Page 25 of Pretty Broken Wings
There's pressure moving down my collarbone. Then, something brushes my nipple. “You’re so fucking smart and funny. I wish I had met you a long time ago.”
I suck in a gasp. “Max!” But my body feels stuck. I like the words he’s saying, but fear also laces me. He’s so much bigger than I am. Suddenly, it feels like I’m a kid again, and I can’t fight back. I’m not strong enough. He’ll push me underwater and drown me.
Suddenly, Max’s hand is on my pussy, and I let out a strangled cry. I thrash, trying to get out of the space.
“Shit!”
My back grinds against the edge of the pool. Then, Max is gone.
“Raven, are you okay?”
I’m ripping myself away, my whole body hot and the world spinning. “Your wife,” is all I can say. Why is he doing this? He has a wife.
I get to the stairs. Max doesn’t follow me, and the rush of relief fills me.
I got away.
Max just grabs the edge of the pool, hanging his head.
All my muscles tremble, and I have no control over them. Max is my friend. Why is he putting me in this position?
He just stays in his spot, head down.
With a rush of fear, I realize that he’s mad at me. I scramble to grab a towel, terrified he’ll grab me and drag me back in.
But he doesn’t.
The next day, Max lets me know he’ll have to stop talking to me and that he has some things to work out with his wife.
The next few months are a shitshow. I lost the only friend I have, and rightfully so. I’m angry at him, and I hate him for what he did. Why couldn’t it just stay like it was?
Unfortunately, Max still works the same job as me. The same shift as me. Every now and again, he still leaves me notes. In those notes, he talks about how much he misses me. How amazing I am, and how much he wants to keep me.
I throw every single one away. They make me sad and so, so angry. Then, after I throw them away, I go back to my apartment, completely alone. The silence is stifling, and the guilt is even worse. I should have known better.
Eventually, Max separates from his wife, and I see him every day. Every damn day, he’s apologizing. Telling me how much I had led him on. And I believe him. Because I did. I wanted friendship more than I cared about anyone else.
And on a bad day, I find a note with a movie recommendation. I snarl, writing a book recommendation under it where the woman kills her cheating husband.
The next day, I find another. And I give another similar recommendation.
Then it happens again and again and again until I’m less mad and more lonely. We start taking our lunch breaks together. I don’t say a word, and I make sure he knows just how mad at him I am.
Max always accepts the silence and gives me his pack of animal crackers after.
I hang out with my other coworkers with him there. I make sure he sees just how much fun I’m having without him.
Only I’m not. I’m not fucking happy. I’m miserable. I’m miserable and alone, and I have no friends, and my days are full of empty hallways and machine rooms all day, every day. Birthday? Hallway. Couldn’t sleep all night? Machine room. Almost lit my kitchen on fire? Bathroom.
And Max is always there. One day, I can’t take it any longer. I run into Max in the boiler room.
“Oh, hey, Martha.” His voice is quiet and sad.
“That’s not my name, and you know it,” I snap.
“Sorry.” He twists his hands.
I turn to go, and Max says, “Hey, I liked the end of that book.”
