I give him a once-over. “You’re six feet tall and built like a rock. We all know you eat twice as much as the rest of us.”
His mouth gapes for a moment. Slowly it closes, and he straightens his shirt. “It’s just to keep up the maintenance on all this muscle, I’ll have you know.”
I nod, lips pursed to the side. “Oh, I’m sure.” I lay the sarcasm on thick.
He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “I knew you would understand.”
I wince at the pressure on my aching body and do my best to hide my discomfort. After a moment, unable to withstand it for a second longer, I duck out of his embrace. “All joking aside, Max, your arm is heavy.”
“Not that heavy,” he mutters.
“Go watch TV or something while I take a quick shower.”
I run upstairs and head straight to my room, closing and locking the door behind me.
With my right hand, I lift the lower left side of my shirt, in one fluid motion removing it entirely. I turn so my back is to the mirror on the closet door and glance at my shoulder and back. Being slammed into the rock by something five times my size didn’t happen without injury, and it’s something I don’t know how to cover up.
Bruising has already begun showing from my neck to my waist and I have no way to hide it. Certainly not when others touching it—bumping into it at the very least—is unavoidable. The weight of Max’s arm just along my shoulders was excruciating. And he’s no doubt sitting downstairs laughing with my parents, all of whom are wondering what I’m doing. Again.
I drop the shirt in the hamper and pull a clean one from the drawer. I open my door a sliver and peek out, making sure the hall is clear before dashing across to the bathroom. I slip off the rest of my clothes and get in the shower.
When I make it back downstairs, everything is as I suspected it would be. Mom, Dad, and Max are sitting on the chairs in the front room, all laughing and having a grand ole time. Honestly, I don’t know why they need me around. They treat Max like a son, and especially lately, he sees them more than I do.
They all get along wonderfully. I almost wish they’d forget about me. I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in this family. I look at Max, fluttering in my stomach. I don’t belong with him. No matter how much I want to run my hands through his long, thick hair or stare into his deep green eyes forever. I don’t fit in here, and Max would never follow me there … to the world of “mythical” creatures. Even if I could prove they’re real.
I collect myself, mentally preparing for conversations I don’t care to have, company I wish I didn’t need to keep right now, and pain I can’t show before descending the stairs.
“Oh, Alita! We wondered about you. Everything okay? It seems you practically flew to your room,” Dad says before starting up the knee-slapping laughing.
Ever since I was old enough to understand the meaning behind names, my life has been a constant joke about flying and wings. Mom doesn’t look pleased while Dad continues muttering dad jokes under his breath, aware that no one else in the room aside from Max is appreciating them. I just roll my eyes, too tired to come up with a witty response.
Once upon a time, it was endearing. Dad even called me his little bird. Told me I would fly to great heights in life and accomplish great things.
Mom claps her hands loudly and gets up, breaking the awkward silence. “Shall we eat?”
Dinner is a symphony of chewing and the occasional throat-clearing, coughing, and forks scraping plates. No one speaks, which is fine by me. My leg bounces under the table, waiting anxiously to return to the safety of my room. I just want to take some pain killers and lie down.
Even hinting that’s my plan is a no-no. It will lead to questions I can’t answer. So I remain sitting beside Max, who gives me side looks every time he reaches for more food.
“So,” Mom says, clearing her throat and gently setting her fork on the table. “What are you two studying tonight?”
“History!” Max exclaims a little too loudly right as I reply, “Math!”
We stare at each other, Mom looking back and forth, trying to get a clear answer. Max raises a brow, staring directly into my eyes, questioning, pleading, and demanding answers all in his gaze.
“I mean history,” I say to Mom, though in all reality, I just want Max to go home so I can be alone with my pain and fears. I don’t need to figure out more lies and excuses. I can’t keep doing this. It’s only been one year, but I feel like I’m drowning in secrets.
