Life of Max ✔️

Nineteen

MAX

He's just laying there, staring up at the ceiling. He's been staring at the wall before, and his eyes just recently moved up to the ceiling. I've been here for hours, and he's only said three words.

"Open the letter."

He knows I got it, apparently. Maybe he's bribed the people to let him know they sent the results a long time ago. I don't want to open it up. I don't want to know what's gonna happen.

"I don't want to know that I'm gonna die," I responded.

Since then, he never said anything.

He looks like crap. His arms are shaking, his legs are twitching under the covers, and his breaths reminds me more of hiccups. I feel like I'm looking at my future. Like I'm gonna end up just like him one day.

It's not fun.

My grandmother left as soon as I got there. She said she needed to go home and have a shower, some sleep and a change of clothes. She's probably been here the whole time, and I don't know how to act when I'm alone with him, and he's sober.

I'm not. I went to the bathroom an hour or so ago, and snorted a line of coke. I need to feel numb to be able to talk to him.

The fucking quiz yesterday was a disaster, too. I couldn't focus at all on studying with Brad and Grayson, so I think the results would have been better if I skipped class, or dropped out of college all together. I'm gonna die either way.

Just, there's a fifty percent chance I'll die sooner, rather than later. A fifty percent chance I'll never be able to have kids, without giving them the same odds. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. It's the worst thing I've ever had to deal with. How does people deal with this shit?

I don't want to know that, on second thought.

If I start shaking one day, I'll know. Isn't that enough?

"Maxy," my dad suddenly whispers, and I look over at him. "Please just open it. If you're okay, there's nothing to worry about. If not, you can enjoy the rest of your life however you want."

He's got a point.

I sigh and put my head in my hands. I run my fingers through my hair. It's getting longer, and I don't know if I want to cut it. It lessens my frustrations when I can pull on it..

"Fine," I sigh, and look up at him again. "I'll open it when I get back home tonight. But I can't promise I won't get high as a fucking kite and drink whatever booze I can get my hands on."

"Okay."

My dad seems to have lightened up a bit, and he sends me a soft smile. I smile back at him.

We spend the rest of the day playing some board games on his bed. We steer clear of Monopoly, though. When my grandmother comes back, she smiles at us, and joins us for a couple of rounds of some card game called Casino, until I gather up the courage to get back to my dorm room to open up the fucking envelope.

Before I leave, though, I lean over my dad's bed and put my arms around his neck.

He hugs me back, and we stay like that for a couple of minutes, until he pats my back and I pull back. His smile is kind of sad, but at the same time, he seems relieved.

"I love you, kid," he says, and I nod at him.

"Love you too," I mutter, before I put my hands in my pockets and walk out of the room.

I hear him telling me to call him when I know, and I grunt as a response. I will probably call him, but I don't have to let him know that I'll be holding onto him as some kind of security blanket. He's gonna die very soon, and I need to pretend, at least, that I'm not attached to him. Maybe he'll feel less guilty for keeping it from me.