Underneath the Stars (Max George FanFiction)

Chapter 19

Underneath the Stars

Chapter 19

Once I said what I did, I made my way to the stairs, stepping one foot on the bottom stair, but a familiar grasp pulled me back and turned me around.

I looked up at his face, his grey eyes glossed over, two glass balls of perfection. The light had been lost from them, but his eyes were still the same ones that I saw that day I bumped into him in the hall. There was a hint of stubble around his lips, spreading down his chin, my favorite way to see him. His lips were chapped and cracked, the only way I could change that was to kiss him, and I would never get to kiss him again. He never said anything to me, just looked down at me as tears fell down his face.

Turning around, I made my way back to the stairs. A few stray tears fell down my face, I was trying to hide the fact I was crying from Max. I slowly walked up the stairs to what used to be our room.

This wasn't the way things were supposed to happen, but sometimes, things don't go as they are planned. He was never supposed to attempt suicide, I was never supposed to find out I was the root cause of it. we weren't supposed to spend 5 days in the hospital after a previous 3 months. We were supposed to be going to the funeral in 2 days, dressed in black, mourning the loss of Babs, but also remembering her. We were supposed to be home, we were supposed to pretend we were okay. We were supposed to be happy.

I pulled out some suitcases and started to pack my clothes into it. Tears clouded my vision as I packed everything. I didn't know how I was going to get home, but I would find a way. Getting out a few more suitcases and a few bags, I finished packing everything. I got everything out of the bathroom, putting it into a carry-on bag. Once I finished I sat on the bed, holding my head in my hands crying and shaking.

I looked up having heard footsteps. He stood in the doorway, his eyes dark from crying and still glassy. "I don't want to talk," I choked out.

He shook his head, "I don't blame you, but, please, hear me out," he begged.

"No! There's nothing to talk about and I will not talk to you."

He kneeled down in front of my legs at the end of the bed, "Please, please listen to me."

"No, Max. It's over, you fucked up, I fucked up, we both fucked up and guess what? There's nothing more to it. It's over and done with. We are over and done with," I yelled, trying to act like what I said wasn't hurting me, but it burned my throat and tongue to utter those words.

"I didn't mean what I said! I was mad and upset at myself, not you. Not everything is always about you!"

I was infuriated now, I stood up so that I was taller than him, as he was kneeling. "So every time you're mad you're going to yell at me and blame me for your idiocy and your anger? Is that what is going to happen? Because I can't deal with that!"

He stood up, wrapping his arms around my wrist. This feeling was far too familiar, I knew what was coming, I knew he could hurt me just by holding my wrists too tightly. He had massive muscles; there was nothing I could do, I couldn't fight back.

"I didn't mean what I said, you weren't the one that made me want to kill myself. You didn't dangle the bottle over my mouth forcing me to swallow 25 pills. I did that. There is no way to explain what I did, but, I can explain that I said what I said because I wanted to get out of hell. But it seems to be that I'm right back where I started: hell."

His grip on my wrists tightened. My left arm was burning, his fingers pressed against the still fresh cuts. I bit the inside of my mouth, knowing it would feed his rage if I winced.