Mom gives me a look that says “uh-huh” and chuckles to herself. “Are you sure you’ll be studying at all? Seems odd for a Friday night activity.”
Dad throws his head back laughing loudly. “Can you blame him for wanting to stick around here? With so many siblings, I can imagine there aren’t too many quiet moments at his house.”
Mom pats Dad’s hand tenderly, which is her way of telling him to shut up. “Or perhaps Max just likes spending time with our daughter, dear.” She smiles at me. “So, do you two mind cleaning up? Your father and I are going for a walk.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Drake!” Max responds a little too eagerly.
“Thank you, Max. Please don’t stay too late. Okay?” she asks, getting out of her seat.
“Of course!”
Max and I sit in awkward silence for the few minutes it takes Mom and Dad to get their shoes put on. They holler goodbye already halfway out the door. The second it closes, I jump up and begin putting the food away.
Max grabs my wrist—I’m sure in what he thought was an innocent thing to do—causing me to pull away in pain. “Hey,” he says, holding his hands up as though to show me he isn’t a threat. “What’s going on?” His playful tone has changed to a caring one. He stands up, now towering over me.
“It—it’s nothing,” I say, knowing he won’t accept it and will only continue pushing for the truth, something I can’t give him, but I don’t have an excuse. I don’t have a lie on the tip of my tongue, ready to use at a moment’s notice.
His eyebrow quirks up, just as I knew it would. A mischievous smile pulls at his lips, and his eyes light up just enough to make my heart skip a beat and melt a little. “Nothing, huh? Are you sure it’s not because your parents are gone, and you’re here with your hot boyfriend and there’s no real homework to study?” His hands grip my waist as he pulls me closer.
Everything hurts. Aching, filled with tension, really wanting to be alone right now. I let him bring his face closer to mine as he waits for a response, testing the waters, waiting for me to move away. When his lips are only a breath away from mine, I kiss him as lightly as possible before backing up, needing space. “Pretty sure that’s not it,” I say, knowing now I’m just teasing him. But that’s all I can do. Anything more might kill me right now.
My entire body is stiff and sore. It hurts to breathe, to smile, to move at all.
He smirks, but feigns being taken aback. I take his moment of distraction to grab the dishes and get to the kitchen, wondering about what just happened.
“So if that’s not it,” he says, coming up behind me, “then what is wrong?”
“I’m just tired. I’m sorry.” I turn into his embrace. “Like not just physically, but mentally. And it doesn’t matter how much I try to relax, it doesn’t help. You know?” I wrap my arms around his waist. Forcing myself through the pain because as much as I want to be alone, I don’t want to push him away.
“To be perfectly honest, I do.”
No matter how much Dad was joking, Max really does come over here to escape his foster family, which I suppose is understandable. I’m an only child. I can’t imagine living with so many other people, even if I think he should try to be closer to them.
“And that’s okay. I’m perfectly fine if we just stay right here forever,” he says in a low voice.
I lean back and look into his eyes, pulse out of control. With all the seriousness I can muster, I ask, “In my parents’ kitchen?”
Before he can respond, I bus
t up in giggles, and immediately regret it as pain shoots through my side.
Max’s glare only adds to the hilarity of the situation, but even he can’t keep a straight face long, and his deep laugh joins mine, bringing me back to the moment.
“You know . . .” He’s still laughing, shaking his head. “Most of the time I just want to kiss you, and then there are times like these that I can’t help but want to smack you a little.”
“Luckily for me you’d never hit a woman.” I stick my tongue at him, only to take some of the darkness from my words, considering they were spoken in all sincerity, and filled with the horrors of this morning.
Just hours ago, my life was threatened, nearly ended, and I still have a long journey ahead of me if I want to keep my promises and save Yackros, along with every other dragon in that forest who doesn’t want to be trapped there any longer.
“So,” Max says, interrupting my thoughts. “What would you like to do tonight?”
I widen my eyes, giving him a pouting expression. “Well, honestly, I want to sleep. But I thought this is where you wanted me.”
