A/N Another update just because I feel like it. Next update will be on Saturday, like I originally planned.
Chapter Three
"So," Fang said. I huddled under my blanket and avoided his eyes.
"Max, you are welcome to stay with us for as long as you need." Fang's mom reached out and patted my knee, and I winced, withdrawing further into their couch and curling my legs underneath me.
"Um, thanks. But I just need to wait out the storm, and then I'll be out of your hair," I muttered. I leaned forward and picked up my mug of tea, cradling its warmth in both hands.
"Nonsense. Nick has told me you have no place to go." She smiled, folding her hands in her lap. She was pretty, I guess. In a 'mom' sort of way. She had light blonde hair and blue eyes; she looked nothing like Fang. There were fine lines around her lips, her eyes. She was wearing a soft-looking purple sweater, jeans. Brown boots, knee-high. Sparkly earrings, gold wedding band. She looked like a mom. Nice and warm.
I didn't respond; I didn't have anything to say that wasn't a lie. So I sipped my tea and looked out the window at the snow, falling softly, muting the world.
(It was snowing the day you killed them.)
Blinding white, spinning wheels, a crash. Shattered glass twinkling in the moonlight. Flashing red and blue, wailing sirens. Strapped down, flat on my back- hardwood floor pressed against my spine-
No, stop. That was a different moment, a different piece of space, frozen in time.
Dead eyes, staring down at me, their vacancy holding me, paralyzing me, making it impossible to move- dead weight over my whole body.
Stop it. Stop.
Cold skin, fingers pulled out of my grasp. Screaming. My screaming. Sirens screaming. Wind screaming. But me screaming loudest of all.
"Max?" Fang's voice was worried. It pulled me out of my mind, pictures fading slowly. "You okay?"
I shook my head slightly, squeezing my eyes shut. "Yeah, fine. I'm just a bit tired." I pressed my nails against the doodle on my wrist and held on until I felt a sharp sting. I opened my eyes and saw red bleeding through the sleeve of my t-shirt. I covered it with my hand before anyone could see.
"Well, let's eat dinner, shall we?" Mrs. Fremont said, standing. I followed her example, letting the blanket draped over my shoulders flutter back to the couch. The living room was open to the kitchen, blocked off only by bar where the counter jutted out from the wall. I trailed after Mrs. Fremont into the kitchen, where the heavy scent of tomato sauce settled in the air.
"You hungry?" Fang asked as he moved toward the cabinets over the counter. He stood on tiptoes and pulled a stack of plates, five high, out of one, glasses out of another. I forced down a laugh and patted my two-day empty tummy.
"I'm starving." I sat at the table and watched them move around each other, setting the table and stirring things in pots. Angel, the little girl I met the night my shitty life got shittier, ran through, blonde curls bouncing.
"Mommy, when's dinner?" she asked, blue eyes sparkling. She and her mother looked exactly alike, which left Fang the odd one out.
Mrs. Fremont smiled down at the girl and ruffled her hair. "Right now. Go and get washed up."
"Okay," Angel said, hurrying back out of the room.
Fang placed a plate in front of me, arm brushing my shoulder. I swallowed hard at his close proximity and turned my face away from him.
Just then, Angel came bounding back into the room, hands still dripping. She smiled at me, and I did my best to pull my mouth into something similar. It felt weird on my face, like my muscles couldn't quite remember how to do it.
"Angel," Fang said, pulling her into his lap. She wiped her hands on his sweater, laughing. "This is Max. She's Nudge's foster sister. Do you remember Nudge?" Fang gestured at me with a grin, and I smothered a glare before it could surface.
"Yeah! Nudge was Ella's friend!" She grinned at me, then something passed over her face and she settled back into Fang's chest, tucking her head under his chin. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay, Angel." He pressed a kiss to her curls and let her slide off his lap. "I know."
I opened my mouth to ask what he was talking about, but Mrs. Fremont cut me off.
"Dinner time!" she said, setting a pot of spaghetti down in front of us, and that was the end of that.
