Max Mayfield x Fem Reader
WARNINGS: internalized homophobia, extreme religion, no use of y/n, drinking, partying, kissing, fluff (at the end?), religious psychosis (let me know if I missed anything else)
IN WHICH: A girl is conflicted with herself after kissing her best friend at a party during spin the bottle, unsure if she is able to risk it all to be a sinner and be a social outcast.
NOTES: okay guys this is my first post, and I dunno if this will even get any views, but I just HAD to write down this one, it’s been in my head for months! Happy pride month!
And ik that it’s max, but I don’t really plan on writing her character long term, I just needed to get that writers block out… will probably stick to Finn’s characters lol! Should I make a tag list/masterlist?
p.s. Please comment or like so I know whether the writing is good enough to keep posting hehe
She was always different. The both of you were.
Sometimes it felt as if the two of you were brought together by the stars— bonded by the unfortunate outcomes that existed for being hues of purple in a town of black and white. Your first instinct was that Maxine Mayfield (or just Max) must’ve been a bad influence. Though to your 12 year old self, everyone was a bad influence at the time.
You always struggled with making friends. Sometimes, making friends in Hawkins seemed nearly impossible.
Students were rude to you— they always were. That’s just how life is. Girls would focus on the innate problem of boys and hair and makeup.
You had no interest in any of it.
Yet somehow— beneath the arrays of broken teenagers falling into inevitable stereotypes and paths that had been precariously carved out for them, you found Maxine Mayfield.
Well, more like she found you.
Yelling at a group of students to leave you alone, you remembered your twelve year old self staring up at your crimson headed savior who reached out a hand to help you up, snarling at the bullies that seemed to rush away.
She defended you when no one else did.
You became friends after that, of course.
You ignored the flush that would spill across your cheeks every time she defended you from someone. Or the fluttering ripple of a sensation in your chest every time that she’d accidentally bump fingers with you.
You knew she felt the same way about you.
Which somehow made things worse.
Because even though you both knew you reciprocated those same feelings, there was nothing you could do about it.
Destined to never act upon it.
Doomed to failure from the beginning.
And even if she was new to the small bustling town that went by the name of Hawkins, it seemed like she had better luck with maneuvering through the town than you did.
You grew up in a religious household that was far too traditional for your own good. Church every Sunday, even if you were too weak to get up from bed. Night times since you were a child, ending with at least an hour of praying against your bedside— knees sunken from red creases that came from the hard laminate wood.
If you misbehaved, you were locked in a closet— sent in with nothing but a rosary, mother yelling at you from the other side to hope that you weren’t too far from saving.
From childhood, your mind had been engraved of stories— foretold futures of how your skin would crisp against the crimson fiery pits of hell if you weren’t a perfect child.
Any form of creativity was labeled as rebellion.
Any open minded thought had been reduced as a spirit possessing your mind.
Silence was all that you knew.
It was your parents’ way of trying to sustain you into the perfectly curated box that they attempted to fit you into. Ensuring that their perfect bundle of joy would be concealed away from the world. They dehumanized you in order to try and keep you safe.
And for a while, it worked.
Then came along Max— in all of her rebellious glory, she soon imprinted her mark onto your life, leaving the chemistry of your brain altered into something that you couldn’t even recognize.
She was your only friend.
She was there when no one else was.
She was the only person who cared.
At first, you approached Max with caution— unsure of whether or not it was okay for you to be associating with a girl that had so much… freedom. Sometimes you’d perceived freedom as some kind of privilege. Something that only those of which were blessed enough could practice.
Of course, it was only natural for your parents to find some kind of dislike toward Max. It felt like a risk— allowing for their perfect daughter to be introduced to such a tainted influence. They couldn’t have their priceless trophy dirtied with such a blemished grip.
After school, your parents refused to let you go to Max’s home— or for Max to come to your home. She’d shocked your parents in the summer with denim shorts that reached her mid thigh and a tank top that seemed to ride up the midriff of her stomach.
It was inappropriate. Disgusting for a young lady of her age, really.
