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Max whimpered. Jesus God. It hurt so fucking bad. His mind scrambled for a way to turn it off. To get him back to the comatose-walker he strove to become every day. Find that vat of numbing agent and just fall the fuck right in.
Which kind of explained another reason Max wound up nightly at this place. Because for the majority of each day, he existed like a zombie, feeling more dead than alive. So, yeah, a graveyard seemed pretty fucking fitting. Like a part of himself had been buried alongside Kevin, and now he belonged there, too.
Not that he intentionally planned on crashing there every night. Because honestly, who did that? Slept at someone’s grave? He was dead inside, yeah, but he wasn’t fucking crazy. The only reason he could think of was that subconsciously he was searching. For his north star, for his anchor. Which, for as long as Max could remember, had always been Kevin. So maybe that was why. Why at the end of each night, Max found himself at the closest place possible.
To the guy who’d fucking left him behind.
Max grimaced as the anguish welled sharper inside his chest. As was expected, the more awake he became, the more profoundly the pain consumed him. So much so, that his ribs felt tender from all of the torment he’d endured. Hurt so bad. So fucking bad. Till at times it was hard to work his lungs.
Or concentrate.
Or function at all.
Max groaned weakly in dread. He couldn’t take this much longer. The pain was killing him. He could feel it slowly dismantling his soul. Taking him apart seam by seam. It was more than he could bear, trying to stay in one piece. Trying to hold all his fragments together. He was tired. Exhausted. Couldn’t do it anymore. Just wanted to give up. To sleep forever. It was the only time he ever felt peace. Until the nightmares found him.
If it wasn’t for his mom, he’d probably search for a way. A way to follow after Kevin, to join him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fantasized about it unceasingly. To be happy again. Reunited with his soulmate.
A dry sob emerged, half caught in Max’s throat. Because as much as he’d love to escape all this pain, he couldn’t ever do that to his mom. The loss of his dad had nearly destroyed her. She’d mourned for that man so fucking long…
Kind of felt like she was mourning Max now, too, even though he was technically still alive. Although, he supposed in a way he really wasn’t. In a very real way, he supposed he truly was a zombie. He didn’t eat. Rarely showered. Didn’t go out. Wouldn’t talk… In fact, just yesterday she’d begged him through tears to “please try and eat something, anything.” Said his eyes were sunken, said his skin was too pale. Said he looked way too thin. Dehydrated.
But like always, her voice, like everything else, was nothing but distant, white noise. He’d gone to his room, then listened numbly as she cried for an hour straight. But if he took his safeguards down to feel remorse, he’d be swept away by a brutal wave of grief. Meaning he wouldn’t be able to console her anyway. The barricades he managed to erect every day were fragile at best. Once they were up, he couldn’t go near them. Couldn’t even breathe on the things. An existence that left him in lethargic apathy as his mom watched him wasting away.
Tears of shame trickled down his cheeks. Because those walls weren’t erected yet. Wouldn’t be for hours, leaving him vulnerable, exposed. Just like every morning when he first woke. Utterly unprotected and forced to feel—which at the moment, included acknowledging what he’d been doing; destroying his mom. Like Kevin was destroying him. Pulling her down like a big, heavy weight, drowning her in his own black abyss. She didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t fair to make her suffer. But Max didn’t know how else to survive.
His stomach rolled over. In keeping himself intact, he was leaching the very life out of his mom. Who was nothing but beautiful and caring and kind. The one person who’d never ever hurt him. Never ever leave him. Unlike Kevin, who’d desolated his world. Who, even now, was forcing Max to hurt his own mother.
Oh, God. Oh, Jesus—
He could feel his soul buckling. Buckling under this new added weight. He tried to get up, as if something inside was screaming, “Run!” Run from this agony as fast as he could. Because if he didn’t get away, evade this pain, this time it would surely kill him.
He wobbled unsteadily onto his hands and knees, wheezing through dry, broken sobs. His heart, he could feel it pounding frantically. In panic. In realization. He was too depleted. Didn’t have the strength. The strength to endure this next wicked blitz. His mind spun urgently, searching for an escape, self-preservation charging to the forefront.