I was to sleep in Angel's extra bed that night. I wanted to make something clear- I was very, very grateful to the Fremont family for allowing me to come into their home and eat their food. But I hated the thought of owing Fang or anyone anything. It terrified me.
I was stripping the sheets to replace them with clean ones. Apparently I had gotten blood on the last set.
"Here," Angel's sweet little voice said behind me. I turned around to find her holding out a white nightgown to me. "It's Ella's. You guys look like you're the same size, so I took it from her drawers. You can't tell Fang, though, because he says I'm not supposed to go in there."
I looked at her little face, open and bright. I couldn't ask her about Ella; not after how crushed she looked earlier. It was none of my business anyways.
(Which didn't make me any less curious.)
I hesitantly reached out for the nightgown, rubbing the fabric between my fingers when she handed it to me. It was soft, the way cotton gets when you've washed it enough times. It had long sleeves with little lace cuffs, and a blue bow on each wrist. It looked like something a character would wear in a movie, not something to sleep in. And, honestly, I was used to just sleeping in a t-shirt and my underwear. But I couldn't turn Angel away; she looked too hopefully at me for me to turn her down.
"Thank you," I said, forcing what I hoped looked like a smile. "Would it be okay if I took a shower before bed?"
"Sure. Come on, I'll show you where we keep the good shampoo."
She took me by the hand, and my smile came easier this time. She led me to the bathroom and pulled out a bottle of lavender shampoo from under the sink, then showed me how to turn on the taps.
"The towels are in that cabinet," she said, pointing to the cupboard above the toilet.
"Thank you," I said, and locked the door behind her when she left. I stripped quickly, avoiding my reflection as I did so. It was too hard to look.
I stepped carefully into the stream, wincing at the temperature. The water was scalding, filling the room with sticky steam. My skin screamed against the heat, but it was impossible to get clean with cold water. And all I wanted was to be clean.
I let my eyes close and my head roll back so the water could run down my face.
The burning water was turning my skin a bright, rosy pink color. I ran my fingers over my ribs, tracing the rivers of blue and black broken blood vessels. I flinched against the twinge that hit with every stroke, and then pressed harder. A surge of fear pressed against the back of my throat, and I bit back a cry.
I could still smell him. His scent was embedded in my skin, laced through my hair. I could feel his flesh under my fingernails. His presence was a constant in my subconscious.
I leaned against the slick shower wall, hands curling into claws at my sides. Hopeless desperation squirmed in my belly like parasites, poisoning my body and making me sick.
My hands searched blindly until they hit a bottle, and I uncapped it and poured soap into my palm. I began to scrub violently at my arms, my shoulders, the sensitive skin of my belly and lower. My legs, my feet, my back, where I could reach. I scrubbed and scrubbed, until it hurt and everything turned red and my cries choked me, burning me up from the inside out.
-your sneakers. Just get out, just leave, just go. Run. Get away. Dead weight over my whole body. Silver moonlight. Hardwood floor pressed against my spine. Vomit- The same images repeated in my head like a nightmare record, spinning vinyl, whirling madness. I sank to the ground, legs shaking, and hugged my knees to my bruised chest. I covered my mouth with a hand in a feeble attempt to keep the gasping, shuddering sobs inside. Or, at least, keep them quiet enough that they wouldn't wake anyone.
My chest was tight and aching, and my head swam like I wasn't getting any air. The hand that wasn't covering my wild animal noises gripped the shower curtain, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the onslaught of terror- in sink, clothes on. Kill him. No, don't, they'd-
My fingers fisted themselves in my long, tangled hair. I pulled on it, trying to bring myself back to this moment. But the tugging sensation reminded me of him.
(He's never going to go away.)
(It'll be like this forever.)
(You'll never be safe.)
Hands in my hair, nails against my scalp. He pulled, hard, baring my throat. I tried to pull away, escape. But he knotted my hair up, twisting it around his fingers and anchoring me to him.
My nails dug into my thigh, pushing and pushing until they drew blood. The water beat down against my back, ran down my hair and over my face. I struggled to breathe, inhaling it and choking, spluttering. The word on my wrist had been scrubbed away. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't keep the panic away.