School was your only safe place. Your parents couldn’t see how close you two were. They preferred you to not have friends at all rather than stick around Max.
It was the first bad thing you’d done.
Not listen to your parents.
By continuing to talk to Max, you’d blatantly disobeyed your parents. At first, guilt seeped into your mind and plagued your thoughts as if she were some virus. But Max was no virus— she was a symbol of freedom. You’d soon realized that after she made you discover how much you were missing out on in life.
Guilt clawed at you from the inside.
It felt like you were committing a felony.
Max stopped those thoughts. Reassured you. Made sure that you didn’t feel the immense and inevitable weight of regret against your already tired shoulders.
And you were grateful to have a friend like her.
She was your only friend.
All that you ever needed.
But everything changed last week.
Because last week— as impossible as it might seem, you convinced your parents to allow for you to sleepover at Max’s house. And only after an immense amount of promises and prayers, they hesitantly sent you away to the home.
Max’s house was better than your own.
It didn’t have those dark colored water stains that leaked droplets of grey liquid from the ceiling much like yours did.
Her mother— as distant and dull as she might seem, didn’t monitor her daughter’s every move or insist that she spent hours with knees to wooden laminate floors every time that she spoke back.
Her brother was intimidating. Albeit quiet, but nice enough to pass you a gentle head nod as he headed to his room, shirt sunken with a darker shade of white from his sweat from when he worked out.
Max talked about how most of her friends in California wouldn’t shut up about how her new stepbrother was so hot.
You didn’t understand the attraction.
Since the beginning, you and Max bonded over your hatred for boys your age. There was a special bond formed between two souls for sharing a common detestation toward the odor, attitude, and obnoxiousness that lingered around the opposite sex.
It made you both special.
Max had everything you wished for.
You couldn’t tell if the balling empty pit in your stomach for the girl was jealousy… or something entirely different.
But even though you’d promised your mother that you and Max would be staying at home for the whole time, both of your plans were otherwise.
Because as the sun settled into the cooling midnight breeze, your faux pajamas transformed into tank tops and short shorts. Well, long sleeves and pants for you. But Max— in all of her glory, managed to change into a shirt that consisted of warm hues along with a pair of shorts that would ride up her thighs every now and then.
And much like two experimental teenagers do, you and your horrible influence snuck out of her house and headed toward a small house party that was down the street.
Of course, the two of you didn’t know many people there. But a party was a perfectly presented opportunity to try and meet new people… right?
At the party, there wasn’t many people. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t much to the scene. The home reeked with the pungent scent of sweat, liquor, and smoke. Meanwhile, there was music that nearly caused you to go deaf. There were bottles of alcohol everywhere. And while you’d consumed small amounts of red wine through a religious context, you’d never had alcohol for enjoyment before.
But of course— as Max flashed you a plea of her wintery eyes, you crumbled to the grip of peer pressure.
By midnight, you were barely tipsy.
Not enough to loosen up. But enough to where you were hyper aware of every single little detail that occurred around you. Every shift. Every movement. Every whisper. It almost made everything else intensified.
Max on the other hand, had a bit more to drink than you did. Which— considering her history, didn’t seem very surprising. She was much more bold than you were, that much was sure.
Unlucky for her, there had been a boy at the party who had been pining her for half of the night. His eyes were fixated on her denim shorts as they rolled up every now and then throughout the night. And you hated the pure look of lust that flashed over his eyes every time they gazed over your best friend. Like a wolf eyeing up and down its prey.
And Maxine— bless her soul, hadn’t taken notice to his ill intentions. Simply entertaining surface level conversations with him instead of giving into his evil clutches.
Somehow throughout the events of the night, the boy convinced Max to join a group in a classic game of spin the bottle. But the girl— as stubborn and ill minded as she was, only insisted that she would play if her best friend would join in on the game; you.
A person spins the bottle, they kiss who it lands on.
If they wished to opt out, they take a shot.
But if the rules were so simple, why did the weight of the game feel so heavy?
