Sweet Tooth [HS]

SEVENTY THREE

It was on the seventh day since being home- one full week since Max last set eyes on Harry - that Lexie turned up at her door. She had left Rory in New York to come back with Max, "And I don't sacrifice my boyfriend for no reason, Maximus. We're going out."

And Max, feeling unable to say no, and unable to say yes, just nodded. She opened the door wider, letting Lexie in and it was like a fresh breeze blew through her cold flat. It was good to not be alone. It was good to watch Lexie open the curtains and clatter around in the kitchen the way she always had, like nothing had changed. 

Lexie poured them wine which they sipped in the living room, and Max was content just to listen to her best friend natter on about her parents and what to wear. They did not talk about him, nor the ugly state of Max's heart and she was relieved. She was bored of her brokenness and Lexie being here, laughing and drinking and talking like she always had - it meant that for a moment, for the night, Max could pretend like nothing had changed. 

"Right. To the closet," Lexie grinned as she emptied the last dregs of wine into their glasses. "Come on."

And she started walking down the hallway to Max's bedroom - but Max did not move. Stayed stuck on the spot, watching her best friend get closer and closer to the door that had remained firmly shut all week.

She just hadn't been able to face it. Just hadn't been ready. It was like Pandora's Box, and opening it would let out the very last bit of the past. 

"Max?" Lexie called as she twisted the door knob. "Why are you just standing th-"

Her voice trailed off as she turned around, taking in Max's face that had suddenly turned pale.

"Oh." She said, "You haven't been in here yet, have you?"

Max shook her head. No. She had not.

"Do you want to?"

Lexie turned around fully, blinking those big blue eyes at Max as Max blinked right back. Did she want to go in?

No. She didn't.

She knew she couldn't sleep on the sofa forever. Couldn't live out of her suitcase much longer. Couldn't pretend that that room did not exist.

But still.

The door was locked and so were her feelings and she didn't want to open it yet.

Max sighed. "Can you- just - um, grab me something out the wardrobe. I don't - I can't- you know." She dropped her head as she spoke, feeling so small and so pathetic and so humiliatingly broken.

"Of course, Max, just give me a sec," Lexie replied soothingly, walking over to give Max's hand a soft squeeze before disappearing back down the hall and into the bedroom.

Max stood, wrapped her arms around herself and waited.

She tried to think of nothing and she took a long sip of her wine and relished in the numbness that slipped down her throat and into her stomach.

"Right," Lexie said only a few moments later, appearing through the doorway, "Your outfit, Madame," she grinned, shoving a fistful of clothes in Max's hands.

Max looked down, her eyes widening at the scraps of material Lexie had unsurprisingly picked out. It was a skirt, or more of a belt, that she used to wear when she was sixteen and trying to get into clubs underage. And then the top - was not, in fact, a top. It was made of a thin sort of chainmail material and it was sheer and so low cut the dip of the neckline touched her belly button. She'd worn it for Halloween years ago in a vague attempt at 'Slutty Renaissance Soldier'.