Sweet Tooth [HS]

SEVENTY

It could have been hours or it could have been seconds but it felt like a whole lifetime when Max finally realised where she was. And it wasn't that she recognised the place, it was more that she recognised the person.

Because she had not been paying any attention to the changing shop windows as she walked past them- she was too afraid to glance at her reflection and see nobody staring back. And the names of places and streets and avenues written up high on green street signs only reminded Max that she was not where she wanted to be and that was all that mattered - what was a 5th street or a 37th street or a road or a crossing apart from a step further away from him? 

But now Max stopped. Because she saw a striking shock of red hair, saw a wide set of blinking blue eyes.

And Max watched. And she waited. And then she whispered, "Lexie," as the person turned and saw her.

"Oh, Max," Lexie whispered, wrapping pale arms around her, stroking her hair, "Oh, Max."

"He's gone," Max said. Kept saying it, over and over again.

He's gone.

He's gone.

He's gone.

Saying it aloud made it real and it was like rubbing salt into a fresh wound, like a stinging feeling. Because she could hear her sadness when she said it - could taste something sour in her mouth as the words tore out from her heart and escaped between her lips. She felt it. Heard the words echoing around her, back into her, burying inside her bones and breaking what was left of her heart.

But at least Lexie was here, holding her so tightly it was like she was scared she was going to slip through the cracks in her fingers. But Max did not mind, because she could not even feel her body and it was nice that there was something left of her to hold onto.

"I'm sorry," Lexie said sadly, pulling back to look Max in the eye.

Max dropped her head because Lexie's eyes were windows and she could see her sadness inside them.

So she just shrugged limply, felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You knew this would happen."

The words stabbed at Max, wrenching through the gaping holes in her heart.

"I'm sorry all the same," Lexie sighed. "Come on. Lets get you out of the cold. You must be freezing."

And then Lexie pushed a door behind her and a bell rang but it sounded distant, and then Max was being tugged inside, into the warmth, but Max could not feel the difference.

"Look, Max. It's the studio. It's pretty much finished," Lexie said, squeezing her hand.

And Max's dull eyes bent sideways, her gaze drifting over the walls and the art and the chairs. It was all black and gold, chequered floor, chandeliers on an impossibly high ceiling. She knew it was beautiful but her words were not working and her mind could not appreciate beautiful things anymore.

In fact, she was struggling to comprehend anything. The whole flight here had felt like a lifetime but Max could not remember anything apart from throwing up in the airport. This place - New York City - it felt like a strange island. All cold and concrete where Max could hear her heart crunching beneath her feet.

And this studio. The studio that she had once been so excited for, so overwhelmed by - now it was just a room of blacks and golds and it was beautiful but it was just nothing because she did not feel like she was there, felt like she was nowhere. 

"Max?"

The voice made Max jump, and like a camera moving into focus, so did Rory's face coming towards her. She could not lift her mouth to smile. Could barely lift her hand to wave.

"Hey," she said flatly and her tongue felt dry and her throat felt hoarse. 

As Rory came closer and as her blurry vision focused more - she saw that Rory was not smiling, either. His cheeks were pink and his eyes were wide and he was running a hand through his hair - and Max had never seen him like that before. Something was wrong. Even she could feel that something was wrong. The air had suddenly changed, got hotter, was prickly - like when it thickens before a thunderstorm. 

And Lexie could tell, too. "What's wrong with you?" She asked bluntly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Max could have laughed at that.

"Oh. Um," he stuttered, his eyes wide as he scratched the back of his neck. "It's great to see you, Max. It is. But I think you guys should head to the hotel."

Max's body deflated. Maybe Rory was angry at her for the way she had spoken to Lexie. Maybe he had heard what happened.

"What the fuck, Rory? Max has just got here, she needs us right now," Lexie snarled. "What's wrong with you?"

Despite Lexie's defence, Max just shook her head. "No. It's OK. I'll go. I'm tired anyway."

Rory tugged at his hair. "No, Max. It's not like that. It's just that-"

But Max was not listening.

Had already turned to leave, was walking towards the door, her eyes fixed on the darkness beyond - but then she stopped.

Everything stopped.

Stopped moving, stopped working. Everything just stopped. And for a moment she was the only still point in the whole turning world.

Because Max had just seen a face. Was looking at a face. 

A perfect face, a painful face.

The eyes that had been engraved into her memory, the dark lips that she could still taste on hers, the sharp bones and the dark aspect that electrified Max now as she stood there. She felt like she was in the eye of a Harry-shaped hurricane, unmoving, as the world melted away, slipping away in slow motion as a spotlight cast down upon him. 

It was all darkness, all nothing, and he was the only thing she could see. It was like being struck by a lightning bolt. Like her life and all her feelings, for a moment, became simplified, focused on this one fixed point. 

Her soul screamed his name. Her body bent forwards. 

Nothing else mattered.

But then, as Max blinked, she realised that oh God, it did. 

Because below the face, his face, that beautiful, burning face - there was suddenly another. A new face pressed into his chest that encased a heart that Max used to think belonged to her. And this other face, this woman's face, was connected to a slender body, long and thin and gazelle-like that was turned into him, being held by hands that Max stood there missing, that no longer wanted to hold her. 

And suddenly Max felt everything.

She could feel the skin melting off her bones and her blood humming in her veins and her teeth hissing in their sockets. Suddenly her body was alive again, feeling again, hurting again, and the world was turning and they were standing just outside the door and Max wondered how she could be so cold that it felt like burning. 

Wondered how it was that a dead heart could break. 

Wondered how it was that despite it all; Harry leaving her and this betrayal in fresh, earth-shattering form - how was it that she still loved him? 

As she watched them standing there her brain whirred with what ifs and surely nots and he wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't cheat; wouldn't betray - he loves me he loves me he loves me. 

But, then. 

Oh, 

but

 then. 

Max watched through the window as Harry dipped his slender neck, as his slow hands slid over the small of the woman's back and up to her chin, curling her face upwards. And then she watched as he stared, then as he smiled, then as he leaned forwards.

And kissed her. 

Max watched.

As Harry

Kissed

Her.