You weren’t sure how she convinced you to join in on the circle. Maybe it was between the lines of “Come on, you’re by best friend,” and “You should loosen up too.” Or perhaps it had been the glossy eyed plea that the girl looked up at you with, hues of purple strobe lights flashing across her face.
Of course, you fidgeted nervously from beside Max as you sat in the circle. The boy that had convinced her to join was in front of her, a proud and subtle smirk playing at his lips at the chance of kissing her.
You weren’t sure why you were playing.
You didn’t even want to kiss anyone.
You just didn’t realize that yet.
It lingered in the back of your mind. The hope of your chaste lips against a certain someone else’s. You weren’t sure why. Perhaps it had been the alcohol plaguing your mind. You were sure that your thoughts weren’t yours. They were configured. Drunk (well, barely tipsy but enough). Which made them fake.
But maybe it was the alcohol that made your thoughts all the more real.
It had been the boy who was eyeing Max the whole party, aka the douche-bag’s turn first. (Because of course, he insisted on going first.) Sitting and leaning over on the ground, he reached out a low hand and looked up at Max one time, a lingering expression lasting on his face in a lame attempt to let her know that he hoped it would land on her.
And the empty beer bottle span.
Until it slowed down, releasing steady and hesitant spins.
The green bottle slowly reached a stop in front of Max’s direction.
But it released the last of its energy, falling on the person next to her.
Your eyes widened for a moment, large saucers landing upon the boy who had spun the bottle.
And you both held an expression that told each other that you both equally didn’t want this kiss as much as the other did. He’d clearly wanted it to land on Max. And you wanted to land on anyone else other than you (and Max too of course).
His eyes grazed on your long sleeves that reached your wrists, green turtleneck that seemed much too hot for Spring, though you wore it for modesty. The boy didn’t enjoy how you wore pants that covered every inch of your legs. Not to mention, the small silver necklace of a cross that hung across your shoulders seemed to intimidate him.
Your hand reached toward the necklace, fingers fidgeting with the pendant hanging from the thin chain.
You’d fidget with it every time you felt anxious.
And before you could come up with a response, the boy seemed to have read your mind. Because he quickly let out a scoff— laughable. As if the thought of kissing you felt hilarious to him. And he reached a hand toward the red solo cup that he had been harboring for the whole night.
And he placed the cup to his lips, dipping his head back.
Because he had taken a shot, you both managed to escape your way from what would have been a very much awkward and embarrassing kiss (though it would’ve been your first). And even if he found the situation laughable, you couldn’t help but seem some relief.
But then came the words of someone nearby.
The group looked toward you— and to a certain extent, it made a bit of sense. It seemed only fair that the other person who tapped out without a shot would be the next person to spin the bottle.
For a second, you looked over at Max, eyes glancing toward hers for a look of reassurance. To which she delivered an eyebrow raise and a head tilt toward the bottle, urging you for a try at spinning it.
How was it that she always convinced you to do these things?
With a slightly shaky hand, you reached toward the bottle. And with the flick of your wrist, the green glass began to spin against the wooden table underneath it.
And faster than you could comprehend. To the point where you were unsure in which direction it would stop.
But then came the slowing.
And landed in the direction of the last person that you had expected.
Your eyes went toward the red solo cup, almost as if it was your first instinct to tap out of the situation simply by taking a shot.
But you’d never taken a shot before.
The only alcohol you had was a small 10% beer. And even so, it was hard to swallow. Like a pill being forced down your throat and threatening to come back out.
When the circle caught on to the idea of two girls— two pretty girls, kissing in front of everyone, it seemed to be a concept that was fed into by the people around them. And for a moment, Max seemed like she was almost enjoying it.
But as the few people encouraged you, your hand reached toward the red solo cup, bringing the liquor closer to your nose in order to get a proper scent of what the drink smelled like.
Max— who knew how much you hated ingesting alcohol, quickly placed a hand over to your shoulder. Gently. Softly. The same way that she handles such a delicate person such as yourself. And she leaned closer so only you could hear her.