He takes a deep breath, I’m sure to keep from saying whatever equally sarcastic comment is on the tip of his tongue.
Afraid of what he’s holding back, I poke his side, which elicits a sound that could only be described as a squeak. “You looked like you were going to pop a blood vessel. Don’t think so hard, dear. It’s not good for your health.” I pat his shoulder as I walk by, returning to the dining room to put the rest of our dinner away.
I’ve placed the rest of the dishes in the sink and turn to get a wash cloth to wipe the table down with when Max grabs my wrist and pulls me into his embrace, one hand in my hair, the other cupping my cheek as our lips meet. It’s like fireworks, burning intensity hitting me with every brush of our lips.
I’m blinded by excruciating pain in my back where his hands pull me close, running up and down the bruises like he’s playing an instrument. His hands run down my shoulders. Unable to withstand it, I shove him back and lean against the counter, gasping for air. The tender touch of his fingers just brushing against the bruises is tear-jerking. I slide down on my knees, incapable of making a sound that isn’t a cry of pain, and yet still trying to find a reasonable explanation for what just happened without telling him the truth.
“Alita? What did I do? Are you okay?” He kneels down beside me, trying to comfort me, but only making it worse.
“I’m sorry, Max,” I mumble, tears and snot dripping down my face, which is thankfully covered by my hair, obstructing his view. “I’m so sorry, but I need to be alone. Please?”
There’s no reply. I expected anger and hurt. I feared a goodbye. I got nothing. The air beside me is empty. I take a deep breath, waiting to hear the front door open and close, but that never comes either.
Instead is the sound of the fridge door opening, food containers going in the fridge, dirty dishes going in the sink, and the sound of sneakers on linoleum, walking past me, doing my chores as I face the kitchen cabinets, hiding my pain.
A pain that shouldn’t be so evident yet. Or pronounced. Bruises caused mere hours ago shouldn’t be so visible, and surely shouldn’t cause so much agony, yet they do.
“Alita?” Max asks, sounding hesitant, probably because I asked him to leave, and he didn’t.
“Yes?” I mumble as clearly as I can muster.
“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay. Something is clearly going on, and I care about you too much to let you go through it alone.”
10
Max sits on the white-and-pink floral couch, elbows on his knees, leaning forward as he waits, semi-patiently, for me to explain where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing, and my odd behavior all evening.
I sit across from him, wondering where to begin, and how. It’s not like he’ll believe me anyway, so how much do I give away? Do I tell him about Yackros specifically, the bond we now share, the magic between us? Do I tell him of the threats against me, and the banishment?
The bouncing of Max’s leg catches my attention. I stare at the movement, wanting it to stop, but knowing I need Max on my side. Not wanting to snap at him and only make the situation more tense than it is, I let him be.
Still, it keeps my focus split between the matter at hand, and the annoyance building up in me watching that leg bounce up and down and up and down and over and over and over again, until finally the pressure is killing me, seeing it continuously moving and driving me crazy.
“Stop! Please, just stop!” I snap, putting my hand on his knee, needing it to cease whether or not he wants to comply with my plea.
He looks as though he’s contemplating smirking, but it seems I appear just serious enough that he doesn’t risk it. “Alita, I know you’re upset and clearly anxious. Whatever you have to tell me can’t be good. But please don’t take it out on my poor knee, which is turning to mush beneath your hand.” He grimaces.
I look down, noticing that my grip is so tight, my knuckles have turned white. I let go and stumble back, falling on my butt, hitting my back against the edge of the coffee table. No matter how much I wanted to keep it hidden, I can’t help the cry of pain that escapes me when the corner hits my bruised shoulder, the place where it hurts most of all.
Max is down on the floor in an instant helping me up, and being gentle, thank goodness. I don’t know how much more pain I can endure. With every passing moment, every time my back brushes against anything, the pain seems to have intensified.
