Recompense

Max stared down at the empty bags in the bathroom trash and watched as the little water droplets slid down the side. Ice. She winced and wondered how often Billy had to ice the bruises on his backside. Were bruises still there? Cuts? Was it still red?

It has to be bad if he needs ice packs . . . Or maybe he was taking ice baths?

She blew out a breath and finished brushing her teeth, spitting out the toothpaste residue and washing it down the drain. If only it was so easy to wash away the guilt that still ate at her. She wanted to give Billy some space, feeling like that was the best way to start on her path to this . . . redemption? No, that word didn't fit. Journey? Meh.

When she woke that Monday morning, she expected to find her door barricaded, but one easy turn of the knob, and she stared into an empty hallway with nothing ominous in sight. It felt weird. She wasn't fool enough to not keep her guard up though. Billy was a ball of fire at the moment—she never knew when a crackle would spit at her and set her aflame.

Max went back to her room to grab her backpack and threw her hair up into a ponytail. She was resolved to find a solution to this whole mess. To smooth things over with Billy. To make things right. Better? Something . . .

She reached down to grab her skateboard, but when only half of it came off the ground, she let out a puff of air and closed her eyes for a moment. Oh, right. No skateboard. She made a mental note to throw it out later. Staring at it every day wasn't going to magically make it whole again, and thinking about the way Billy broke it wasn't going to make this process of fixing things any easier. It would be better to just get it out of sight and move on.

Max made her way into the dining room and was surprised that Billy wasn't already there yelling at her to hurry up. Was she that early? She chewed her lip and frowned at the ground, staring at her Vans like they would know the answer. Why wasn't Billy yelling at her?

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen and finally, Billy came around the corner. Max straightened from slouching over the dining room table, then stood.

"Is it time to go?" she asked, feeling a small ball of anxiety settle in her stomach.

He ignored her and kept his eyes downcast as he left the house. She stood there for a moment and wondered if she was expected to walk or something. It felt like walking on eggshells, waiting to see if he would lash out at her . . . or something. She decided to just follow him out, and seeing him already seated in the car, she hurried forward and climbed in, fastening her seat belt without a word. It felt so wrong . . . So . . . awkward.

They rode in complete silence. The only sound was the way the tires moved against the pavement and the occasional honk of a car horn. Why isn't he playing his music? Max occasionally glanced at Billy, noting the bags still under his eyes and the way they drooped like he was sleep deprived. Was icing his soreness keeping him awake at night? Or maybe it was the soreness itself? She let out a sigh and wished giving him space didn't feel like this . . . like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff and at any moment he'd push her off and laugh when she fell. There's gotta be something else I could do to make this better . . .

He'd dropped her off at school without saying a word. Picked her up, and the silence was still the same. She felt like she might combust from the pressure of the silence as it made her ears ring. Billy fidgeted in his seat, readjusting ever so slightly while trying to hide his small winces. She wondered how he managed to sit through school all day without being in too much pain. Or was that the worst part? That he had to sit there and pretend like nothing was wrong. No wonder there were so many empty bags of ice in the trash that morning.

Max looked out the window and knitted her brows. This isn't the way home . . . But when Billy turned down the familiar road that led to the record shop, Max felt her heart stutter and her stomach sink. She wanted to throw up when he parked in front of the building. She knew what he was going in there to ask about, the same thing she'd already done. The tickets. It seemed to happen in slow motion: Billy walked up to the door with his hands in his jacket pockets and head down. Lazily, as though he also dreaded the answer that would be waiting for him. He opened the door and walked up to the counter, and the guy there gave him one of those lazy "What's up, man?" nods. She watched Billy's mouth move to form the words, and the cashier shook his head "no" and gave a careless shrug. Billy's shoulders sagged. He turned away, his feet dragging him back to the car.

They were sold out. Of course she'd known that, but selfishly she didn't want to be the one to tell him. That would have been like kicking him directly in the face while he was already down on the ground. He hated her, blamed her for missing out. Dumping gasoline on a burning fire was a great way to get blown up.

Dammit. Why did they have to be sold out? Maybe I could get him a new tape or something to make up for it? She sighed. Who am I kidding?

She prepared herself for some kind of torment when he got back to the car. She saw him as a bear, ready to rip her to shreds, but maybe if she played dead he'd leave her alone. But he didn't attack. He sat there for a moment and did nothing. She didn't risk looking at him, nor did she even breathe too loudly. Finally, he started the car and drove them back home in silence.