“You don’t have to drink it, you know.”
“I know you don’t like drinking.”
But it wasn’t. It’s not just a kiss, not to you. Nothing about this party was right. The sneaking out, the lying to your parents, the drinking, the pressure. None of it felt right.
Maybe because you’d pictured your first kiss differently.
But as you turned to Max, she had a look in her eyes. The same glossy look that always made you crumble under the pressure of your best friend. To do whatever she asked of you.
You nodded your head, letting her know that you were agreeing.
Max tightened her lips into an encouraging smile and gently nodded her head, hand reaching toward yours in an act of comfort. Then in a crashing manner, your heads collided.
The kind of rough that came from two tipsy teenage girls that both lacked the proper experience in the kissing department.
Your heart was pounding so loudly, you were sure everyone could hear it.
Meanwhile, Max placed her hands to your cheeks.
Her lips had a faint taste of liquor that came from earlier on in the night.
You hated this. Hated everything that was going on with this kiss. Hated how Max was under the influence when she kissed you. Hated how everyone around you was watching. Hated how unexperienced you felt.
You hated how it was against your morals.
You’d never felt further from your morality and integrity. It felt like the eyes— though coming from the glares of various teenagers around you, felt like the disapproving dagger stare of that of something else. Your mother, perhaps? Telling you that this wasn’t right. How it was unnatural.
You were the first to pull away.
As if it had felt like a stinging in the chest.
Because that’s exactly how it felt like.
You pulled from her lips as if they felt like fire crisping against your skin. And even worse, the teenagers around you cheered. Cheered. As if it were some large celebration.
You didn’t feel like celebrating.
You didn’t feel good at all.
You’d ignored Max for a week after that.
There was too much guilt surrounding you. You knew that there was no way you could approach Max, especially after what happened at the party. You couldn’t bear another second ignoring the tingling sensation you felt in your chest every time she’d look at you. Compliment your hair. Twirl the strands between her fingers like all friends do.
Your parents couldn’t know what happened. They couldn’t handle the fact that there was a chance of you having a boyfriend, how could they handle you loving a woman?
Especially if that woman was Max.
In mornings at school, you’d come extra early to avoid seeing her at your usual meeting spot. You stopped walking with her in the hallways. During class, you pretended not to feel the weight of her stare burning into the back of your head. And when the bell would ring, you’d rush out before she even had the chance to catch up with you.
Lunches were made for solitude. Before, you used to sit with Max. Not in the cafeteria. But right outside the school, near a stairwell that allowed for the sunlight to bask itself against your skin— and hers, which seemed to always impossibly glow. But now, you hid in the bathrooms. The ones near the exact opposite of the school. That way, no one would be able to find you eating sandwich in the stall.
You hadn’t felt right after that night.
You had nightmares every night after that wretched dark one.
They all started the same.
You’d find yourself in church. Clothed in your beautiful Sunday dresses— the only thing that your parents were willing to spend money on. The cathedral would carry that stinging scent that it always did. The smell of wax candles and sage burning throughout the area.
Sunlight peered through the different colored windows on the walls. Pictures hand crafted and curated to form a story. It was a reflection of pure beauty in its finest.
As you’d make it closer and closer to the front of the church, each step felt like a weight added to your feet, as if something had been pulling— trying its best from keeping you from the front.
You weren’t sure why your goal was to make it to the front with the stacks of glowing and melting wax candles. But the closer that you got, the more that you felt like you were the closest to perfection and pureness.
The church choir would echo louder with each step, every note a calculated harmonization of symphonies and tones higher than your ears could convey. It was like you were descending into the heavens itself with the mere musical presence of their voices.
The floor— unable to hold the weight of those invisible chains pulling you down further and further, began to crumble into nothing but rubble.
And the perfection that you once felt— so close to your fingertips and just barely out of reach, had been stripped away from you due to your own doing.
You should’ve controlled yourself.
Controlled your feelings.
It felt like the heavens were looking down at you— watching as the floor that crumbled beneath you began to feel like hot molten lava against your feet.
