Fluctuat nec Mergitur

Chapter 5

*Christina's POV*

I can't believe it. Our grandma died two weeks ago due to an accident in her home and couldn't pull through surgery. We've had the funeral already. I've not been sleeping or eating much. I can't seem to think about anything else.

​​​​​I sat at the kitchen counter, staring into the plate that Michael had given me. I pushed it away. Max sat at the other end of the counter, head down, and hadn't moved in so long she might be asleep for once.

"Christina, please." Michael put a hand on my shoulder. "Please, you've got to eat something. You haven't eaten anything today. It's nearly eight o'clock. Come on." He pushed the plate back towards me.

"I can't." I looked away, down towards Max, having nothing better to do.

"Listen, Christina. Stop looking at Max and eat this." He lifted the plate off the counter.

Max looked up at the sound of her name. She seemed more tired than ever, sick almost. I don't know what she's got to worry about. She's never even heard of my grandma.

"Christina." Max said, looking at the plate. I don't know what's driving me more mad, the fact that everyone's trying to boss me around or Max's disgusting French accent. Perhaps, if it were any other time, I'd have appreciated how much they cared, or how she said my name. But not now. Not when I could burst into tears at any given moment.

"Shut up." I said, in what might have been a more cruel tone than I intended. She didn't show any change in emotion. Maybe she doesn't even understand.

"Don't." She murmured, rubbing her sorry brown eyes. "Please eat."

"Gee, says you, who won't touch anything." I sneered, stabbing the toast with a fork. "Happy now?" I did my worst impression of a French accent.

Max shook her head. "Please, Christina." She sounded halfhearted. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know she doesn't care.

"Please, Christina." I mocked, in an accent so terrible it sounded half British, trying to stare her down.

Michael shook my arm gently. "Christina, really?"

"What?" I asked sourly. I feel a little bad, but then I remembered Phyllis and shoved down the lump in my throat.

"Did you even see Max? Christina, love, she doesn't even know what's going on. Everyone's so isolated, myself included, that she's all alone and is taking it on herself to keep everything in order. Who do you think has been cleaning the house? Taking care of the mail and the cats and the dishes? And on top of that, she's still working every night to get whatever studying she's got going on down there done. We're putting so much more pressure on her and she's on the verge of getting sick because of all the stress. I know you've been taking this so hard, but you've got to go easy on Max. Really. She's doing the best she can."

"Are you done with your lecture?" I put my head in my hands. I just need some space.

"I guess so." He stepped away in surrender.

I looked at Max again, who was leaning her head against the wall. She surveyed me almost angrily. Her face was slightly twisted with what seemed to be irritation. I was considering apologizing until now. She doesn't deserve it.

I ripped a piece of toast off of what was on my plate. It was perhaps a bit less than an inch wide of a ragged shape. I threw it at Max, who could see it coming. She let it hit her shoulder and fall the counter before picking it up and whipping it back at me, nailing my temple.

"Just a minute ago you were looking all sorry for me." I crushed the bit of toast between my fingers, grinding it to crumbs and letting it fall to the floor. If Max is really doing all the work, she can bother with it. "I didn't think you'd turn on a dime about me while my back was turned."