“Please?” he whispers.
I take a deep breath and nod. “I want to tell you. The problem is, I already have.” Chills run through me, and tears begin welling in my eyes. I keep my gaze on the floor, unable to gather the courage needed to look Max in the face. My lips tremble as I think about how to phrase this. “I told you a year ago that dragon were real.” I glance up. “You told me I was wrong. You refused to believe me. You sided with my parents, who told me my imagination was running wild. But they’re real. They’re out there. And their king almost killed me today.”
Those words, saying them out loud, admitting what happened, opens the floodgates. Overwhelmed by the fear I felt in the moment, relief that I lived to tell about it, and anxiety that maybe I’ll never be able to defeat Ruxsiu, that I’ll never be able to save Yackros, which means never seeing him again, and every emotion in between cascades over me like a cloak filled with burdens as heavy as rocks.
Chin quivering, I hesitate, wondering if I should say more. If I should tell Max how hurt I am that he didn’t believe me. Or maybe I’m angrier at myself right now for opening up to him despite his stance on dragons.
“Alita,” he whispers, shaking his head like he, too, fights with his words and thoughts. He looks me in the eye, making it impossible for me to turn away. The longer I stare, the less pain I feel from what he said a year ago, but it doesn’t undo the damage now. All this time I’ve loved him, and it took him confessing his feelings to me in order to open up about my hidden life.
“You’re my best friend. You always have been. I believe in you. I believe in the things you can accomplish in life. But—” He hesitates, blinking slowly. “You’re asking me to believe in something that can’t exist. Dragons are myths. Monsters created in fairy tales to scare children into obedience.” He shakes his head.
I close my eyes, unable to let him see the emotions threatening to betray me. “Please go.” I want to leave the room because I don’t want to be anywhere near Max right now, but I can’t move. Not without giving away how much agony I’m in, and I can’t. That will only cause him to linger, to ask more questions, and to deny the truth I know.
He doesn’t have to believe in dragons. He doesn’t have to be in that part of my life.
“I wish you’d open up to me. I’m here for you.”
Through the pain, despite the aching muscles and taut skin, I stand, a new rage burning through my veins. “No, Max. You’re not here for me. I did open up to you. I told you what’s
going on. You refuse to believe me, and that’s fine, but don’t lie to me.” It’s really not fine but I don’t want to think about it. “I will prove what I said is true. But as my friend, I can’t believe you refuse to even consider the possibility that what I’m saying is the truth.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. But please at least consider my point of view—how crazy it sounds.”
I purse my lips. I’m no longer capable of arguing. Too drained from the insane day I’ve had. So crazy, it shouldn’t be possible. I nod, realizing he has a valid point. “You’re right too. And I will prove it, Max. I’ll prove they’re real. That way, you won’t have to go by my word. But right now, I still need to be alone. So please just leave.”
Max opens his mouth as if to argue with my request, but whether it’s the look on my face, my stance, or that he doesn’t know what to say, with slumped shoulders, he turns and walks away. I wait for the front door to close before I dare enter the hall. Going up the stairs two at a time, I slam my bedroom door behind me.
I can’t help but check the bruises on my back again, noting how dark they are. Especially compared to just a few hours ago. I try to lie down, but the pain is too great. I end up on my side, fighting with the blanket and my shirt to get comfortable.
It’s midnight before I hear Mom and Dad walk in despite their attempts to avoid the squeaky spots on the stairs or close their bedroom door without causing the hinges to croak. Even if I had been asleep—which I should have been, considering I’ve been lying here for four hours—their entrance would have woken me.
I’ve turned over at least a dozen times, but simply breathing is torturous. There’s a constant stream of tears from my eyes, dripping onto the pillow, tickling my neck.
Despite my phone going off every ten minutes or so for the past two hours, I don’t get out of bed until five minutes before I need to leave to get to the library right at opening. Guthrie told me how to find the answers, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.
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