Chapter Text
Things start to almost fall back into a sense of normalcy after that. Well, not Hatchetfield High normalcy, but what it should have been in the first place. Max goes into school that Monday without his letterman jacket on— he feels naked, but also doesn’t feel like he deserves to wear it anymore. He’s got some random shitty black hoodie pulled over his shoulders to keep out the cold, not that he really needs it. Honestly, he’s kind of just used to the feeling of the fabric on his arms and the weight on his shoulders at this point. Kyle and Jason must be saints because they don’t push after Max makes it clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.
People look at him as they pass him in the hall and whisper amongst themselves. He stops seeing fear reflected in other peoples faces and starts seeing pity.
He stops really taking care of himself. He still works out and goes to practices (and boy does he get an earful for skipping the one practice he did actually skip)— that barely feels like a choice he can even make. It’s all he really has. But, he forgets to gel his hair into place more often than not, the sleeves of his hoodie fray, and it feels like even his backpack is in on it— perpetually uneven on his shoulders as it is.
It’s strange how quickly ‘somebody’ can become ‘nobody.’ People stop really giving a shit about him once he stops constantly showing off his power. He doesn't want people to worship him, he doesn't want to be a literal monster anymore— he just wants to be a highschooler, if he wants anything at all.
He spends a lot of evenings at either Kyle’s house or Jason’s house, working on homework or just hanging out. Max is pretty surprised to find out how good at explaining history Kyle is, a subject he himself has never had an affinity for. Not that he’s had an affinity for any subject really, but still.
It’s one such night where they’re at Kyles house and he messes it all up… again. They're sitting on the floor (well, carpet) in the living room in a circle— papers, pencils, and folders strewn around them.
Kyle's telling some sort of story about his most recent date with Brenda, Max has kind of been zoning out but he tunes back in to catch the tail end of a sentence.
"—but everythings fine now 'cause it turned out I just misheard her." Max snorts and Kyle's eyebrows pinch together in confusion. "What?"
"No duh you misheard her, you're an idiot." Max is smiling as he says it but Jason and Kyle's faces fall as soon as the word leave his mouth.
"Hey, not cool dude." Jasons voice is calm but unwavering. Max rolls his eyes, still grinning.
"Whatever, man"
Kyle says two simple words, his voice sharper than Max has ever heard it.
"Get out." Max freezes.
"What?" It's more of a statement than a question, as gramatically incorrect as that may be.
"I said 'get out'." Kyles voice is level but it's still got an unusual edge to it that's never been there before.
"You—"
"Get out of my house, please."
"I—"
"Please."
Max squares his jaw, and his teeth grit togeter uncomfortably.
"Fine." He grabs his backpack roughly and does as instructed. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jason put a hand on Kyle's shoulder. Pathetic.
His life somehow manages to feel even more monochromatic than it’s started to feel recently. The day after the fight he finds himself kind of just dragging his feet on his way to class. Kyle and Jason had spotted him in the cafeteria that morning and very purposefully turned away from him, so that’s already a crappy start that makes him feel like lying down and giving up for a couple of hours. But, again, he figures he deserves that. That’s probably what they want. Maybe it’ll prove that he— SUFFERING DOES NOT INHERENTLY MAKE YOU A BETTER PERSON.
For a split second it feels like he’s thinking someone else's thoughts and then he forgets all about it when a migraine unlike any other he’s ever had before hits him. He’d been looking down at his shoes and shuffling through the hall, definitely already late to his class judging by the lack of people milling around, but the splitting pain takes him completely by surprise and he stumbles. Turning the corner blindly he bumps right into someone, and they startle lightly with an ‘oh!’ He looks up.
He’s faced with a kind-looking woman with red hair which makes him think of those mediocre 80s hair metal bands for some reason. She’s also got some extremely 80s-looking makeup on: bold eyeliner, eyeshadow, and a bold lip. Pretty much everything about her is ‘bold.’ Looking at the woman also makes him think of diner food for some reason, but he can’t place exactly why.
Max’s head throbs, his headache making itself known, and he grimaces before he can try to stop himself
“Shit, I wasn’t looking where I was going… are-are you okay?” Asking after her wellbeing feels unnatural and he trips over the words a little.
The woman laughs, the sound light and about as far from unkind as you can get, sounding purely and genuinely amused.
“I’m okay, kiddo. It’d take way more than that to properly jostle me around.” She looks at him and her smile drops minutely, like she’s registering the bags under his eyes, his messy hair, and the pained grimace on his face for the first time. Her voice goes soft.
“Hey… are you okay?” Max blinks at her.
“I-I’m fine, yeah. S— my bad for bumping into you.” He goes to walk around her, intending to leave the interaction behind, but she stops him by speaking again.
“Wait, wait, wait— are you sure you’re okay? I don’t think I properly introduced myself. I’m Miss Holiday, the school’s new counselor. I’m somewhat new here, but a couple of months haven’t really been enough to get completely acquainted with all of Hatchetfield High’s twists and turns. That little fender bender might as well have been my fault.” Max opens his mouth to argue against it but she raises a hand. “How about we just say it was both our faults, hm?” He nods, a little dumbfounded. “Anyhow, if you ever need to talk to someone, my office is right by the nurse’s.”
“Ok… thank you.”
“Of course.” She smiles warmly at him again and he feels a little bit of the weight lift from his shoulders.
“I’m Max.” He quickly adds, realizing he’d forgotten to introduce himself after she had.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Max.”
“You too.” And with that, he sets off.
He does end up heading over to her office during lunch— it pops into his mind when he walks into the cafeteria and is faced with two choices he despises (being ignored by Richie and his friends or being ignored by Jason and Kyle). It feels wrong to be heading to her office, but eating lunch there definitely beats being stared at by everyone who he hasn’t recently managed to monnumentally fuck up with on a personal level.
Just like Miss Holiday had said, her office is located right by the Nurse's office. There's a back entrance from the cafeteria leading right into the block that houses the front office, most of the counselors offices, and a back entrance to the nurse's office. It's clearly meant to be a comfortable area for students, this purgatory between rooms actually meant for something— there's generic motivational posters everywhere and some worn chairs next to a sad looking coffee table. For some reason, the paper flowers which sit in a vase upon the table stick out to him— frozen in a sort of immortality to be watched by students probably at their lowest, a reminder that suffering can last forever?
The plaque on Miss Holiday's door stares at him almost as effectively as it would if it actually had eyes. He stares back. Eventually his eyes burn and he blinks, taking a deep breath.
Max knocks on the door.