DIVINITY

T W O

Lights. Noise. Girls. His song.

A green pill.

Had he always been this thirsty?

Had it always been this colourful?

The only thing he knew was that he never wanted the feeling to stop. This feeling of being young.

---

Waking up with a headache seemed to be his new thing. Fortunately, he had aspirins. Max couldn't remember anything from last night, but he didn't necessarily give a shit. He loved the feeling of uncertainty. It made him feel wild and free.

He considered staying in his bed. A stray Heineken bottle caught his eye and he reached out to see if there was any beer left. Half of it had been consumed already. Max drank it.

He didn't want to leave the bed. The sun was shining, unlike the day before. The sunrays lit up the room and warmed his face. Everything was quiet, safe for a couple of birds singing outside. His head felt like bursting.

Max rolled over, his eyes closed. He didn't care what time it was. He just wanted the headache to stop. And he wanted some peace.

"You're awake," a feminine voice spoke. Max's heart stopped beating for two whole seconds.

"Fuck!" he yelled. "What the fuck?"

There was a girl next to him, one he had never seen before. "Did you know you look different when you sleep?" she asked. He was completely dumbfounded. Silence stretched out between them.

"What the fuck do you even mean?" he then said. "Get out." The girl was hurt, but he couldn't care less. She was hesitating. Max didn't have time nor patience for that. "Are you stupid or what?"

"I just thought..." she whispered, looking everywhere but at him. "We might get some coffee together..."

"Do I look like a person who would do that? Fuck off, you're wasting my time."

She was showing some fire now. "You weren't against us last night."

"Bitch, what?" He could not believe this wench. Who did she think she was talking to? "Get out of my fucking house." Us, she had thought. What a fucking joke. Max Vermeer wasn't a part of an 'us'. He was alone and he liked it that way.

The girl picked up her clothes and left. But the headache didn't.

---

Nine missed phone calls of his mother. It irritated him. He had always been fixated on round numbers. Why not ten missed calls? He listened to his voice mail because he didn't have anything else to do.

You have six new messages.

"Hey, Max," the voice of his mother pierced through his ears. He deleted the message and passed on to the next.

"Max, it's me." Deleted, moved on.

"Max, why don't you pick up your phone?"

"Max, I'm worri-" This woman would just not leave him alone. He was perfectly able to take care of himself, but she wanted to treat him like a baby. He refused to let his mother command him.

"You should pick up your phone sometime." This was not his mother. This was his ex.

"Bitch," he sighed, starting to press the delete button.

"Don't ignore this, it involves you." Max closed his eyes. All the women in his life were bores and pains in the asses.

"You've got an interview today. They're going to ask you why we broke up." There was that word again. 'We'. He was not part of a whole. He was not a half. He was Max fucking Vermeer.