I was drowning.
I waited until the princess clock on Angel's wall read midnight, and her soft breaths grew deep and even, before I slipped out from under the covers and out of the room. I tiptoed down the hall and across the living room into the kitchen, the nightgown swirling around my ankles.
Fang was sitting at the kitchen table, his phone's screen lighting up his face, a half-eaten sandwich on a plate in front of him. I froze when I saw him, toes digging into the carpet just before the kitchen's hardwood. He looked up and his mouth fell open slightly, the phone in his hand sliding to the table.
"Hey," he said in a hushed tone. "Why're you up?"
I was very aware of the fact that he was bare from the waist up, and we were very alone. My heart began to race in a very bad way.
"I-" A block of ice settled in my throat, and I swallowed. "I just, um, couldn't sleep."
"That Ella's nightgown?"
I looked down and fingered the lace collar. "Yeah."
"Looks good." He smiled, but his eyes seemed too tight. "Help you with something?"
"Scissors?" My voice was barely above a whisper.
He moved across the room to a drawer and dug around for a moment, before he pulled out a pair of scissors, the blades flashing in the moonlight coming in from the windows. Silver moonlight- stop, Max. That was then, this is now. You're here, in Fang's house. You're safe. Shattered glass, twinkling in the moonlight- Jesus, get out of my head. Two nightmares, intertwining, mixing, running together.
A sharp rasping noise echoed around the room, and it took me a second to realize it was my breathing. Fang looked like he was reconsidering giving me a sharp object, and he furrowed his brow at me.
"Max? You okay?" He took a step forward and I stumbled back, holding out my hands in front of me. As if they could protect me- they didn't before.
"Don't- don't come any closer," I stuttered. "Stay where you are."
He did, confusion clouding his eyes. The moon cast shadows over his face, and my brain changed his features. Suddenly, he wasn't Fang, and this wasn't his house. I was pressed against hardwood, Sam's face hovering above me. The acrid scent of beer and pot was in my nose, nails were pressed against my throat, squashing my windpipe. I choked, hands flying to the collar of the nightgown. I couldn't breathe.
"Max, calm down." Fang came closer again, and I stepped back. My feet got tangled up in the bottom of the nightgown and I tripped, sprawling across the floor. I scrabbled backwards until my spine hit the back of the couch.
Terror wracked my body with tremors, and I hid my face in my hands.
The silence was thick as it settled over us, with only the whisper of our breath to break it. I could hear him move towards me, and I peeked out from between my fingers to see that he had dropped to his knees.
"Max?" he whispered, reaching out a hand to brush over my wrist. I jerked as if he had burned me, and shoved at his hand.
"Don't." I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. "Just don't."
"I don't understand-"
My laugh was harsh as it grated against my throat. "Obviously."
I opened my eyes again to see his angry face. "What is your deal?" he asked. "I'm letting you stay in my house. You're wearing my sister's clothes. You're eating our food. I don't understand what your problem is?"
"My problem? My problem is you thinking you can fix everything with one night and a plate of spaghetti. You don't know me. You don't know my life or what I've been through. You don't know anything." My words were angry but my tone was hushed, my voice shaking.
He was quiet again for a moment before he wordlessly held out his hand. Across his palm were the scissors- a peace offering. Not a smart move on his part, but I took them. My fingers brushed his palm, and I winced. My legs still felt like jelly, but I pushed myself up using the back of the couch and pushed past Fang to the kitchen. I could feel his eyes on me as he followed.
I gathered my hair into a bundle at the nape of my neck as I leaned over the sink and flicked my eyes up to meet his. He barely had time to tilt his head in confusion before I lifted the scissors and snapped the blades shut. With a few sharp snips, my hair came away in my hand, leaving me with a jagged, uneven chin-length cut. I sat the scissors and the long mass of hair on the counter next to the sink, staring Fang down. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
"Don't act like you know me." I shook a wisp of hair out of my face, and he followed the movement with his eyes. "You don't know me."
He nodded, and I took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said. "Okay. Fine."
I went back to bed.