This Is The End, If You Want It
Part (1/4)
Chapter 1
Part Of It
Max couldn't help but be surprised when the nurses told him he had a visitor. Max never had visitors, mainly for the fact that he had never had any friends. He got up off his bed and pulled on a hoodie to cover up the gross amount of cuts on his skinny arms.
"Just in here," the nurses voice was gentle and misleading. The room was just the same as any hospital waiting room, the private ones. It had an old roughed up couch, it's fake leather had been torn so much on the arms that it was basically non-existent. There was a circular table that was missing a leg pressed up against the wall, two office chairs on either side of it. Max froze. He wasn't sure if it was in fear, shock, or even perhaps anger. But he just froze. His eyes widened and his body refused to move, he was almost afraid to move in case he just collapsed. He blinked a few times, it couldn't really be him, could it? Why was he here? Last time Max had heard, they didn't even know of his whereabouts. He stared at the man in the chair furthest from him a while longer, before he noticed he hadn't been breathing and let out a gasp for air that shook his body. He looked exactly the same as he remembered him. Hair combed back and split at the side with the help of hair gel, strong jaw line and dark brown eyes that were a contrast to Max's. He was wearing one of his many business suits that Max had seen over the years, a red tie lazily resting on his chest. His fingers were ink stained and tired looking from writing and typing. A warm smile spread across the man's face, and he chuckled. Max had remembered his smile, he remembered it symbolizing hope for him, because he would save him, he would help him, he would protect him. What a savior he ended up being. "Dad," Max managed to choke out, blinking some more. He was slightly agitated by the man's laugh. Did he think this was funny? His son being in an asylum? Not only his son, but his daughter too? The man nodded and gestured to the chair beside Max. "You going to sit down?" His voice was still as deep as he remembered, though his accent had slightly changed, and he sounded more worn. Max swallowed and slowly sat down as soon as his body allowed him to. His arms and legs shook, though that could've easily been from malnutrition. He placed both his hands out on the table, concentrating on them instead of the useless piece of shit across from him. His nails had been bitten down, and the tips of his fingers were covered in dried blood. He grimaced, and curled his fingers into his palm, not wanting anyone to see that. The piece of shit sighed, and placed a hand over Max's. "Maxwell, Maxwell," he uttered, as if he had merely broken another vase on his step mother's fire place. Max quickly retracted his hands and placed them on his knees, biting down on his lip. His head wouldn't stop racing. If he could just get it together, maybe he could calm down and figure out what was going on. "You don't belong in a place like this, Maxwell." Max sent a glare his way, but still refused to respond. It was his fault he was here, his fault he couldn't handle it anymore, his fault he had to go through any of that shit. What did he expect? For him to be fine and dandy? He hated this, he hated him. Memories flooded his mind and his stomach lurched, he was going to be sick. His father's suddenly hushed tone of voice took his attention away from the threat of vomiting. "I'm going to get you out of here, Maxwell. You're going to come live with me, my wife, and your step... half siblings. I was stupid, before. I didn't know what family was, I was a fool, a child. But you, you were my first son, and I intend to take proper care of you from now on. Just like how I always promised, how I was supposed to."
Max just stared at him, horrified. After all these years he was suddenly deciding to be a father? Not only that, but he just expected Max to forgive him and run into his arms? It was too late for that, it was too late for any bull he had planned. "But... Amy... What about Amy?" His voice was hoarse and unused, but he still manged to talk. His dad's expression changed, it saddening. "I can't afford to take on more than one of you, I decided on you." Max straightened up from his usually slouched position, his eyes showing the hate he obviously felt for his father. "I'm not going without her," he hissed. He couldn't bare that, he couldn't bare leaving his little sister behind. Even if they didn't get along, even if he treated her horribly, he couldn't leave her behind, not at Waverly. His father's smile turned into a frown. "Maxwell, I don't think you understand. I'm going to get you out of here. I've heard all the stories about these asylums and you don't belong in a place like this, you belong at home." That made Max snap. He stood up, his chair falling to the floor. He slammed his hands down on the table and looked straight into his father's eyes, giving him a deadly glare. "I don't have a home," he said through gritted teeth. "Thanks to you." His dad's eyebrows knitted together in guilt and concern. "I know," he sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. "I know, Maxwell. And I'm so, so sorry, I'm trying to correct all of that. I'm trying to give-" Max cut over him. "Why? So you can feel better about yourself? This is nothing to do with me, you're still the same selfish bastard you've always been." He didn't know where exactly this new found courage had come from, it probably wasn't even courage at all. Just all the rage that had built up over years and years finally coming to surface. Max turned away from the man and placed his hand on the door handle to storm out, just before his father uttered his name again. "Max, please. You can't truly want to stay in this place, can't you see I'm trying to help you?" He stayed, stuck to the spot, and squeezed his eyes closed. He probably wouldn't get another chance to get out of this hellhole, he would never be able to freely walk the streets again. But he'd killed someone, and tortured more. He deserved that, right? To be locked up. Max frowned, opening his eyes and turning around. "They're not going to let you take me out, I killed someone, I'm a criminal" he mumbled, glancing at his father. A smile spread across the man's face. "Who said anything about consulting them about it? You're my son, and I'll get you out of here one way or another, even if that means breaking you out."