Even there, she thought Billy would torment her even worse than he always did. She kept her guard up, ready for whenever that flash of empty, glittering rage flicked in his eyes. But the torment never came. Instead, there was nothing but silence.

She hated it.

Halfway through Tuesday, it had seemed that Billy's new thing was just pretending she didn't exist, apart from dropping her off at school and then picking her up. He didn't yell for her in the morning, just got into his car again. He drove in the same, painful silence. At home, he went into his room and never once glanced in her direction. He was like a ghost, there physically but not really there. He left her alone.

Isn't that what I wanted?

Max sulked in her room. She wasn't used to seeing this version of Billy, and somehow, this him seemed less approachable than the normal him.

No . . . Max shook her head. She'd promised herself that night when she saw the demodog that she'd stop being afraid of Billy. He was only a human. A person with feelings, even though he hid them behind his brutish ways. It was time for her to put her courage to the test, to act on it and make something happen with this new plan of hers to make things better between them.

Billy was on chore duty that night. She snuck from her room and carefully peered into the kitchen. Billy was cleaning the house before Neil got home, so he could escape to his room for the night. He wasn't just avoiding Max, but everyone in the house . . . especially Neil. He swept the floor in bored, lazy strokes. She briefly pictured him wearing an apron like her mother did and scrunched her nose in disgust. Gross.

Neil finally decided to take less night shifts and changed his work hours at the bank to 9-5, which meant he was always home for dinners now. She'd had enough of family dinners, hated them with a passion, but not as much as Billy. After that night, Neil hadn't allowed him to skip them anymore. It's like he was determined to keep an eye on him any chance he got in case he slipped up, so it was easier for Max to plan and speak to Billy when Neil wasn't in the house. It was safest that way, just in case he flew into a rage. Although Neil had been in better moods lately since he got his truck back from the shop, it wasn't worth risking his temper again and having him find a reason to blame Billy for something else. That would only make things harder for her to fix.

Max took a deep breath and popped into the kitchen, making Billy pause. He turned and gave her a scathing look, as though she was more dirt on the floor that he needed to sweep up. He looked back down and ignored the fact that she was there, but his jaw was clenched tight as he basically strangled the handle of the broom. Jesus, he looks ready to hit me with that if I annoy him more than I already am. But she shook the thought away.

"Do you need any help?" she asked, and her voice cracked a little. She fought to clear it and felt the heat rise to her cheeks when he glared at her. He churned his jaw, looking fixed to say something fierce, but quickly clamped it shut to keep his words down.

"No," he settled. It was final and clipped.

Max suddenly remembered that night . . . remembered Billy's trembling words in response to Neil asking how he'd show respect: "By watching what I say . . ."

She noticed Billy had been more careful with his words when it came to speaking with Susan, and especially when it came to talking with Neil, but she didn't expect him to be careful around her. Perhaps that was one reason he ignored her. He probably had an arsenal of disrespectful things to say to her that could get him gunned down by his father . . .

She chewed her lip, knowing if she pushed, it could only make things worse, but surely he'd take the opportunity to dump some chores on her if it meant he didn't have to do them, right? He'd have never hesitated before.

"A-Are you sure?" Damn . . . very convincing, Max.

He huffed and gave her a look with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "Yes."

"I could help finish the sweeping, or even do the dishes." Okay, better . . .

"I don't need any help, especially from you."

He bent down to sweep the pile into the dustpan. A small grunt escaped him, and he winced slightly. Max took a small step forward, but stopped. "Are you okay?"

His eyes widened and he spun, pinning her with a seething look. His face went a little red as he growled, "Why the hell do you care?"

"Well I . . . I . . ."

Max stammered over her words, unable to form a coherent answer. What could she say? I care because I watched you get beat and feel bad about it?

Billy stared at her, actually waiting for an answer. His brows furrowed deeper with each stutter, and he shook his head. "I don't want to hear it."

"But—"

"Get away from me, Max," he warned.

He turned and dumped the pan into the trash and placed the broom back before turning to the sink to start on the dishes. Max shifted uncomfortably on her feet and tried to think of something to say to convince him otherwise, but it felt like he was set in stone. Unbreakable. That little ball of anxiety was mutating in her stomach and started climbing towards her heart.

This feels impossible.

"Billy, I just want to help."

