I was sure I was moving them, but it was only my arms that actually did anything. They waved about wildly as I rolled on my back, wondering why my arms were doing what I commanded my legs to do.
I believe I wondered this out loud, which of course would have triggered a lupine's blood to hear me and come running to find out what the hell I was doing. Although it wasn't who I expected it to be.
Instead of Lupo, the only one with dog blood in her I assumed, Fang walked out of our room. I was too drunk to really take of notice of this though, and I figured he was just waking up from a nap. Only he wasn't. His moves were robotically in sync with his previous moves, and his eyes stared forward as he walked straight into a wall and began spasming. Had I been sober this moment would have been terrifying, however, as stated countless times, I was drunk.
How is a drunk person to take pity on something so comical? I wasn't sure, and so I laughed. Again. The sound grew so annoying, I wondered if another beer would stop it, maybe one that I knocked against my head instead of my teeth.
A whimper escaped from Fang's mouth as he leaned forward against the wall, calming from his random jitters that might have been out of some foreign pain he wasn't actually feeling. Or maybe in his dimension, he was being electrocuted. The dark thought was enough to send chills down my spine before I snickered at the way I shivered and got to my feet, forgetting my legs were supposed to be missing.
"Fang!" I called, my voice all over the spectrum of pitches.
He slowly turned to me, staring right through my skin like I was a transparent ghost with no beginning or end.
"Max," he breathed out, his voice creaking like steps up an old staircase, his eyes blinking once as if to snap himself out of his stupor, and for a moment he was back. He was with me. He wasn't lost in wherever he thought he was.
But then that moment was gone, and he went back to being a robot, and I went back to being drunk, and my memory of him saying my name faded into an imagination I had thought up in my deeply drunken state.
The morning after a drunk night prancing around the house is the equivalent to being run over by three semi-trucks in a row while your head is banged with a pan over and over and over again. In other words, when I woke up the next morning at eleven I was in that special place in hell reserved for me.
It started with a gruesome headache that might as well have cut my head in half because that would have been less painful, followed by puking up every last drop I had drank last night straight into a toilet that smelled so much like clorox, I puked some more, and as if that wasn't enough punishment upon looking in the mirror I noticed that my hair was too short to be my hair. I had gone from mid-back to shoulder length in one forgotten night. A scream was somewhere on my lips when I realized I had chopped off my own hair, but it never actually fell through because at that very moment Ari walked in to my room with the timing of a mother calling you to do chores right after you start a movie.
"Hey baby sis, how's the boyfriend- whoa." Ari cut himself off as he stared at me through the open door to the connecting bathroom. Fang had somehow managed to fall back asleep in the bed last night luckily, and he seemed to lack the dark circles under his eyes which I unfortunately sported.
"Whoa is right." I mumbled, turning to my brother as I ran a hand through my nest of hair in hopes of smoothing it a bit. That didn't work.
"When did you do that?" Ari asked, walking closer and grabbing hold of a strand of hair.
"Sometime last night." I shrugged, quietly wondering where the rest of my hair was.
"Would that explain all the beer bottles in the trashcan? Or was that Igford?" Ari raised an eyebrow at me, crossing his arms over his chest as he guessed the answer already dripping off of my tongue.
"Yeah it was, and I have a killer headache, and I'm a disappointment, and I should never do it again, and yada yada yada, right?" I groaned, sitting down on the edge of the tub.
"Took the words right out of my mouth," Ari snickered, shaking his head at me. "This isn't how you do it Max. Getting away from it all is not nine beers and a headache the next morning, okay? If you ever just want to forget come to me before the alcohol. You're going to screw yourself up if you keep going at it."
"It was a one time thing," I promised, rubbing my forehead.
"It better have been, because next time I walk downstairs and see you skipping I'm going to really make your legs go missing," he winked and ruffled up my hair, as if it needed any more tangles, and stood up. "Oh, and take a shower, you need one." Ari added before walking out of the bathroom. He paused to glance at Fang casually, before continuing out of the room, and I was left alone with what was left of my hair and the horrible smell of booze and vomit.
Sighing, I got to my feet and started the rain of three showers yet to come before I would be fully convinced I had washed all of last night away.
When I was finished, about an hour and a half later I threw on a pair of Fang's sweatpants that weren't covered in blood or smelled like guy sweat, and a crop top that had been stowed away for a day like this, when I felt like absolute crap. I fell back on the bed, glancing over at Fang as he stared up at the ceiling, twitching every now and then.
"What are you thinking about, Babe?" I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder.
"Max," A breath of the wind sent me sitting straight up, looking around desperately to find the owner of the hoarse voice I had heard. No one stood in my room. It was just me and Fang.
Fang!
I almost snapped my neck in haste as I turned to him, waiting for him to say my name again. "Fang, it's me! Remember me? Max! I'm Max! Look at me, dammit!" I snarled when he only stared at the ceiling. He had talked, he had said my name. I knew it. It was him. He was awake, he had to be. I couldn't give up on him.
"Fang!" I snapped, grabbing his shoulders. My fingers tightened around his shirt as I shook him violently. "Look at me! Say something! Anything!" I persisted wildly, shaking him harder if that was possible. He only stared, and I growled in frustration, shoving him back down roughly into the same laying position he had been in since we had gotten her. "I hate you. I hate you so much. I wish I'd never met you, you inconsiderate, stupid, egotistical, little ba-"
"Max." There he went again, screwing with my feelings. Pretending to be awake when he was still lost in a trance.
"Oh that got you talking? Does fear wake you up now? Well how about this; if you don't wake up I'm going to slice you in half after I beat you to death with your own spine," I snarled.
"Max,"
"Oh my God! Can you hear me? I didn't mean that! I swear, I wouldn't actually beat you to death. Fang just look at me!" I groaned and fell back on the bed, feeling my pulse pump at twice its regular speed when in the middle of a police chase.
"Max,"
"I get it, you know my name. Try a sentence. Come on, Fang," He didn't answer that time. Silence hung in the air like clouds, drooping down but never leaving. For hours I waited for him to speak again. I paced, I begged, I pulled at my hair, I collapsed on the bed over and over again, I threatened him, I held his hand, I tried everything. But it was too late, Fang was gone again.
He was far away, back to whatever horror show the illusions created.
Yes filler chapters, I know. But it's necessary because it gives little hints to things that are going to happen. And I mean, drunk Max, what better way to write a filler chapter?
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