Bloody Nose {Max Mayfield x OC}

I Feel Pretty

A couple days had passed by since I had gotten injured. Max had told me to "just take it easy" which was something I was never great at. I always grew restless and would always end up over exerting myself, waking up in a puddle of sweat on the couch or the kitchen floor.

I hadn't seen mom since she'd went out drinking. Sometimes she would go through stages of being at work during the day and then go drink at a bar, never really stopping home until a hangover hit her hard enough. Sometimes it felt like mom was a stranger in our own home.

It was a Thursday morning at 7:00 AM. I found myself sitting down on the dusty linoleum floor of the bathroom.

I stared up at the odd coral colored walls. There were some spots with peeling paint; years of water damage. I pull my knees to chest and bury my face into my arms.

It was that time again where I had to shower. That scary time when all that enters my mind is the burning of chlorine and the hot feeling of blood down my torso.

The only thing that motivated me was the fact that Max wanted to hang out today. She had given me a walkie-talkie a couple days prior, stopping by my window while I was still healing to gift it to me. When I had tried to decline the redhead had simply tossed it into my gray comforter and dashed back to her house.

It was funny being around her, there was this tension. I thought back to the previous Saturday night when I was injured and bleeding on her bathroom floor. When Max had halfway carried me back to her room she had whispered something that still lingered in my head.

"You're not going to remember this, but sometimes I want you too,"

It was strange.

A part of me wanted to imagine she'd meant it the same way I had meant it when I accidentally slurred about how I wanted her. I'm just glad Max had found that part more endearing rather than weird.

I know Max probably only meant it in a "We're really good friends," type of way, but what throws me off is the fact is that she told it in such a secretive way. The redhead whispered it into my ear at a time she knew I most likely wouldn't remember.

I'm thinking too deep into this, the redhead was just trying to comfort me.

Right?

I hope I'm wrong. I'd do almost anything for her to look at me the same way I look at her. Still, none the less, I have other problems right now.
Like getting my ass off this disgusting floor and into the shower.

I finally pull myself up, my stiff, still-healing leg shrieking in pain. I do what I can to ignore it and I strip off my clothes. My sweat pants and t-shirt fall in the floor with a thud. I turn to the small mirror displayed above the sink. The edges were blurry and at the bottom were marks from water stains and toothpaste hitting the mirror.

I stare at the tired girl looking back at me. Curly hair that couldn't be controlled and purple eye-bags. Small breasts and knobby knees; all things I should've and did hate myself for, but some stupid redhead had to come into my life and make me feel pretty when I know there is nothing but desolate feelings for the future of us.

Despite the scar on my ribcage and the gouge in my thigh, I stare boldly through the dirty mirror. I used to avert my eyes whenever my scar would flash in front of me, but at the end of the day it's only a scar. No matter how disheveled I look I finally have a purpose and that makes me feel pretty.

I finally have a friend. And honestly if only being Max's friend was the furthest we could in a relationship, I would gladly take that.

I hop in the shower and thoroughly clean my greasy hair. The strawberry scent of shampoo drifts through the air, slightly being subdued by the heavy, white steam.