Distanced

Part 17: In Which Helen Speaks Up

"Fuck...Nevermind..."

He walks out of the bathroom- shutting the door hard behind him.

He was doing so good...alright, he was doing okay.

He sounded like a teenager asking a girl to the promenade.

But still!

It was cute and I wanted to hear what he wanted to say, but he left.

He got frustrated with himself and walked out- leaving me in the shower.

I have to say, I'm a bit disappointed.

He's been sweet all day and slowly showing that he's interested in us by actually kissing me- sweet little kisses.

And now he's run-a-ground.

His ship is sinking and I don't think there are any life preservers on board.

Getting out of the shower, I gently towel off and fortunately, it seems the bleeding has stopped. Yet I still am going to wear the ugly yet practical Depends the hospital sent home with me. I pull them on and then my pajama pants, but as I go through my bag- I find I haven't actually packed a night shirt.

Max probably has one.

I grab the towel and wrap it around my top half and slowly make my way out of the room. Looking outside- Max is out there sulking in the snow while his father shoots him with this odd snowball machine.

I get to the steps and slowly clamber up them- pain radiating through me with each step I take. Getting to the top, I make a right. On the left side of the hall is a bathroom and what I assume was Luna's room at one point due to the pink walls and stickers everywhere, but it now seems more like a craft room. To my right is Max's parents room.

Turning around I go back passed the stairs and find another bathroom and Max's room. The walls are green and surprisingly it doesn't seem like a little boy would have lived here. The wall doesn't have stickers on them or anything over the top. His cork board has some old class schedule and a few photographs of him and Luna and his parents. His bedspread is a simple black one and the only other furniture in the room is a desk, a spinning chair and an gray armchair that looks like it is from the 1940's. Spotting Max's suitcase, I kneel down and open it up. Going through- he has a lot of dress shirt and the first t-shirt I find is that God awful stupid one I got him last year for Christmas.

When he gave me Fucking Motörhead tickets that sadly I didn't get to use because I went with that arsehole Jarren.

Pulling the shirt out- it seems overly worn. The picture is slightly faded and there's a hole in the arm pit as well as a few tiny one on the bottom of it and near the collar of the shirt.

He actually wears this stupid thing?

Why?

Wouldn't it be a sick reminder of me crushing his soul? I certainly wouldn't have kept it.

But I'm not sweet like Max is.

Standing up, I figure I should at least wear this one.

So I pull my very lose maternity sports bra on and then tug the shirt down over top of me.

Surpassingly it fits over my belly- so I take that as a good to go and head downstairs after shutting his suitcase. I slowly take each step and as I get to the bottom of the stairs, Max is coming around the corner of the living room and sees me. He smiles as he goes to pass, but stops and turns back towards me.

"Hey..." He says with a funny tone to him.

"Hey."

"That's...that's my shirt." He faces me fully now and comes a bit closer.