"Leave me alone. I'm in enough trouble as it is." His voice was still angry but came out more tired than before. He gripped the sink and peered down at the dishes. The running water was the only noise as Max paused, thinking of her response, but came up short.

"I'm sorry." It was a pitiful attempt, and it made her frown at the ground, wishing it would grow a mouth and swallow her hole.

He scoffed and turned to her, throwing his hands up. "Aw, cut the shit, Max. I don't want another one of your sappy apologies." He pointed a finger at her. "You knew exactly what you were doing!"

"It wasn't supposed to go like that!" she said, backing up slightly, shaking her head. "I didn't know it would go that far. If I knew that, I would have never–"

"Never what? Slashed my tire? Changed my clocks? You wanted it to happen. If not then you would have said something." He mumbled the last part and turned back to the sink, scrubbing furiously at a pan. He didn't even want to look at her for very long.

"I couldn't!"

"Right. Couldn't . . . Like last time."

"That was—"

He cut her off again and dropped the pan with a thud. "If you want to make amends so badly, then why not go to my dad?"

"Same reason you can't," she snapped.

And that deafening silence returned.

Billy clenched his jaw, desperate to retort. But he couldn't. Instead, he snatched his gaze and fixed it back on the sink, grumbling to himself.

Max shook her head. Why can't he see that this is the result of our stupid war . . . the result of a constant back and forth of needing to one-up the other?

"I'm sorry," she said

He scoffed. "What's the point of sorries when you just go and do the same shit?"

Max's mouth fell agape. After all the times he constantly did the same shit to her . . . all the times he constantly mistreated her . . . "You're seriously saying that to me? I'm not the only one at fault here!"

Now it was Billy's turn to be flabbergasted. "You did this! You started this by pulling those stupid pranks!" he yelled, flinging soap as he turned to yell at her, the veins in his neck bulging from the strain of his vocal cords. His eyes were wide, and his mouth set in an angry snarl.

You were always ready to antagonize me back though! You never even apologized! Max wanted to fume. To scream at him and rave about all the times he picked on her, the many times he started this. The times he completely tormented her to the point she had to retaliate. She'd only ever wanted to be left alone, and then for him to know how she felt . . . how being hurt felt . . . But now? She just held her tongue instead, doing her best to calm herself. They weren't talking about other times. Those didn't matter . . . it was only now. Her focus was only on fixing right now.

Billy continued. "Is that not enough for you? What do you want me to tell you? That you won?" He sighed and shook his head. "Just leave me the fuck alone."

"I'm not trying to win anything. I just want to–"

He slammed his hands on the counter. "SHUT UP! Shut! Up! Jesus, just–I don't feel like playing any more of your games, alright?! Fuck!" He was breathing hard as though he tried everything in his power not to lash out at her. He turned and marched from the room, not bothering to turn off the dripping faucet.

Max sucked in a deep breath to steady herself, then sighed. She decided to leave him alone for now. She didn't want to get him into trouble by pushing him further.

Max stared at the faucet. She wasn't sure if he planned to come back to finish the dishes, so she quickly washed the last few just in case he didn't.

. . .

That night at dinner, Max could still feel the tension between her and Billy. Somehow, even with him sitting across from her, he grew even more distant from her, and she didn't even know how that was possible. His shoulders were tense, and it seemed like Max wasn't the only one who noticed.

Susan gave Billy a worried glance but said nothing. Instead, she turned to Max. "Maxine, what happened to your skateboard?"

Max jerked, almost choking on her food. She'd planned to take it out to the trash but had forgotten, which meant her mother must have seen it in her room. But for her to bring it up at the table with Neil sitting there . . . This is not the time to be dense, mom! Max glanced at Billy, who stared at his plate with his fist clenched so tightly around his fork she thought it might bend.

Neil had stared at her and waited for an answer, almost like he was prepared for her to say Billy had done it. Her mind was frantic as she tried to think of a lie that they'd believe.

"Oh, I . . . accidentally broke it," she said, trying to keep from doing a nervous laugh, or a laugh at all from the lie. "Landed on it wrong trying to practice an ollie."

Neil grunted at her answer and shook his head. "Should take better care of your stuff."

"And you should really be more careful. What if you'd gotten hurt?" Susan said with a frown.

"I'll be careful next time," Max said.

That seemed to satisfy her mom because she gave her a soft smile and continued eating.

