What The Hell Happened With Max

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Author's Note: This chapter takes place on the Saturday BEFORE the main plot.

We were sitting on his bed. Max said something to me. I was too focused on writing to listen, so I just responded with, "Oh, cool."

"What the hell?!" Max asked furiously. He was crying. "How is my sister getting killed by a truck 'oh, cool'?!"

My eyes widened. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry--" I started.

"No, you're not sorry!" Max yelled. "Because your head is always buried in your laptop, writing! You don't care about what's happening around you! You won't get anywhere, you know why?! Because you're too afraid to let go of even a single word! You're too caught up in fiction to be here for reality!"

I screamed in rage and tackled him off the bed. We hit the floor with a thud, and I dug my knees into Max's ribcage, causing him to cry out in pain. I punched him in the face again and again, painting my hands red with Max's blood. My fists repeatedly found their target as I worked myself into a frenzy. Max was crying and screaming, begging for me to stop. I didn't. With the next punch I heard a pop as his jaw shifted to the right a considerable amount. Max's scream pierced the air, snapping me out of my anger. Realizing what I'd done, I got up and ran down the hall, out the door, and away from that house, the blood on my hands dripping onto the sidewalk below.



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