I heard a pounding that was either Max trying to get in or my head. I am pretty sure I left the latch off the hatch, so whichever it was would go away when I fell back asleep.
"You've been up here two days time to stop moping."
It was Max.
Had it been two days? Oh well. My no good dad probably hasn't even noticed. The only interaction between us, is his fist to my face after a bad day. He was probably still lying in bed incapacitated from a days worth of alcohol right now.
"R, are you serious?" Max had a shocked look on his face for a moment that was quickly replaced with disappointment. I have no clue what for. He grabbed my arms and held them up looking closely. That's when I saw what he meant. The blood was dried on all over my wrists, up my arms to my elbows.
Max dropped the bag of food he brought me and picked up my blade from the table, the sanguine silver shone in the sunlight leaking in through the window. He walked over to the window and chucked it out as hard as he could. I stood up and stepped outside taking a water bottle to wash off my arms, ignoring whatever he was saying.
"....talk to me....better ways....stronger than this....gets better...." the words came in an out like a phone call with bad reception. I didn't need to hear anymore though, I had heard it all before. Just like the last time. He would never truly understand, no matter how much he thinks he does.
"Shut up." I said coldly, my arms stinging from the water and cold morning air. I walked back inside and pulled my sleeves down, then my hoodie over top.
"What?" he asked like he hadn't heard me.
"I said shut up. I don't need your 'life will get better' bull crap. My head hurts." I sat down and reached into my backpack, pulling out two of each pill again and swallowing them with a little vodka.
"Jesus...you want to die, don't you?" Max muttered under his breath. I looked up at him, and took another swig of vodka as if to say yes. Then I looked him back in the eye.
"If I wanted to die, I would've jumped out of this treehouse awhile ago. On the contrary my friend, I want to live." I smiled and spread my arms out. "This is the only way I know how."
"Ryan," he paused and looked at the map drawn onto the wall in crayons. Our own personal map of the world. "Do you remember drawing this? When we were kids?"
He was the only person who called me Ryan. I hated my first name, Rochelle. I never liked being a girl much, Max knew it. He stuck around though, even after I started wearing boys clothes and cut my hair short. Most people just call me R now, but not Max. He told me I look more like a Ryan.
I traced my fingers along the lines on the wall.
"We were supposed to run away together, Ryan. Now look at us. You're hiding in a treehouse trying to bleed out and I'm bringing you Burger King and vodka."
"I wasn't trying to bleed out..." my voice came out hoarse.
Max shook his head and took a swig of vodka from the bottle in my hand. He grabbed his backpack and keys, and headed out the door.
"I'll see you after school," and he went down the ladder.