Max slumped a bit with relief that they bought the story. She hadn't missed the way Neil had eyed Billy, almost like he waited for a reaction of some kind to give him away. But Billy had quickly gone back to looking bored and ate with careful ease like he knew that he was being watched as well.

As Max lied in bed that night, she tried to think of the ways she could atone for what she'd done, especially after that heated argument with Billy in the kitchen. Her first idea had been to buy him the new radio, but she had no money, and if she tried to organize his cassette collection, he'd probably pop a few blood vessels. She couldn't drive him around anywhere like he did for her so she just had to get creative. Finally, it struck her: acts of service. She'd read something about it in a book once; a way to show someone you cared. It sounded stupid at first, considering Billy always blew off her help, but that was only because she asked to help. What if she just did it instead? That could work. He's always yelling for her to do things anyway. Might as well play the part.

Max nodded to herself as she dozed off with newfound determination. Maid service, here I come.

. . .

She got up early the next day to make breakfast for Billy. It wasn't much. Just scrambled eggs and toast. She didn't want to raise her mom's or Neil's suspicions by doing anything over the top. Max waited patiently in the dining room for him to show, the plate resting in her hands, but as the minutes ticked by, the food grew colder. When he finally appeared with his usual shtick of not saying a word, she cleared her throat before he could walk out the door.

"I made you breakfast," she mumbled. He froze with his hand on the door, shoulders stiff. Billy turned and looked at the sink long and hard before giving Max the briefest scowl. It was so simple but conveyed his message clearly.

She made more dishes for him. Shit.

Billy turned back to the door. He sighed, shook his head, and jerked the door open to stomp out to the car. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his head bowed. She grumbled in tune with her own stomach, but knew she'd have no time to eat now. She tossed the food and scurried her way to the car where the silence would commence.

After school that day, Max had scrambled to finish her math homework instead of enjoying it so that she could beat Billy to the chores. All that needed to be done were the dishes. She crept to the kitchen, relieved that Billy could still be heard messing about in his room. It hadn't taken long to get them finished, and when she went back to her room to hang out before dinner, she left her door open. Billy was always in charge of watching her now, so maybe leaving the door open would prove that she wasn't going to run off again. Not like before, in California, when she'd leave all the time to see her dad. In a way, he was stuck babysitting her because she had. Great. Another thing to feel guilty about. The reason their parents—mainly Neil—were so adamant that he watch her was because they were afraid she'd run off again.

Maybe Billy wanted her to . . .

But even with her door open, Billy didn't notice. She'd seen him come out of his room to head into the kitchen, and she waited for the reaction. But one never came. Instead, she heard him stomp back to his room, not sparing a single glance towards hers, and slammed the door. He hadn't come out until dinner. The ball of anxiety sank deeper into her stomach.

After another couple of days of seeing her breakfast and chores service go unnoticed, or well, ignored, Max decided it was time to step it up. She'd done his laundry—well, folded it once it was dry. Her mom actually beamed when she saw her come into the laundry room, because Max never helped with laundry. Ever. Now she carried the small bundle in her arms as she made her way to his bedroom. She fought to work up that courage to knock and hand him the newly cleaned items in his weekly rotation.

Please don't let this blow up in my face.

She knocked and waited . . . silence. She sighed and knocked again, but louder. When he threw the door open with a scowl, she jumped, almost dropping the clothes. His eyes snapped to them in her arms, and that scowl turned to bitter disgust. His top lip curled. He snatched the clothes from her and tossed them over his shoulder carelessly.

"Why do you keep doing this shit? Trying to butter me up for the next time you want to get me into trouble? Smooth things over so you can run off again and have me blamed for it?"

She fumbled over her words, trying to say something, but her tongue was tied. She couldn't stop staring at the rumpled clothes on the ground and the fact that yet again, she'd failed to sway him.

"Billy—"

"You wanted me to leave you alone? Okay . . . Now leave me alone." The door slammed in her face, and she sighed. She'd overlook the insult to injury—it didn't matter that he dumped the clothes. What mattered was that she'd done them and delivered. Made the attempt.

Keep telling yourself that, Max.

She could overlook the insults he threw at her. She would overlook them all because responding to them . . . the back and forth was how things had escalated to this point in the first place. But as she dragged her feet and made it back to her room, she felt a little defeated. Out of fresh ideas. What else could she do with no money? Her determination threatened to waver.

