Sweet Tooth [HS]

FORTY SEVEN

Turning, slowly, she saw Harry standing at the top of the stairwell. His eyes were wild, and staring at her. His hands were outstretched, reaching for her.

"Max, please," he said, starting to rush down the steps towards her.

"Don't come any closer," she said, putting out an arm as if to protect herself from him. Like the physical closeness might burn her and melt away her inner resolve. "Leave me alone, Harry."

"Maxie-"

"Don't call me that." She bit venemously, narrowing her eyes as anger crowded her vision. "Don't fucking call me that."

"Max, I- I need to talk to you. Please." And his eyes were wide, pleading with her in that sad way they could - giving her this look that-

No, Max. No. Go.

"I don't want to talk to you, Harry. I have nothing to say."

"Maxie, please-"

"I said don't call me that."

She started turning away, moving further down the steps, but his hand on her wrist stopped her.

"Harry," she said, she spat.

She looked down at her wrist, staring at his hand - that hand that held her world in its palm, that broke it with a fist.

"Get off me."

She wasn't looking at him. Was just staring at his fingernails and his knuckles and trying to not think about how soft his touch was. How much she yearned for it, how much she needed it.

"Maxie-"

"Don't fucking call me that!" She yelled, tugging her arm free and raising her chin to look right at him. "Don't fucking call me that, Harry. It means nothing. You've made it mean nothing."

His eyes flicked rapidly between hers, "Max, please. Please let me explain."

"No, Harry. No. I don't want to hear it. Leave me alone."

And her whole body stung as she said the words. They were so against her nature. So alien.

It was like her whole heart and her whole body wanted something her mind knew she could not have. Pieces of herself were rebelling against pieces of herself.

She was split in two.

She was broken.

"Please can I explain?"

She scoffed despite her heart wilting at the look in his eyes.

"Why should I let you explain? You didn't let me. You ran off. You didn't talk to me. You fucked that fucking model-"

"Nothing happened, Max. I promise."

"Like a promise from you means anything, Harry."

"Maxie, please," he said, stepping forwards. But Max took a step back.

"Don't," she said, looking at his outstretched hand like it could burn her. "Please don't touch me."

And her voice had become a whisper. She could feel too much emotion start clogging her throat and she knew she was going to cry.

"Max, I- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No. No, you don't get to be sorry. You left. You didn't let me explain. Again. It's so fucking unfair, Harry. Why is it always you leaving? Why is it always me that gets hurt?"

Max could feel tears falling from her eyes as the words came hurling out of her mouth. Could feel her broken heart throb as she watched Harry open and close his mouth.

He had nothing to say. No way to defend himself. No way to deny her claims.

Because they were true.

It was always Max who got hurt.

And the silence that followed confirmed it all.

It was the kind that hung heavy in the air, thick with tension, with feelings Max was too exhausted to put into words and apologies she was tired of hearing.

And after a moment, or maybe it was after a while, Max turned and fled.

As she left, she noticed how hard her lower lip was trembling. How uncontrollably her hands were shaking. How she could barely see in front of her anymore - her eyes were too blurry with tears. Her cheeks were soaked. And her heart - oh, Max's poor heart.

There it remained in her chest. Barely beating and completely broken.