Seven

So what now: The squeakquel

Max woke up to Preston lying next to him, snoring quietly. He smiled for a second before his thoughts caught up to him and he was in head was in red alert. He bolted up, barely acknowledging that they both were still dressed. Preston's arm fell off his stomach. He gently climbed over the sleeping boy, before grabbing his bag and bolting out the room.

Max didn't stop until he was safely in his Creative Writing class. He relaxed into his chair, pulling out his notebook, preparing to write an entry for the next hour until his class started.

--

Seven years ago, I was punching bruises into my thighs, taking every chance I could to find a way to hurt myself because I simply couldn't find a reason not to. I was a pessimistic and angry child- Not like much has changed.

I remember the day clearly. The day he had gotten me to stop.

I remember every detail of that day, and I think a little part of me fears that if I let go of even the smallest thing, I'll forget it all. Not just that day- The rest of the summer that we had spent together, sneaking into the other's tents and telling stories until dawn. The smell of peppermint that always seemed to be present in his mouth. The loose strands of hair that always seemed to fall out of his perfect curls. The feel of his hand, soft and loving, against my cheek. The bittersweet kiss goodbye.

If I were to describe the day he had caught me, I'd say it was miserable. It had started with another day of breakfast that seconded as toxic waste. I usually skipped meals- No one noticed nor cared. The day's activity was trivia, which no one wanted to do, as usual. There were the usual questions- Who built the Statue of Liberty? and What year did the Civil War end? as well as the questions that leaned towards some campers' activities. Who was the first astronaut to go to space in what year? Who invented the microscope?

It had ended in a little more than an hour. We were free to do whatever until lunch, when we were forced to do another camp-sanctioned activity.

I had run to the woods, which was probably the only place I could find comfort at the time. The spot where I usually hung out was close to the amphitheater, but far enough away that you couldn't spot me. That's when the voices in my head usually decided to speak. They whispered in the back of my head, like little ghosts, reminding my of the lack of love in my household, the burden I was being on the other campers, the exact time I had left until I was forced to go home.

I hated when they did that. It still happens, and I still hate it. It's probably the only reason I didn't wait for him to wake up this morning.

I hadn't realized I was crying so loud, or punching myself so hard or pulling strands of my hair out or that my hand was bleeding from where I had scratched too hard. I was in the act of damaging my thighs when I heard his voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I

--

"Alright students listen up!" The professor shouted, clapping her hands.

Preston was at the front of the room with the rest of the theater group. He looked around, bored and pissed. 8:30 in the morning and he was pissed. He spotted the curly hair in the back row almost immediately. He had tuned out what the teacher was saying, barely suppressing the need to go back there and slap some sense into Max.

"... And Max will be paired with Preston Goodplay." The teacher finished. Preston's head whipped around to look at her. "Alright, everyone, you have three weeks to work on this, as it will be presented at the end of the semester. Good luck!"

The class mixed together as they tried to find their designated partner. Preston wasted no time walking to the back of the class to Max's chair. Max stood to face him. "Pres-"

"To not 'Preston' me Max!" He said sternly, yet quietly so as to not bother surrounding students. "I thought we got over this. Yet, here I am, waking up to an empty room, with not even a note? What the hell Max?" Preston was beyond pissed. But staring at Max, seeing the conflict in the boy's eyes, he sighed, placing his head in his hands.

Silence filled up the space between the two. They were drowning it it; uncomfortable silence filled with things they should say. But they didn't.

"So what now?" Max asked quietly.

"We work on this damn project and hope whatever this is between us either fixes itself or goes away." Preston relied snappishly.

--

They had met up again at lunch, Max's head filled with the voices once more, telling him suicide plans, and no matter how much Max rejected them they just kept coming, piling on top of each other, one after another after another after another-

"Max?" Preston's voice filtered through the others in his head. He blinked the fog out of his eyes. "Are you alright?" Gone was the boy who snapped at him earlier, the boy who claimed he wanted nothing to do with him. The boy that sat before him was the same one from seven years ago who would hold him as the voices would shout at Max, listen to him ramble, cry, vent. The boy who loved him.

"It's- I'm fine," He lied, looking down at the table, closing the journal in front of him.

Preston was silent for a second before reaching his hand across the table. "Is it the voices?" He asked softly. Max didn't respond.

Preston stood, causing Max to look at him. "I want to show you something," He said, extending a hand out for Max. Max grabbed it, following Preston out of the room, out of the school. He didn't stop until they had reached a park. It was small, a playground residing across a field, but flowers resided on either side of it. Rows and rows of flowers.

He walked over to one of the rows. "Pres, it's beautiful."

Preston nodded. "Nikki told me about it. She likes to wreck havoc on the playground."

Max smiled a little. "Sounds about right."

Max sat there, admiring the flowers, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Preston sat on a bench.

He felt the voices quiet down, not yet silenced, as he stood and took a spot next to Preston.

"How have they been?" Preston inquired, avoiding looking at the other boy, instead looking at the flowers.

"... Loud. Insistent." Max looked at the ground, swinging his feet. His sneakers scraped along the grass.

Preston wrapped an arm around Max. He was surprised for a moment, before the emotions caught up to him. The sadness, anger, heartbreak from the last seven years all came spilling out as he cried into Preston's shirt. Holding onto him like the sweetness would end if he let go.

He missed this. When Preston would just hold him as he cried. Let him let it out.

Max wasn't sure how much time had elapsed when he finally stopped. At this point, he was starting to get used to losing track of time with Preston.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Preston asked gently, lifting Max's head to meet his gaze.

"No." Max replied.

"Okay," Preston said before gently pressing his lips against Max's.

Max didn't know how exactly how much he needed that kiss until it happened.