Black Coffee (maxneil)

chapter one

It is a mellow existence without Max.

I get up, get dressed, brush my teeth, have breakfast, get a cup of pure black coffee. My mornings are always the same; never differing. It is so unlike things at camp. Every second was filled with adventure, you had to scramble to find any time to yourself. Now that I'm back, time to myself is all I have.

I think the bets part of my day is that cup of black coffee. It's familiar, warm, bitter enough to snap you out of your most enchanting daydreams.

Most of all, black coffee smells like him.

I can see why Max liked it, the more I drink it. But maybe that's just me missing him. Maybe it actually tastes like shit and I can't see it because it reminds me too much of Max, of camp.

It is because of him that I have my favorite scar. It is a small burn mark on my right wrist. Me, Nikki, and Max all have one. Before we left, Max had stolen a lighter and held the flame over the spark wheel. Then, we each took turns holding it in place on our wrists. It was stupid, hurt like hell, and overall was something I should've regretted. But I didn't.

As I said, it's my favorite scar.

It seemed to me that, everywhere Max goes, everyone Max touches, he takes a piece of their souls with them. It certainly feels like he took a part of mine. To some, he's the type of person you desperately want to un-met and forget, but can't. If I learned anything that summer it is that Max is unforgettable.

Because of him, I spend my easygoing days wishing they weren't easygoing. I want to be adventuring, to always be chasing the next big mystery, to be someone and to be with him.

There is a piece of my heart that is missing now. I can't keep denying that. I spend my school days waiting for them to be over. It is only so much longer until school is over, and summer starts, and I am counting down the days.

Part of me feats that Max will not return to camp campbell, that I will beg my parents to let me go there only to find that the only thing I wanted from the camp was never there all along. But I try not to longer on thoughts such as those for too long. I occupy myself, doing experiments every free second of the day in an atempt to clear my head of the strong worries surrounding Max and everything he is to me.

It's only a month until camp starts up again, and I ask myself how I managed to make it this far. I have no answers that are certian (I rather enjoy certianty) but I have an answer nonetheless; hope.

In a month, I will board that bus with a bag on my back and my heart of my sleeve.

I can only hope that Max will do the same.