Collision Course

Chapter 23: Bottles

A/N: This chapter is going to be slightly different than normal. It isn't going to be so much detail to the story but more of Max's thoughts. Plus, I also have a surprise during this chapter so make sure to read the A/N at the end.

The night had been like a forgotten friend to me; at reunion it was sweet and full of comfort that was hard to resist, yet after a while the gentle facade melted away and revealed the bitterness beneath. During the times I suffered, I took comfort in the darkness shielding my tears from being seen and the knowledge that nobody was going to harm me if I couldn't see them. But then there were the times where I wanted nothing more than the rays of sunlight to evaporate the bleak midnight sky. Those had been the times that I curled up into a ball with shaky hands and scampering eyes, constantly blinking away the sleep that I desired.

I could say it a thousand times, repeat it like a mantra, even write in on every substance available but that did not make it true; I never wanted to be alone. Being alone meant thinking, and thinking meant seeing, and seeing meant becoming afraid, and my fears would choke me till the brink of death before releasing me back to life until the next day. At times just having solitude was not a bad thing but elongated periods of human withdrawal were dangerous. Yet I could not help it when given the opportunity to spend time with people to turn away and shut myself inside. After so many years I had become used to being alone, and dealt with the demons plaguing my mind by myself.

So many times I sat in my dark room, one window revealing the dark street outdoors, and clutched my knees to my chest. So many times I was vulnerable to only myself and had no shoulder to lean against. So many times I screamed into the mounds of pillows and blankets, trying so desperately to release the built up frustration. So many times I let the tears cascade down my face and drip onto my shirt until it was damp. But I never told anyone. I guess I dug my own grave with that.

I often questioned myself, wondering why I never bothered to let people know that I struggled so often but always came back to the same conclusion: I have no clue. Once I thought it was because I deserved to be alone after what I had done, that this was the punishment for my actions. Another time I assumed it was because I had no one that would understand me. Now it was a little bit of both, tied together with a bright shiny ribbon like a present that a maniac had decided to give.

That was why I refused the offer from Wes to attend the wild party that was being thrown while his parents were out of town. An irrational decision that probably arose out of the fading grief at his grandmother's death. It was upsetting to hear that he was still attempting to cope with the situation but had acted as if everything was fine whenever we spoke. For whatever reason, my mood darkened and chest hurt after acknowledging that I wasn't enough.

Wes told me that the party was happening tonight at his house, that not a lot of people would be going but I knew better. He may have resorted to associating with a group of misfits who didn't quite fit in with the cliches but he was still popular. Nobody would miss Wes Jones's party for the world.

Maybe that was why I declined his invitation and said that I had homework that needed to be finished and a book that had to be read. Or maybe it was because I had started thinking again, letting my mind run down a twisting machine that branched into millions of directions with billions of possible endings. Whatever it was, I knew my refusal was not believable. It only made me feel more guilty when I heard the excited spring in his voice drop after I said only one word.