sign a few things and then I’m free to go. Free to leave my mother’s deceased body. That thought makes me want to scream. This isn’t how she should have gone. It was meant to be fun. Her last days were meant to be happy ones. She was meant to see that Tina and I were happy, and that we were coping. Not this. Never this.
I walk numbly to my car and drive, doing nothing but staring out the windscreen. I honestly don’t even know how I make it to Max’s house. I get out, terrified that my entire body is numb. I should be crying. I should be screaming and demanding answers. Why the hell am I so numb? I walk up the front steps of the house I used to love so much, and even that doesn’t draw an emotion from me.
When I reach the front door, I lift my hand and knock.
A moment later the door opens, and Max is there. Seeing him makes all the emotions I thought I wasn’t feeling rush forth. I feel my own face crumble and scrunch as hysterical tears pour from my eyes.
Max doesn’t say a word. Instead, he does the best thing he can do for me. He pulls me into his arms and then into the warmth of the home.
He lifts me into his arms and carries me to his couch, and then he sits there like that, with me breaking into a thousand pieces on his lap, for hours. He stays there long after I stop crying. He stays there even when my body starts sinking into his and my eyes flutter closed. Yes, my husband stays with me until finally I fall into an exhausted, broken sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THEN – ANABELLE
I’m staring at Max, just staring.
He’s sitting on the couch, looking out the window. He hasn’t said a word to me for three days. Not since he came home that night with one of his security friends from the club. They said he broke down. I don’t know what happened. They don’t know what happened. He just lost his shit and now he’s sitting there, staring blankly.
I don’t know what snapped in his brain. He’s been fine; everything seemed normal. Everyone that’s called through told me they didn’t know if something had happened before he arrived at the club that night, because he did show up late. I’ve asked him, but he simply grunts at me and gives me no answers. Something is wrong, but I have no idea what it is.
Maybe he just needs time.
I’ve been continually giving him food and drink, none of which he touches. His skin looks pale and his big body is slumping over. I’ve grown desperate on more than one occasion in the last few days, asking what’s wrong, begging that he tell me, but he just keeps answering with the same thing. “Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.”
Clearly that’s not so.
What did he see? Did someone hurt him? Did something happen on his way to the club? He’s not close with his family, and they live a good eight hours away, but I called them anyway. His mother had no idea, so there were no answers there. Everyone at the club said he just came in, and something was off. He was beside himself and lost his shit at a staff member.
It’s as if someone isn’t telling me something. I’m most suspicious of the security guard, Peter, who said he controlled him and calmed him down. He was vague when he was answering my questions, saying that he thinks Max’s just under stress and needs some time off. Maybe he’s right, but there’s got to be more to it. Max doesn’t just shut down like this. It’s not normal.
“Hey,” I say, walking over and putting my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch. “You okay?”
He nods. “Fine, Blue Belle.”
“You haven’t moved a lot in the past few days. Are you sick, Max?”
“I’m fine, Blue Belle.”
His words are so empty, emotionless and broken.
“Max, please. You’re scaring me.”
He shrugs my hand off his shoulder. “I’m stressed, I need a break. It’s fine.”
He stands then, finally moving from his spot.
“Max, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong,” he snaps, his face full of rage.
As if he realizes what he just did, his expressionless mask comes back. “I just need rest.”
“Please,” I beg. “I feel so helpless. I need to help you, but I don’t know how. Max please.”
He