Decided to Break It~2

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Max was right. The news of her fathers murder was already on the news, blaring from a radio as they ate. Michael Turner, father of teenager Maxine Turner, has been found, dead, in his Washington home. She nervously eyed Dylan from behind her sunglasses, pushing her plate away. This was all her doing. She felt her stomach lurch, but she knew she had no right to feel sick or feel bad. If she hadn’t killed him first, it might have been her in that news report.

“Are you alright?” Dylan asked under his breath. Max nodded slightly, glad for the sunglasses hiding her eyes. Tears were welling up, blurring her already tinted vision. She slipped out of the booth with a muttered, “I’m going to the bathroom,”

She ran into the tiny bathroom, forgetting to pretend to be blind, locked herself into a stall and leaned over a toilet, puking up everything she just ate.

She flushed the toilet and leaned against the stall door. Despite her will not to, tears began to roll down her face.

“Come on, Maxine,” she told herself in a hiss, “this is because of you. You need too get a grip. He can never hurt you again.” Combining all her strength, she left the bathroom stall and washed her hands.

Another girl stared at her, but Max paid her no mind. She turned off the tap, and headed back towards the booth.

She slipped into the booth again. Dylan was signing a check; he looked up as she approached.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Max nodded firmly, usually a sign she truly wasn’t okay.

“Lets just get out of here.” Max said. Dylan stood up and took her arm, guiding her back to her car.

“I’ll drive.” Dylan said, “you look like you need to sleep.”

Max did fall asleep, as Dylan drove. Her dreams were littered with the memories of her father and none of them were good.

She was only eight years old, trying to sleep. The bruises that covered her arms were brand new, only a few hours old. She pulled her blanket over her head, shivering. She wanted everything to go away. Her door opened and her father stormed in.

“Daddy.” She whimpered. He ripped the blanket off of her.

“Shut up and do what I tell you.” He hissed.

The pain that ensued was crazy. She screamed and cried until he covered her mouth with one dirty hand. Now she couldn’t do anything.

She awoke with a gasp. She didn’t want to relive that day. That was the worst day of her life. Max realized they were parked, and Dylan wasn’t in the car.

She began to hyperventilate. She knew it. He knew her exact location; he could have called the cops. They could be on their way, ready to get her.

“Hey,” Dylan said, opening her car door, “I am a genius and you should start loving me forever. I got us a motel room, free of charge.” Max stared at him, confused and tired.

“What?” she asked slowly, “how?”

“You’re eight months pregnant and can have a baby anytime.” Dylan said proudly, “you should let me carry you up.”

“I am not going to have a baby!” Max exclaimed, “you are such a lair!” She tried to keep anger in her voice. Truthfully, though, with him staring at her with his large blue eyes, it was hard for her to even pretend to be mad. Dylan easily picked her up, holding her closely. She inhaled, smelling aftershave and faint Drakkar Noir. She ran a hand through his hair and smiled.

“Admit it.” She said, “you just wanted to carry me.” Dylan chuckled as she warped her arms around his neck.

“If that’s what you want to believe.” he said with a small smirk. He led her up to room two hundred thirty three and put her down on the bed.

“Theres only one bed.” Max said slowly. It was a double bed, with a TV cabinet across and the bathroom door to the right.

“Yeah, well.” Dylan said and slipped off his shirt, revealing a muscled chest and a perfect six pack, “I won’t try anything.” Max smiled slightly.

“I think I trust you.” Max said, taking off her bloody shirt. He laid an arm over her torso and they both slowly feel asleep.

Max opened her eyes after another nightmare. Her heart rate slowly decreased and she gently moved Dylan’s arm. She reached down and grabbed Dylan’s concert shirt. She slipped it on, exited the motel room and stood at the balcony, letting the cool wind hit her in the face. She sighed, and looked down at the parking lot down below. She shivered, his shirt no protection to the cold wind.

She stared across the street, at the dark houses. She wondered how many little girls were going through the same thing she went through. Her thought flicked over to how many girls would end up like her. She hoped none of them.

She rested her arms on the balcony and looked out towards the road. She could hear the distant cry of a police siren. She ran right back into the room and slammed the door. Dylan was lying, parshally awake on the bed.

“Oh, my god.” Max said, “Oh my god. They’re here! Can I plead for self defense? I should never have done it. I should have called the police immediately. Why did I do it Why did I kill my father?” Dylan sat up and crossed over to the door in two easy strides. He gripped her shoulders, pushing her back towards the bed.

“Be quiet.” He hissed. Within seconds, he was angry, feral. Max stopped hyperventilating.

“Okay, okay. The whole motel doesn’t need to find out.” She said, “I just heard a police car, and freaked.” Dylan sat her down on the bed. He wrapped his arms around her shoulder.

“Come on, It’s only been one night. The police won’t even start searching for another couple of days.” Dylan said soothingly.

“Yes, but it’s a murder case. According to the TV shows, those CSI’s work super fast.” Max said. Dylan laughed. His laugh was outright, and beautiful, light and throaty.

“Those CSI shows are fake.” he said through his laugh, “you’ll be alright. Just concentrate on what you’re going to do in California.” Max took a deep breath and smiled weakly up at him.

“I already know.” she said, still trying to calm her heart down. He wasn’t helping much by holding her like that. She gently moved his arms and stood up.

“I think we should get moving.” She said, “We’re only just out of Washington.” Dylan stared at her, his gaze intense. Max blushed.

“I would put on a shirt,” he began, “but it seems you’re wearing it.” Max smirked, running her palms on the bottom of his shirt.

“Suck it up and grab another.” she said with a small, teasing smile, “I’ll meet you in the car. You’re driving.” With that, she left the room, and headed back down to the car. She climbed in and curled up, wanting to go back to sleep.

Max no longer liked to sleep. Her dreams were ridden with all the physical and emotional pain her father had put her through. She woke up with her dark bangs plastered to her father, and an iron grip on her lungs.

Everytime her thoughts would even glimmer back to her old home, back to her little basement bedroom, the old scars covering her arms would flare up with the pain. She’d cry herself to sleep, guilt eating her stomach all the time. She knew it was all her fault, so she couldn’t complain, couldn’t say anything.

Max felt like Dylan was the only thing that kept her safe and grounded. She didn’t want to admit it, but she thought, maybe she was falling in love. With his dark hair, and blue eyes that always shimmered with mischief and mystery, she found it was impossible not to. Even at a time like this, Max found his wicked grin and soft touch alluring.

Alluring.

It was the crap she was now thinking. Back home, she would never have used the word ‘alluring’. She sighed, and stared out the window, wishing Dylan would hurry up. How long did it take to find a shirt?

Max propped her feet up on the dashboard, anxious to get going. She was scared. Scared that the police would hunt her down, get her, arrest her.

Her car door opened. Max smiled softly, and put her feet down.

“Finally!” she said, trying to shovel as much annoyance into her tone as she could. A hand grabbed her by the neck and her heart started to race. She could hear the click of a gun, but it sounded faraway and distant. Max was pulled out of the car and slammed against the wall of the motel. She screamed before everything went black.