Your mother would appear at the front, looking at you with a disappointed expression plastered onto her face— the same look she always had. Never proud. Never enough.
“You’re sick.” She’d warn. “Bewitched with wretched sin.”
It made you feel less than human.
You’d wake up in a cold sweat, frightened in your bed. Unable to sleep for the rest of the night. Too scared to try and close your eyes due to the fear of having that horrid nightmare again. Every night you hoped it would be different— maybe this night, it would stop.
It had been a miracle that your parents had yet to take notice of your odd behavior. You’d prayed extra. Your knees had slowly grown bruises in shades of purple and yellow from leaning against the side of your bed so much. You were extra obedient. The guilt had been too much to bear.
You both weren’t sober. You both were being watched. You both had snuck out in the middle of the night. You could list a million things wrong with the night yet somehow… there was only one thing that felt the worst throughout it all.
And girls can’t like girls.
Of course, when Max noticed that you were actively trying to ignore her, she tried to take matters into her own hands. She’d make her way to your next classes just to see you beforehand. But then you’d dive deep into a conversation with your teacher, pretending as if though you had important questions that just couldn’t wait until the end of the class.
At home, avoiding Max was much easier. Since your parents didn’t have much of a fondness for her to begin with, it wasn’t an issue when she would knock at your door and ask your parents where you were. They’d always done the same thing, even before you tried to ignore her.
“Sorry, she’s not here.” They’d respond with a tone that didn’t even try to hide their insincerity. Only to slam the door straight on Max’s face with a snarky expression plastered into their eyes. They never told you when she visited, either.
Eventually, she stopped trying.
At least, that’s what you assumed.
You continued with your new plans. Ignoring Max. You hoped for the rest of the year, if your stealth was enough to last you that long.
You ran away from Max in the halls. Like you always do.
You went to class early and sat in your seat far away from her. Like you always do.
At lunch, you smiled gently to yourself with a small book in hand and a zip log bag of a turkey ham sandwich.
Your hand— free from the sandwich or book, reached toward the small necklace that usually sat draped across your shoulders. But when you felt a sudden emptiness reach the tips of your fingers, you felt your heart fasten.
You thought back to where you might have set it down.
Due to your teacher’s strict (and very annoying) rules, you were required to take off any form of jewelry that you had on. Which in fairness, was typically for the other girls who had rings or bracelets, but unfortunately, necklaces were no exception to the rule.
And so in a rush, you stormed down the cafeteria and down the hall, not bothering to glance over at any people you pushed past. Jocks and cheerleaders let out annoyed groans as your shoulder collided with theirs and a familiar girl even stopped in her tracks when she noticed your urgency.
But you had nothing else in mind other than getting your necklace back.
You didn’t go anywhere without that necklace.
Especially in such a time where you’d felt so conflicted with yourself— as if you were standing on the edge of a cliff, stuck between a world that you couldn’t fit into, and one perfectly curated for you. Only it just so happened to be against everything that you stand for.
Rushing into the locker room, you set down your small book and sandwich onto a nearby bench, rushing toward the blue toned locker as you twisted the knob to try and open it. The room was empty. Quiet. Everyone had been at lunch or in the library. The only person in the locker room was you.
And there it sat. That thin chained necklace with the small pendant dangling from the end. You released a breath that you weren’t even aware you were holding. And reaching your fingertips toward the silver, you relaxed the tension in your shoulders.
That necklace felt like it was grounding you.
Between all of the confusion, it was the only thing that stayed. That you could feel.
Clasping the chain of the necklace in your hand, you slowly turned around and looked at the girl who stood behind you, her arms crossed with a raised eyebrow. You were in such a rush throughout the halls, you’d forgotten how much you needed to avoid Max.
Standing less than a few feet away.
Your mind searched for an excuse— perhaps one that you’d fed to her for the past week. But while it went blank as you stammered for an answer, your first instinct was to look down and seem as though you had somewhere to be.
“I have to go—“ You tried to excuse yourself, not bothering to make eye contact with Max as you turned the other way, slamming your locker shut and grabbing your items on the nearby bench.
