Sweet Tooth [HS]

EIGHTY EIGHT

Max was running.

She had been sitting in the girl's bathroom, slumped in on herself in a stall, trying to pluck up the courage to go. To leave. To move her feet forwards and forget.

It was harder than she thought - because each time she moved the magnets in the ends of her fingertips pulled her backwards. Each time she got close to a resolve she remembered that Harry Styles was her centre of fucking gravity - that he was the only thing keeping her from losing herself.

But.

But.

She knew that was why she needed to leave.

That she needed to be her own centre of gravity and that her fingers were made of skin not metal that belonged to herself - not anyone else.

She had to be her own.

She had to leave. Needed time. Needed space.

So finally, she scooped herself up off the floor.

And now she was running.

Out of the hospital, away from Harry, like somehow she could outrun her love like that.

She made it to the doors, stopped for a moment as cool, Winter air attacked her skin. It felt good. Felt fresh.

Go, Max. You can do this.

She opened her eyes again, and started walking over to the car park she could see in the distance.

But.

Then she stopped short.

Leaning against her car, was Harry.

He turned to her before she even made a sound, like he could just feel her presence - like he just knew she was there.

While Max was relieved he was standing up, and maybe concerned he might get cold - her eyes widened as she drew closer. He looked furious. His brows were lowered in a deep scowl and his green eyes were blazing, the protruding bones only served to make him look more severe - more scary.

Max stopped walking just a few paces in front of him. She didn't know what to say or what to do with her hands- couldn't stop staring at his face as his lips curled up in a sneer.

"What the fuck was that, Max?"

"What?" She was taken a back - was not expecting him to be so... so angry. I mean, there he was. Standing in his hospital gown, barefoot, still clutching onto his IV drip.

"You left me. You just left me." He said as his eyes flashed. She could feel his fury radiating off him, and she took a step back like just his energy was a physical blow.

Max swallowed. "I couldn't stay."

"You couldn't stay?" He repeated bitterly. "Why not?"

Max gave him a look.

"Why do you think?"

"You said you wouldn't leave me. But you left."

Max, for some reason, felt anger spur through her.

Now that he was OK again, and had recovered enough to stand here yelling at her - everything came back to Max. Her terror was gone. Her old wounds throbbed, the scars ripped open and she felt them bleeding. She was still so angry at him. She was still so betrayed. She was still trying desperately to tell herself that she did not love him the way she had done.

So his words. This you said you wouldn't leave me. Max thought it was so bitterly fitting.

"You left me," he repeated, and Max scoffed.