A light knock sounded. She turned to see her mom smiling, holding some clothes in her arms. "I think you left some clothes in the laundry room—" Susan paused, her smile dimming as she tilted her head. "Max, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she grumbled.

"Are you sure?"

Max simply nodded. Susan stared for a while, hoping that'd get her to say something, but Max clamped her mouth shut.

"Well . . . OK, then. Whenever you want to talk, I'm here." She set the clothes on her bed and walked down the hall, but not before giving Max one last hopeful look.

Max sighed as she looked at Billy's clothes. After that outburst, there was no way she was going across that hall again. She could leave it by his door or put it in his room when he wasn't there, but what would that accomplish? Ugh, it was all so frustrating. What could she do?

She looked towards the hall. She thought back to the talk she and her mom had in the car. Maybe I should ask her . . . Max rarely went to her mother for any advice at all since it somehow always ended with "safety" or how she needed to be less of a tomboy, but after that talk in the car, and knowing her mom hadn't revealed anything to Neil, she decided to take her chances.

She checked to make sure Neil was plastered in front of the TV before wandering into the kitchen that night while her mother made dinner. Susan hummed a little tune and poked a fork at the chicken she was focused on.

"Smells good in here, mom," Max said, and Susan jumped, letting out a little squeak.

"Oh, Maxine. You scared me. How was school, sweetheart? I never asked."

"It was fine . . ." She teetered on her heels. "Mom, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"It's . . . about Billy."

Susan stopped tending the chicken and turned. She looked around the room before lowering her voice. "What about Billy?"

"I . . . I keep trying to make amends with him, but nothing I'm doing is working. He just ignores it and yells at me to leave him alone!"

Susan gave Max a sympathetic smile. "Honey, these things take time. You can't just expect him to get over everything so soon."

"Ugh, I know that!"

Susan sighed, taking a moment to think. "Listen, everyone reacts to things differently. And sometimes, it takes a while for something to be noticeable. So . . . just pay attention. Look at his actions. Not his words. Understand?"

No, she didn't understand. His actions are just as aggressive as his words. No . . . She didn't understand her mother's advice at all, or rather, how she could actually say it so easily. Did she look at Neil's actions? Did her mom just decide to ignore them? Sometimes it seemed like she ignored both.

Talking to her mother had only frustrated her more. She lied in bed that night thinking about her words. Look at his actions. That was the problem though, wasn't it? What actions? she thought with an annoyed huff. She'd wracked her brain for anything even remotely nice he'd done but came up blank. Sure, he'd left her alone, but she figured that was just because he didn't want to get into trouble with Neil again. He flew so low on the radar these days that she could hardly believe he was even at the house at times.

The next morning, she'd woken a little late and rushed to get ready. She'd tossed and turned all night and struggled to stay asleep. She'd wondered if Billy would still look as tired with those dark circles under his eyes, and then she guessed which might be worse between the two of them. She was betting on her own this time.

Max left her room in a hurry, shoving her new math book in her backpack. She worried being late would piss Billy off even more. Sure enough, he had slipped out quietly and waited in the car. She counted her blessings for that because he very well could have left her there and in her determination to make amends would have walked all the way to school if he had. Her stomach soured at the very idea of it, but she fought it down along with her grumpiness. When she slammed the door a little too hard, she heard Billy grumble something under his breath, and she turned to him. She felt like she should apologize for being late, especially since he hadn't yelled at her for it. As soon as they were in the school parking lot, she waved her hand to get his attention, ready to spill her guts, but he mumbled something incoherent.

"What?" She asked with a frown. She hadn't heard what he said.

He rubbed his eyes and growled, "Not in the mood, Max."

"Funny, cuz you always seem to be when you go on your dates every other night."

"Which I haven't been able to do because you keep fucking up my plans by getting me in trouble."

She sighed. "Look, just hear me out."

"Piss off, Max." He said it softly, tired. She stopped talking—this wasn't the morning for either of them.

Max sighed and got out of the car. She felt bone tired. Her resolve had weakened, and she'd snapped a little. She couldn't give up, but she needed to rethink her plans. Because this wasn't working.

Back at home after school, Max tried to come up with a new strategy, but like always, she came up blank. Her mind needed a break from all this. She needed some time away, needed a distraction. And she already dreaded how she had to get it.

Max slipped into the living room cautiously, watching Billy begin to set up his weights. Before she could even open her mouth, he grumbled.

