“You’re threatening me?”
There was a long pause.
“Not a smart move,” Max said darkly. “Just remember that up until now, I haven’t done a damn thing when I could’ve destroyed your fucking career with one simple action. It’s because of your daughter that I chose not to.”
More silence.
I heard a chair creak. I could picture Max leaning forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I’m getting off. Don’t ever call me at this hour again. And Michael? Just so you know, I’m a good friend… but I’m an even better enemy.”
Seconds later the phone hit the wall with enough force to make the heavy, oak door shake.
I opened up the door. It creaked loudly. Max was still sitting behind the desk. His head was bowed, fingers laced together, resting against his forehead. He instantly looked up, jumping to his feet.
I opened the door further and walked inside. His phone was in pieces: screen cracked, battery lying on the ground. I looked at Max. His jaw was clenched as he stared back at me.
“You were out of bed.”
Max crossed his arms, staying stubborn and not saying a word.
“I was looking for you,” I said dumbly.
His shoulders sagged as he leaned his palms against his desk. “I couldn’t sleep,” he finally replied.
I waited for him to elaborate. He never did.
“Is everything okay?” I asked carefully and stepped further into the room.
“Absolutely.” He turned away, shuffling papers on the desk. “Just dealing with some work bullshit.”
I nodded and tapped my fingers against his desk. “That makes sense, because everyone knows all work bullshit happens at two in the morning.”
Imperceptibly, his fingers tightened around the papers in his hands.
“Yes,” Max said.
“You want to tell me what’s really going on?”
Max rubbed a hand down his face. “No, Naomi. I don’t.”
“I heard you talking to him.”
“I figured as much.”
I walked to him and leaned against the desk. “Then why lie?”
He sat down in his chair—his hands curling around the armrests—and looked up at me. “Why do you think?”
I stared at him quietly. “Why did he call?”
His eyes shut as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Ah. Shit…” he muttered.
Suddenly he stood up and walked over to the window. He stared outside, his palms braced against the window frame. Those strong shoulders were slumped. His spine slightly bent. His body could do so much damage, could put fear into some of the biggest men out there, but he had to sit back and let Lana’s dad slip through his fingers. I knew it was weighing on him, but I didn’t know it was this bad.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my forehead on his back. We stood there quietly.
“He’s panicking,” Max said. “He knows he’s losing control, so he’s trying to take a swing at anyone to get his way.”
“Tell me the truth.”
He looked up and held my gaze in the window. “I am telling you the truth.”
There were still more truths that needed to be said. He and I both knew that.
“Are you in danger?”
He opened his mouth. I interrupted him. “Don’t try to protect me and hide the truth. Just be honest.”
Max turned. My arms were still around him and his hands moved up to cradle my face. Very slowly he said, “I’m not in danger. And I’m not worried about Michael. People screw up when they’re scared. They become careless. ”
He kissed me. Whether it was to silence me or take away all the tension from the room, I didn’t know. He put everything into that kiss and I took every bit.
We went back to bed and fucked one more time. We took our time, touching, kissing, licking. But no matter how hard we tried to make our worries disappear, nothing worked.
Our fears loomed over us for the rest of the night.
24—TRUTH AND REPOSE
“I think it’s going to snow forever,” I say. My lips are inches away from the window, making the glass fog up.
The sun is partially hidden by dim, gray clouds. Yet it still manages to reflect off the snow, making it sparkle.
No one answers me. Everyone in the rec room is swept up in their minds, problems and pain. They each have stories of their own. I pull my eyes away from the outdoors and look around.
There’s a lady sitting across from me. The same lady that sat next to Pretend Mommy during the group therapy session. She stares outside. She hasn’t opened her mouth since she sat down, which was three hours ago.
No smile.
No tears.
Nothing.
I want to know her story. I want to know what brought her here. I can guess all day, but I know I’ll never know the truth.
I exhale and drum my fingers on the table. It’s so quiet in here and it’s not the good kind. This is the type of quiet that makes your ears ache. It makes time move at an agonizingly slow rate, making you feel like you’re going to lose your mind at any second.
“We’re not going to get out of here,” I say casually. The lady doesn’t say a word, yet I continue our one-sided conversation. “All of us are losing so much time. We can never get it back.”
She blinks, and call me crazy, but I think that’s her way of showing she’s listening. I think she agrees.
“What do you have out there?” I ask her.
No answer.
“Do you have any family? Any friends out there waiting for you?”
She blinks slowly. I’m getting tired of trying to decode her blinks so I give up.
We sit there in silence.
“God offers to every mind its choice between truth and repose. Take which you please—you can never have both.”
I turn. Pretend Mommy is sitting at the table across from me. She’s staring at that damn plastic baby.
“Huh?”
“Ralph Waldo Emerson said that,” she says as she caresses the baby’s plastic cheek. “And he’s right. We can’t have both. We have to pick one.”
I turn in my chair. My back touches the wall and I cross my arms. “And you think we all want both?”
“Well…” she says slowly. “We’re all still here, aren’t we?”
Her words make my heartbeat slow. I swallow. “How long have you been here?” I ask.
She looks up at me and her cobalt blue eyes are piercing. Even though she’s crazy, I see knowledge far past my own. Knowledge that only experience and pain can give you.
“Three years,” she says.
This place—this prison—is her home.
“Most people will only spend a few months here. They stop fighting their truths. They accept them for what they are and leave.”
My chin lifts; I don’t like where this conversation is going. “And what about you?” I ask. “Where’s your truth?”
She points to the window. “My truth is somewhere out there. I didn’t want it three years ago and I still don’t want it.”
I sit up straight in my chair. Only two steps away is the person I’m afraid of becoming. I don’t want to be locked in Fairfax for the rest of my life. I refuse to let that happen.
Pretend Mommy smiles knowingly and leans close. I lean back. “Your truth is out there too, isn’t it?” she says.
My chair squeaks loudly as I stand. Pretend Mommy looks down at her baby. Instead of singing a sweet lullaby to her plastic baby, she sings an old hymn that sends chills up and down my spine.
She’s fucking crazy. Everyone around me is fucking crazy.
I walk out of the room slowly and when I get to the hallway, I quicken my steps.
I’m not crazy like them.
I know I’m not.
My door slams behind me. I do a quick sweep of the room. Lana’s dad isn’t here today.
I pace, picturing the frozen icicle, still hanging onto that weak, naked tree branch. Despite the freezing temps and strong winds, it refuses to drop.