But she wouldn’t let you get away.
“No!” Max raised her voice and spoke with urgency, hands rushing toward your shoulders to try and forcefully stop you. She grunted as you came to a stop. “Enough ignoring me!”
Max was desperate. You could tell that much. But it was your fault that she had been craving conversation with you. After all, you had been the one to ignore her and leave her in the dark of what you’d be going through.
And best friends were supposed to tell each other everything.
You stood still for a moment. Arms clutching around your items in hand, hand holding your necklace like it was the only thing keeping you there.
“You’re my best friend and— you’ve been ignoring me for weeks!” Max’s anger slowly twisted into a look of frustration. Hurt with the way that you didn’t even talk to her. “You didn’t return my calls, you’ve been dodging me in the hallways!”
Struck with the lack of words that formed in your brain. Unable to think of an excuse. Only thinking about how close Max was. Her hand still held against the side of your shoulder.
She approached you with such bubbling anger. Which… was exactly a ‘Max thing’ to do. Be confrontational. Not because she enjoyed confrontation. But because she was honest and didn’t let her feelings bottle up the same way you did.
“I mean— did I do something?” Max stammered. She never stammered. This clearly bothered her the same way it bothered you. “If I did, then I’m sorry!”
“No!” You twisted your eyebrows together and quickly shook your head, guilt flashing across your face. It only made things worse that Max figured this was her fault. When it was anything but. “You didn’t do anything!”
“Then why have you been ignoring me!”
But you didn’t say that. Instead, you struggled for an answer— as if it was on the tip of your tongue yet you couldn’t find the courage to search for it. Max raised her eyebrows and waited for an answer.
“Nothing!” You dropped your book and sandwich as your hands flew to your face, fingertips holding the necklace still as your palms dug against your eyes. As if it was enough to hide you.
“Was this because of the kiss at the party? Look, I know it was your first and I’m sorry— I was drunk.” Max huffed out and took a step back from you when she noticed how you hid yourself. Yet she couldn’t be further from the truth.
You held your silence for another moment. And the more that you pursed your lips, the more that she realized just how much it bothered you.
“Look,” Max started, jaw clenching with something that you couldn’t quite name. “Please, don’t ruin our friendship over something like this.”
You felt yourself— still on the edge of that cliff between perfection and sin, getting closer and closer to the drop, not quite sure yet if you were meant to fall or soar. And you weren’t sure what each thing truly meant to you.
But her next words made you take that final step.
“It’s not a big deal, it was just a kiss.”
“No it wasn’t!” You’d finally felt the last strings of your sanity snap. Something that you couldn’t quite hide anymore. Not from Max. Not when she had been the only person you cared about before. “It wasn’t just a kiss, not for me.”
Your voice was raw and desperate. As if you were pleading of something from her— yet you weren’t quite sure what. Any facade that you had masked on your face crumbled to pieces now. Reducing your presence to atoms in front of the person that you called your best friend.
You gulped. “I couldn’t tell you because… I felt something. Something that I know I shouldn’t have.”
Your hand reached toward your chest, necklace chain still pressed between your palm and heart with the small cross shaped pendant draping from your fingers, as if you were showing her where exactly you felt it.
Her head had leaned back, still halfway shocked from your outburst and halfway… mixed with something that the both of you couldn’t quite name. As if she wasn’t as surprised with what you were saying.
The words left your lips like a bubbling boil of foaming liquid, eyebrows twisted with a form of despair. “I wasn’t just a kiss,”
Max chose not to say anything. Her eyes met yours as if it was the only form of sunshine that you’d ever felt. The only thing that felt like washing yourself clean after dirtying up your life with the weight against your shoulders. You were able to let it out. After a week of ignoring her.
Her only response— her first instinct, was to rush her head forward and allow for her lips to meet yours in a messy, crashing, and desperate kiss. Something that you both knew you craved just as deeply as the other.
This was the closest that you’d felt to perfection.
