Sweet Tooth [HS]

EIGHTY SEVEN

As soon as Harry was asleep again, and there was only silence, and Max's tears had dried - it was like reality came crashing back down, forcing its way through the door and cramming back into Max's consciousness. It felt like a lightning bolt.

She rushed out to notify a nurse, and then she called Lexie, called Rory, called Anne, who picked up on the second ring.

They would all be here soon. And Max waited, silently, on the hospital chair as the doctor finished checking his vitals and making notes.

"This is good," she smiled at Max as she was leaving. "He's going to be OK. He should be awake again soon."

Max nodded and turned back to Harry, looking between his blank face and the hand he still had gripped around hers.

It was burning.

She had promised him she wouldn't leave.

But.

But.

Well.

As her adrenaline ebbed away and her terror subsided to the sound of Harry's heart monitor, all steady and stable - it was like something suddenly shifted.

It felt like her dread and her agony of not knowing if Harry was going to live or die had lifted, and beneath the rubble lay the remains of all she had felt before he'd been in hospital.

She was still so angry at him. She still had not forgiven him. She was still supposed to hate him.

And maybe as she looked at him, sleeping, alive, she realised that no- she didn't hate him. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

But still.

How could she promise him she wouldn't leave when he had left her?

She scanned over his face, taking in his gaunt, withered aspect all over again. While before, she had only been able to concentrate on the terror of seeing him die, the shock of seeing him in this state of decay; now she sat and she wondered why.

She knew, without needing to ask, that it was because of her. Maybe the guilt, the separation, or how when they left each other they left themselves behind.

Maybe he depended on her love as much as she depended on his. Maybe whatever this was between them- maybe it had broken him the way it had broken her.

Although Max was not lying on the cusp of mortality in a hospital ward, her insides were as close to recovery as Harry's. The long months of brokenness after New York and the six years of loving him too much and losing him too much behind her - it had left shadows. Pain fossilised in their bones, heartbreak calcified inside their chests.

It was not normal. She knew as she looked at Harry and felt her own damadged insides - that the way they loved each other was not normal. And the way they broke wasn't either.

What had Lexie said? You love him more than you love yourself. It's your flaw.

She had been right.

Max realised that she could not love him like that again as the past crowded in; him leaving her, him not loving her the way she should be loved; and her loving him too much. Her loving him more than she loved herself.

It wasn't right. It could not happen again.

She looked down at where their hands were intertwined, feeling that chemical buzz of his skin against her own - and Max could already feel herself slipping.

How easy it would be to stay here, and sink back into old rhythms, and let herself love him the way she always had. It was what she wanted to do. It was what her body had been trained to do, like some sort of muscle memory that despite herself would always crave and long and gravitate towards him because he was all she had ever known.

Loving him the way she always had, was all she knew how to do.

But she couldn't do that again.

And as her eyes scanned over his face, she realised he could not do it either.

He was not made of magic. He could not read her mind. His hands might have been slow but they were not made of stars.

He was human.

He was like her.

Like the rest of the world, Max was guilty of putting him on a pedestal. She overlooked his drug problem, managed to forget about reality because when it was just her and just him, hiding away in her flat - nothing mattered.

But the beep of his heartbeat moniter was like a wave of reality, as were the shadows on his face, as was the hole in her chest that meant to have her heart inside it.

She realised it mattered.

Realised everything mattered.

It could be them against everything else, because everything else was too heavy. They had grown too weak - they ended up crushed.

She started to cry. She raised their hands, pressing his knuckles against her forehead as she bent over and let this realisation sink in.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't. I can't do it again."

She kissed his hand, closing her eyes as she pressed his palm against her cheek. He was warmer. And then suddenly she felt his fingers twitch, heard his breathing change.

She had to leave.

Had to go. Now.

As she stood up, she heard the door open and Lexie, Rory and Anne appeared.

They all looked ecstatic, but their faces fell when they took in Max's face.

"Max?" Lexie asked immediately, "What's wrong?"

Max was scared to speak in case she sobbed. "I- I have-" she stammered as her heartbeat stopped and started inside her chest. "I have to go. Tell him-" I love him. "Tell him I had to go."

They all stood their clueless, looking between Harry and Max. Max did not wait. Couldn't risk a second for fear she would be drawn back into the room and she might stay there forever. If Harry woke up, she wouldn't be able to do it- she wouldn't be able to leave him the way he had left her. Didn't think she could ever be so cruel.

So she rushed out of the room.

Didn't say goodbye.

But as the door slammed shut behind her, she caught the soft sound of his voice saying "Maxie," before she collapsed in the hallway.