"Umm..."
"You don't have to-"
"I was just-"
"You can wait till-"
"I am sorry-"
"Hey, listen-"
"I will be out of here, give me a minute-"
"Sam!"
I shut up startled. Max rubs his forehead, clearly irritated. His eyes catch mine, and I feel the invisible wall between us go higher. It's been a week since we returned, and we have avoided each other like plague. I mean, I have, most definitely. He actually seemed unconcerned, and could be found lounging against corridors or walls, surrounded by his friends jostling and laughing.
Everytime I saw Max laugh, I died a little more inside. Each smirk of his felt like a cruel reminder that he has indeed stopped giving a crap about me. Initially, I had a plan to contact Max through Noah, since he won't pick up my calls, but his blithesome expressions stopped me, as if quietly warning me off.
Today, was the worst stupid day. I was returning to my apartment from the bookstore. I was rewarding myself with two beautiful new hardcovers, for getting a good review from my mentor over the marketing project I did. She looked impressed, and my depressed little heart had squeezed from joy and pride.
Now my heart was squeezing from whole other reasons, watching Max's annoyed face. My normal route was blockaded by cops because, as said by some by-stander, a dignitary was passing by. I had to smother a laugh when two girls squealed saying Tom Cruise will be driving by in a drop-top car. Hating the growing crowd, I had taken a different route. The route that contained Max's gym.
I was certain that Universe won't be so crappy and make Max exit the gym, be less present there, when I'm crossing it. And yes, she wasn't that crappy. All she did was make the gloomy clouds that thundered overhead, shed all their water in a heavy downpour. Seeing no better option, I had rushed to stand under the porch of the gym. Thankfully it looked closed, until Max had walked out talking on his phone.
"You don't have an umbrella. Don't be ridiculous," Max scowled. I nod, and take a step back when the rain slanted as if to lick my converse. My hands nervously fidget with my circle skirt, the cold air brushing my knees. I am looking anywhere but Max which, I don't know how but, I can tell is making him even more annoyed. For the life of me, I can't make myself voluntarily meet his gaze.
"Tom Cruise, is on the other road with his convertible," I stupidly blurt out, unable to bear the tension. He gives no reaction, and I doubt if he even heard me. Then he turns towards the door and briefly glances at me.
"Get inside. The rain is not stopping any time soon," he mutters, holding open the gym door. For a minute, I stupidly gawk at him, having lost the ability to decipher human language.
His second glance is like a whiplash which forces my legs to move, despite the fear coiling in my stomach. He walks to a room, which is a sitting area with two couches and some furniture. Through another door I hear muffled music and grunts of machinery. I demurely sit on the edge of a chair, which has a clean shot to the window in case I needed to escape. Max follows my line of sight, and scoffs as if saying you can never make a jump that high. I grind my teeth, and fold my hands in my lap.
Max sits down on a couch and puts his face in his hands, looking tired. His hooded tank looks damp. The worn out white shoes, nudge the coffee table. The size of his biceps, horrify me. I mentally scold myself for not grabbing and squeezing them when I had the chance and permission. Not that they looked like you could squeeze them. My mind vaguely draws a comparison with steel cushion. There are visible nerves that run along the length of his arm, some branching together and spreading out on his palms.
YOU ARE READING
Luggage Bitch
Romance"Umm.. Thanks," I mumble, kicking dust with my shoes. "What?" Max asks me. "I said, thank you," I say more clearly. "Still can't hear you... Could you repeat that?" he asks politely. "I said thank you!" I shout. "You pig," I add lowly. "Still nada...