Your eyes were the ones to close first. Then hers. Her hands rushed toward your cheeks like it was the only thing that she needed to feel right now. Your hand clutched onto your necklace as if it could help you in the moment.
As if you’d descended from the ground and made your way to the heavens itself.
And for a girl who strived for her whole life to be a perfectly curated woman— one of the purest form, this was the only moment where everything felt clean. You felt human.
But then it flashed your mind.
With closed eyes and lips slicked against Max’s, you heard the haunting echo of voices clanging against your mind like a church bell.
Your breath hitched. Chest feeling as if through all the air in your lungs had been forcefully pushed out from you as the ground beneath you crumbled as it always did in your dreams. Your legs shook. Expecting to see the locker room’s tile floor begin to crack and reveal a fire below you.
Max took that as a chance to deepen the kiss.
You took it as a moment to allow your jaw to shake with fear.
A tear teased at your eyes. You fought it back the best that you could but no matter how hard you tried, it slipped through the cracks. And once the first one came out, it was followed by an explosion of others. Uncontrollably.
You moved your lips against hers as if you were starving.
You felt like sin in itself. All seven deadly sins making their way into the form of your movements.
Pride— in having the girl that you didn’t even know you needed like water.
Greed— to keep her closer.
Envy— for anyone else who got to be around her other than you.
Wrath— at yourself for allowing it.
Sloth— as if by kissing her, you were compromising all forms of your spirituality; risking it all.
Gluttony— to taste her cherry lip balm for a little bit longer.
You couldn’t control the tears that came pouring down.
Feeling the wetness at her fingers, Max opened her eyes and pulled her head away, still close enough that your foreheads were nearly touching. Still able to feel her breath against yours. Lips red, swollen, and slicked with sweat.
“Did I… do something wrong?” Her head tilted while yours leaned into her touch, her fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your cheek. She was hesitant. Delicate. As if she knew that within any moment, you were close to breaking within her grasp.
With closed eyes, you shook your head in response.
“Then I don’t get it.” Max gulped, glossy eyes running over your face and the hands that were still clutched to your chest, lips parted with a form of confusion.
“We love each other, isn’t that what matters?”
Slowly, you blinked your eyes open.
Ill with a sickness that you couldn’t quite understand. A plagued disease that you’d been born with. Something slowly rotting away at your body— but mostly your heart, incurable by anything on this earth. Something that could get you— and Max, into a lot of trouble.
Your chest hiccuped a few times while you struggled to catch your breath, mouth slightly parted. Lips red and angry with a gloss of saliva tinting over them. Your eyes and nose were crimson while you tried to find the proper words.
Now Max was the one to go silent. She understood what you meant. And that answer was all that she needed to understand what exactly you felt in that moment.
The universe had been against you two.
Your parents would hate to see you together.
You two lived in a small town that would condemn anyone who wasn’t like them.
Everyone around you would hate this.
You hated this. How it made you feel.
Max hated this. Hated how you felt so conflicted with choosing who to love.
Things would be easier if she were just a boy. Or maybe if you were.
But you weren’t. And neither was she. And she’d rather have you halfway in a town full of people that hated you two than to not have you in her arms at all.
That’s what truly mattered.
When she saw the gloss that lined your eyes, she hesitated for a moment. And without words, her arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you in again. But not for a kiss. To hold you against her chest and insist that everything would be okay. That all she needed was you.
You kept your head pressed against her chest as you loosened the tension in your shoulders. Hand releasing the cross necklace that had been clutched in your grip for the whole time. It fell to the ground with a faint rattle. And that necklace— though being something so small, felt like releasing everything that you needed to.
That was the only thing you needed.
There was no one else around you. Not like at the party, where you’d been surrounded by groups of teenagers. Your parents weren’t there to condemn you. The floor hadn’t reduced to ashes beneath your feet like you thought it would. There were no masters or kings.
And as you allowed yourself to live in the nature of your own love for just a moment— to appreciate the small detail that you knew wouldn’t just pass you by, it made you feel human for the first time. Only in that moment did you feel clean.
