Not Like You

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Hey, guys, quickly, let me explain, this chapter has POV changes to people I've never changed it to. It's a writing technique. I hope you like it!

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Without Harlow, the dorm room was quiet and empty. Almost like the feeling in my chest.

Max didn't come to class. He dropped auto. I was there when he did. He told Mickey it was because he was focusing on his career, and auto didn't fit his schedule. He didn't glance at me as he left.

How many times have I cried? I've lost count. The headache that never leaves my forehead could tell you all. It's been two weeks, and the guilt on my shoulders has only grown. I've been getting emails from my professors, asking where I am. I could tell they were worried, but I don't deserve their worry. Not now. Not after everything, I've done.

I've started to stay in bed. The movement hurts anyway.

Everything hurts, and It was all because I was too stupid to realize what I had done.

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*MAX POV*

She said what she wanted. Her words were like bullets to my skin. I couldn't even look in the mirror without seeing her face. The tattoo inked into my skin a constant reminder, consuming my skin and setting it aflame.

I guess it was both of our faults. She did it out of love, and that's the worst part. Every day, I paid attention in my classes. I worked out until I was sore, took notes until my pages were full, and scored highly on quizzes and tests.

What else was I supposed to do with the time?

Harlow left for New York. It broke me inside, knowing I was also losing the only other person on this campus I loved.

Harlow heard the tail end of our argument, and with that knowledge, she went back to our childhood home, grabbed clothes, and took the first flight to New York. I don't know if she told Rose. Hell, I knew this was almost as hard on her as it was on me. Rose was Harlow's best friend. And now, all she could think about her when her name was brought up was how she'd hurt me. I guess that was her coping mechanism. Distance. I envied her in those moments.

"Max, what's been up with you lately?" Nash asked. I was at his frat house, sitting on his bed, staring at the wall. I had moved into the guy who last lived here, Razor, I think it was? I moved into his room after he left, not able to think about going near the dorms.

"Rose wanted me to go," he stopped strumming on his guitar and looked up at me.

"What? You two were doing so well," he said, putting the guitar down and sitting on the bed next to me, "What happened?" I shrugged.

"It was her call, not mine. It was after we got out of the meeting with Jax. I think... I think she needs to see somebody for her problems, because, Nash," I looked at him, "they're bad. Terrible. Worse than what most people go through in their lives. Almost all because of that idiot, Jax," I said his name bitterly. At night, when I couldn't sleep, I pictured myself beating him to a pulp. Sometimes, in those imagines, I had a gun.

"Is he in jail now?"

"Yeah. His sentence was shortened to seven years,"

"Damn,"

"Yeah," I laid back on his bed.

"I don't know what to do, Nash. I love her. I really do. And I know she loves me too, but... she thinks she's doing what's right. She thinks she's saving me,"

"From what?"

"Herself,"

Nash stood up and ran a hand through his hair, "Damn, man, that's deep. I'm sorry for you two. Didn't you get that tattoo you told em about too?" I nodded and showed him.