"No, I don't need your help. No, I'm not OK. And no, I don't want any more apologies. So just turn around and get out before you annoy me."

Max blinked at the blatant instruction. She considered listening and going back to her room. She even started to turn, but her desperation made her whip back around in a huff. "I want to go to the arcade," she blurted. "Can you take me . . . please?"

Billy slapped his weight into place before looking up at the ceiling in a huff. He sighed. "You know I don't have a choice," he spat.

He was right. After their parents found out about her broken skateboard, Neil had barked at Billy, making it very clear that he had to drive her, and that earned her a scathing look. She'd sighed and wished her skateboard hadn't been broken. Driving her around was just another chore for Billy to complete and not one she could do for him. But given the mood they were both in that day, it would have been one she'd have gladly attempted if it meant getting some distance.

After some stomping and slamming around the house, Billy eventually grabbed his keys, and they began heading down the road. But it was the silence on the way there that changed her mind. She couldn't handle another silent drive, so she'd tried to make small talk.

"Weather's nicer today, isn't it?" she said, knowing she sounded stupid saying it. Billy didn't move or say anything. She cleared her throat. "So . . . how are your classes? Do you think you're ready for finals?" This time, he twisted his face like she was crazy for even asking, but never bothered looking at her.

Even so, she kept going, desperate to ease the silence, but he simply ignored her. After a while, she shut her mouth when Billy slowly turned to look at her with that tired, lazy look in his eyes. Keeping eye contact, he reached forward and slowly turned up the radio to drown her out, then turned back to the road.

Something snapped inside her. Upset and determined to make him hear her, she shut it off and ejected the cassette.

"Hey!" He snatched at it, but she pulled it back out of reach and stared at him expectantly.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she said.

He scoffed and turned back to the road, "That's a stupid question."

"No. I'm talking about always, not just recently."

He lunged for the cassette again and avoided answering. "Give. It. BACK."

"No! Not until you answer me!"

"Because you're a pain in the ass," he said with no hesitation.

"Ok . . . how am I a pain in the ass?"

This time, he took a moment to think. His brows furrowed as though combing through unpleasant memories. "You're annoying."

"How?"

"Because–! God, I don't have to explain myself to you."

Max's jaw dropped in disbelief, and she threw her hands up, "Why are you so angry all of the time?!" She paused and rubbed her face before trying again. "I'm trying to figure out what I do to upset you. How am I supposed to fix it if I don't know?"

Somehow, the trees outside the window seemed to move faster the tighter Billy gripped the wheel. He breathed heavily, his lips tight. "You want to know why I really hate you?"

"Enlighten me."

He nodded furiously. "Ever since you entered my life and this stupid pretend family was formed, I have been under constant stress having to watch you like some stupid parent. Forced to call you family and sister when you're anything but. And I'm in constant trouble for shit I didn't do! You completely ruined my life the moment you entered it!"

His words hurt; she couldn't deny it. That irritation bubbled inside of her and introduced itself to the ball of anxiety that lived there. "Well, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that my existence is such an inconvenience to you! That I make your already miserable life so much worse just by breathing!"

"Glad we can finally agree on something being your fault."

Her mouth dropped. "My fault?! Obviously that brain of yours doesn't understand sarcasm! Your life has been hell way before I even entered it! If anything, you're the one who makes my life miserable! And you can't tell me a single damn thing that gives you the right to treat me the way you do, Billy."

Silence. She waited for him to say something, but when he said nothing, she continued.

"You take all your frustration out on me like I'm some damn punching bag. Because you just have to have something to control just like your dad! If you hate how Neil treats you, then why do you do it to me?" she asked, and she hated how the words came out softly. Being vulnerable in front of him was not the goal. It was as risky as being a fly caught in a spider's web. Never knew when it would eat you.

His lack of response ate at her, churned inside like spoiled milk. She glanced at him, and his bored expression ignited that fury she had been working so hard to stuff down and ignore. The way his face was set reminded her of the blank expression Neil plastered on his face every Sunday while planted in front of the TV.

"You and your dad are very similar."

"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth! Don't you ever compare me to him. I don't even do half of the things to you that he does to me!"

His voice was so loud, so thunderous, that it took her a second to concentrate on what he said. He became a different person. His eyes had warped into a miserable black. All the loathing he had for her displayed in his eyes like a television in a window. But she pushed through her fear. Her body shook, but she didn't care. She would not let this go . . .

