TANGLED PLANS

53

I didn't understand anything. Max says that he liked me back when I had confessed my own feelings but hadn't made an effort to let me know, as he believed I wasn't supposed to like him. He believed that even though the both of us liked each other, we couldn't be anything more.

He believed that I wasn't to take a liking to him because he was a mess. He used the word; I didn't. I had told him that he wasn't a mess and that his parents actions didn't define him. He hadn't believed me when I told him that. He hadn't believed me when I said that he was so much better than he thought.

I had tried to convince him of that much, but it hadn't worked. As soon as the alcohol fell on the ground beside him, he grabbed for it. When I walked away and decided to glance back at him after, I saw that he had been taking a swig of the drink.

I hated it.

I hated that he didn't see how much he didn't need the alcohol. I knew that he was too hurt, and the fact that he didn't want to think about his emotions made him drink to forget. I tried to make him see that it was okay to feel the hurt and that there was a better way to conceal the hurt. That he could take a run and clear his mind. It wouldn't last forever, but the alcohol wasn't going to last forever either.

I also don't understand him. He says that he isn't good enough for me to like, but he isn't even trying to become better. If he had liked me enough, would he try? I'm not saying that he isn't allowed to wallow in misery and feel the hurt, but it was just that he had talked to me in a way that made it seem that he would try. Not for me, but for himself.

I wouldn't find him at school the next day with the metal bottle—which I found out to be called a flask—in his hand. I didn't know how he had brought the flask to school without thinking about the fact that he was going to get caught. Also, it was too early to be drinking.

I did not like how he had walked around the school with his signature grin on his face, like he wasn't hurt. I didn't like how he kept feeding his friends lies. I also didn't like how Max's friends hadn't noticed that he was hurting as well. I didn't know how they hadn't noticed the signs either. I could see Max hurting from afar.

I'm sitting in the kitchen, waiting for my dad to come inside to cook the spaghetti that I have been watching boil for the last ten minutes. My dad had gone upstairs to grab something really quickly but probably got distracted. I didn't know what he was doing or how long it would take him. I was only trying to finish up my homework.

I hear footsteps enter the kitchen and look up to find my brother walking inside with a persistent look on his face. Once he gets to the table I'm sitting at, he runs his hands under the edge, and I can tell from his facial expression that he has something to tell me. He just didn't know if he should.

Reading him better than he thought I did, I say, "Go on, what do you need to ask me?"

Brayden takes a long breath out and then says, "I'm not sure if I should ask you. What if I were to ask you when, in reality, you had no idea about it? And then I'm spreading my suspicions around. What would happen then?"

I roll my eyes and say, "Just talk to me, Brayden."

"Okay," Brayden says, like the word itself was a secret he was sharing with me. I shake my head at his antics and watch as he takes a seat on the table with me. Meeting my eyes, he says, "Has, um, has Max been talking to you?"

"Not really," I answer him after a second's hesitation. I didn't know if I should be saying anything to Bradyen, and I didn't know how to answer the question honestly. It was like we talked once in a while and then went back to not speaking to each other. Max was keeping his distance, and I was keeping mine. I hadn't interfered with his life, even if seeing the flask in his hand for the past week had been hurting me.