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Julie
It was late, too late perhaps, but still I found myself in the park with Max, our secret refuge from the chaos that loomed over us. The park was a slice of serenity, hidden behind a veil of suburban houses, where the only sounds were the rustling leaves and the occasional distant bark of a dog. The stars blinked down like silent witnesses to our troubles, their distant light barely reaching us.
Max had brought a bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing in the dim light as he poured it into two plastic cups he'd snagged from home. The warmth from the whiskey was a stark contrast to the cool night air, and I relished its burn as it slid down my throat, trying to numb the turmoil inside me.
We sat on an old wooden bench, its surface cool beneath us. The wood creaked slightly, a small reminder of the years it had withstood countless nights like this one. Max leaned against the backrest, and I nestled close to him, our shoulders touching.
"To forgetting," Max said, his voice carrying a weight that wasn't entirely lighthearted. His eyes were dark pools of concern, reflecting the starlight and our shared worries.
"To forgetting," I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. We clinked our cups together, the sound sharp and hollow in the quiet. The whiskey burned, but it didn't erase the sting of reality that lingered.
For a long time, we sat in silence. The night seemed to press down on us, its darkness a heavy blanket that made the park feel both expansive and confining. Crickets chirped around us, their rhythm a gentle reminder of the world outside our bubble. The only other sound was our occasional shifting on the bench and the soft rustle of leaves.
"Do you ever think about running away?" I finally asked, breaking the silence that had become almost too oppressive to bear. My gaze wandered across the park, the familiar landscape now feeling foreign and distant. I wasn't sure if I was asking Max or just voicing my own desperate wish.
Himself had enough troubles to be worried about; his father left that at a young age. His family was ruined in one night. His mother left him once he was old enough to manage on his own, moved to some country Max never got to know. So, I was his family and he was mine.
"Every day," Max replied, his voice rough and resigned. He took another swig from his cup, then handed the bottle to me, our fingers brushing lightly in the exchange. "But where would we go? We'd be running from ourselves."
I took a long sip, savoring the warmth that spread through my chest. "Yeah," I agreed, the word barely a murmur. "ourselves"
Max looked at me, his eyes softening as he took in my tired expression and the way I seemed to be shrinking under the weight of everything. He nudged me gently with his elbow, trying to coax a smile from me. "Remember when we were kids? We thought we could conquer the world. Like nothing could touch us."
I laughed, the sound coming out as a brittle echo of its former self. "Yeah, and the worst thing we thought we'd face was how to sneak out without getting caught."