"Then why does it upset you so much to hear it? If you hate it so much, stop acting like him." It wasn't enough though . . . so she continued, "You're trying so hard to make me you . . . to be miserable and alone . . . like you."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel and his jaw clenched. He turned those black, void-like eyes to her and growled, "What?"

"Isn't that what you said to Neil? That he just wanted you to be miserable like him? And yet here you are, doing it to me."

Billy's lips tightened. His voice came out slow, calm, and dark, just like Neil's before he turned wild. "You hate it so much max? . . . Then go and run off again. Better yet, why don't you just off yourself? Make life easier for all of us."

It felt like he'd slapped her. She shrunk back with the surety with which he spat the words. They lashed at her, and she was too shocked to cry or feel anger.

"Would that really make your life so much easier?"

"YES! It would be a fucking breath of fresh air. So do me a favor and just die already!"

Max didn't have time to process Billy's words, to be hurt or shocked by them. Her body jerked to the right, and the deadening sound of screeching metal filled her ears, drowning out any thoughts. The car spun out of control, the wheel locked in place, the smoke billowing from the tires as Billy mashed on the brakes as hard as he could. Dizzying, disorienting, Max was transfixed at the way the world spun around them. She couldn't breathe, couldn't focus her vision as it blurred with the speed they moved. She reached to grab hold of something. Anything.

Glass seemed to fly in slow motion, coming across her lap like a gentle spray of water. Debris and metal soared through the air like birds. Reflecting the light of the sun back at her and making her wince.

But then just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Silence, except for the thrumming of her heartbeat in her ears.

Adrenaline coursing through her veins only now caught up with her. Her thoughts lagged behind, and her breaths came out in small pants. Why was her mouth so dry?

Why couldn't she move her arms?

The ringing in her ears seemed to clear and she could hear the echo of noise start to seep in. The beeping of a car horn, the crackle of settling metal, the smoke dissipating from the tires. She wiggled her feet and glass made a shink sound as it landed on the floorboard.

She tried moving her arms again, but couldn't. Why wouldn't they move? She felt pinned in place—no . . . she was pinned in place.

She looked down.

Billy's arm banded across her middle, holding her in place. A fine dusting of glass coated his skin and all she could do was stare down at it. She couldn't register the surprise . . . that he'd instinctively stuck his arm out as though to shield her. Why was his arm around her?

Max looked over to see Billy staring straight ahead, his eyes wide with surprise as much as hers. He took labored, but even breaths as though he was counting them. There was a small cut on his forehead that began to bloom a line of blood, and for a moment, she wondered if she had any cuts herself. He didn't react to it though, just stared out into the street. He hadn't spared a glance at Max yet, and she wondered if he was dazed.

It was the screech of tires that pulled Billy from his trance in a startle. He shot out of the seat to shout after the vehicle. Max stared at it, taking the opportunity to focus on the license plate, cataloging it into her brain like a photograph.

Billy turned to the Camero after the other car was long out of sight, and he grimaced at the crushed metal in front of him. The right nose of the passenger side, Max's side, had been hit. The headlight was drooping from the car, barely hanging from the wires. The metal of the front bumper was bent like a bad nose job. Billy took the moment to look up at Max to see if any damage had been done and he fought back the urge to vomit at the paleness of her face. The glass of her window had been completely shattered and blanketed her in a thick layer. The little bits in her red hair reflected the afternoon light. She didn't meet his assessing gaze, fleeting as it was, but stared straight ahead at nothing.

Max watched as Billy got back into the car and raised the key to the ignition. His hands shook and he struggled to insert the key. In his frustration, he slammed his hands onto the steering wheel.

"Fuck!"

She didn't look at him. She couldn't bring herself to even though she could feel him glancing at her. She stared at the dash, unfocused and clenched her hands in her lap to try and keep herself from visibly shaking. She could hear Billy try and slow his breathing, to calm himself down from the same adrenaline that was still coursing through her own veins.

"Are you hurt?"

She blinked and frowned. Had she imagined that? She snuck a glance at him and felt startled by the fact that he was looking at her. His voice was so distant, it didn't feel real, yet it seemed to echo in her head. She couldn't get her mouth to form the words, so she slowly shook her head no and remained silent.

He didn't speak again, just started the engine and began to drive.

To be continued . . .