I CAN SEE YOU

twenty five

I push my way through the crowd of sweaty bodies, my arms outstretched and knocking in to everyone and everything in my way, clearly not caring but just wanting out of the situation.

I'm way too stimulated, the lights, the music, the smoke, the heat, the alcohol, and whatever the hell that was with Max - it's just too much for me.

I scurry around the club trying to find a spot to calm down, away from any prying eyes and that god awful loud music that I can't hear over let alone think with, eventually finding an abandoned dark corridor leading to what I'm guessing is a staff area.

I stumble forward, using an outstretched hand to catch myself against the cool wall, focusing on the cold sensation against my open palm as I take some deep breaths. Breathe in for 2, hold for 5, breathe out for 2, hold for 5, again and again until the world starts to slow and the reality begins to settle.

Max and I had almost kissed. I had almost kissed the boy who I've always hated, the boy who would ram me off of a race track, push me, pinch me, bring me down. The boy who constantly told me I'd never reach my dreams, who excluded me, manipulated those around me, and picked on my family situation. I hadn't grown to hate him, I had grown up hating him. Hating him is the only way I know how to deal with him.

But then I had almost kissed Max - the boy who sheltered me from the paparazzi, carried me back drunk, and had gotten me an ice pack when I was smacked in the face. The one who had stood on the roof of that yacht and spoke from the heart with me after I won my very first race. The boy who apologised for his actions, gave me my first nickname and stayed in my hospital room to made sure I was safe after Silverstone.

Everything is different now with him. We're no longer the little traumatised kids who relied heavily on the opinions of our peers, we're adults, and adults see situations in a completely different light than kids. And whilst 9 year old me would surely throw a temper tantrum if she knew that nowadays I actually choose to speak with Max pleasantly, adult me sees him in a completely different light, but I don't know how to understand it. There are too many emotions and complexities to the whole situation that I struggle to process it when I'm sober, never mind when after I've had a few drinks.

The whole thing makes me want to cry, but I vowed to myself that I'd never cry over him. Not again.

"Madeline!" I barely hear him shout, followed by the slaps of his runs against the floor which echo off of the corridor walls.

I whip my head around, not quite believing my ears, but there he is, less than a metre from me, slightly out of breath and with worry in his eyes, almost looking vulnerable, which I can't help but soften slightly at.

"Is everything alright?" His blue eyes scour my face, looking me over, appearing to check if I'm hurt.

I can't look in his eyes. I can't fall for it. So suddenly my heels become very interesting. "I'm okay." I mumble, staring at the sequins that dance over my toes, not reflecting the light as the dim corridor lacks it.

"Why did you run off?" His voice becomes stronger but the confusion is still there.

I can't find an answer for him. What am I supposed to say? Hey Max, sorry I left you stranded out there but I just freaked out knowing that one wrong move could ruin the career that I've worked my whole life towards.

But whilst I can't give him an answer, I somehow scour enough courage to look at him. Tilting my head upwards I can see him staring down at me with what most people would perceive to be an anger fuelled look, but for those who have known Max for as long as I, then you know it's just his concerned look - his eyebrows lightly scrunched, eyes thinned searching for an answer with gently pursed lips, illustrating his concentration. Then all of a sudden his features melt. Turning on like a switch, his eyebrows raise and his eyes lighten, with that cocky smile once again returning, instantly making me more conscious.