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Rather unsurprisingly, Max's dad had kicked him out. Again. It seemed as if, as Max's mental state declined, his father got worse and worse, determined to push him off the edge… or off of the chair.
Kyle was Max's saving grace; not only did he keep him off the streets, but, at this point, he was the only thing Max had to live for.
Not that he'd ever tell him that.
Kyle had sighed when Max had shown up at his door in the middle of the night. "Really, man? Again?" Of course he didn't want Max around. He really was just a burden; his dad had drilled that into him since the age of six, and Kyle only confirmed it. "Come on."
The walk to Kyle's room is tense… for multiple reasons.
Max felt so thoroughly unwanted—not only by Kyle but also the house itself, as if it was sentient—that he could've laughed; this must be what those stupid anti-bullying assemblies meant when it came to excluding people.
"This can't keep going, man," Kyle says as they enter his room.
Max furrows his brow with a huff. "Hey, I'm not happy about being kicked out either—"
"It's not that!" Kyle exclaims, and there's a look in his eyes that's completely unfamiliar to Max. It's… pain. Fear. Regret. "You're not that fucking dense, Max. You know what I'm talking about."
Oh.
Oh no.
Max chews at the skin beside his nails nervously, ignoring the feelings swirling in his stomach, not unlike those displayed on Kyle's face. "Do I?" Fuck it, he's playing stupid, because goddammit, Kyle meant a lot to him.
That was the other reason things were so tense between them.
It was one of Max's best kept secrets, other than his home life. He hadn't told a soul about the unholy events that had taken place between him and Kyle in the locker rooms, or the back of his car, or even in the room they were currently standing in. They didn't even talk about it; Max couldn't risk it. He couldn't face the fact that his feeling for Kyle, while absolutely more than platonic, were romantic in any way.
They weren't. They couldn't be. That was wrong. Unnatural.
"Yes you do," Kyle groans, pacing slowly, bringing Max back to the present. "Well… it's… it's over."
The room spins a little, and Max's chest is tight. "What?" God, he sounds pitiful. Needy. It's true; he needed Kyle, as much as he denied it. Hated it.
"Yeah." Kyle nods, raising his eyebrows and making direct eye contact with Max. "That's right. It's over. Whatever… weird thing we've gotten ourselves into? It's done. No more. I'm tired."
Max freezes, mouth hanging open. Kyle waves his hands, looking desperate. "Well? Just… fucking say something already! You're freaking me out, man."
Max opens and closes his mouth a couple more times, blinking back the harsh tears that burn his eyes. "I'm gonna go… go to the… the bathroom," he croaks weakly.
Kyle nods, eyes downcast. "Okay. I'm… I'm going back to bed."
Max does his best not to run to the bathroom, gasping for breath as soon as he'd shut the door. The tears he'd been trying his hardest to hold back finally burst free, burning with pent-up feeling. Ugly, harsh sobs wrack his body as he curls up against the cool tile. Of course Kyle didn't want to deal with him; what was there to love? All he did was belittle anyone he deemed lesser than, dragging them down along with himself. He grasps at his hair, wishing desperately that he could just… vanish.
Kyle wouldn't miss him.
Nobody would miss him.
His eyes fly open. That's it. Max practically jumps to his feet, suddenly overflowing with a frenzied, manic energy. He could do the right thing. For once, he could be helpful. He lets out a choked combination of a laugh and a sob, throwing open the medicine cabinet. He grabs the first few bottles he sees, the pills within rattling. The cabinet shuts with a satisfying click… and he's facing the mirror.
What is he doing?
Christ, he looks like a wreck. His eyes are puffy and red and his cheeks are still wet with tears. His hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in a week.
Max looks at himself in the mirror, searching for some glint of hope in his eyes, but they're dull as ever. He's just… desperate. Desperate for all of the pain and heartache and misery to just… stop. He sighs, setting the faded bottles down slowly next to the sink.
"Fuck—" he gasps. "What the fuck am I doing?" He's breathing. He's still alive. He could fix that so easily.
Max leans against the counter, sliding down to the floor and pulling his knees to his chest. A few more stray sobs escape his lips as he picks at his knuckles, vision unfocused. He wants to so badly. There are a million different ways he could go about it; Ibuprofen… the Nantucket Bridge… hell, even his dad's pistol. He almost laughs at the irony. That gun had been pointed at his head more times than he could count, and here we was, considering pulling the trigger himself.
But… that would just confirm everything his father had told him he was: a coward. A pussy. A cuck. He couldn't prove him right; it felt like taking the easy way out.
Max groans, burying his face in his hands and digging his teeth into his palms. "Fuuuck," he sighs. "Fuck this, fuck me, fuck!"
A hiccup slips out as he presses on his eyes, swallowing hard and trying not to start bawling again. Lovely. He can't kill himself after all; he has to live… purely out of spite.
There's a knock on the door, and a pang of anxiety stabs Max in the chest, strong enough to make him dizzy. "Changed my mind. Need t' piss first," Kyle mumbles from the other side. "Git out."
Max stands up quickly, leaning on the counter so he doesn't fall over. "Whatever," he responds with a sniff, running the faucet and splashing his face. The cold water does little to shock him out of his current state, though. He opens the door and brushes quickly past Kyle, curling up in the floor and throwing a blanket over himself.
He chokes back a sob as Kyle's soft footsteps enter the room again, trying to force down the fear curling in his gut. Why was he scared? It was Kyle.
Kyle, who had just practically dumped him.
He hears Kyle sigh. "Oh, Max." There's some vague shuffling sounds, before a hand rests on Max's shoulder; he flinches instinctively. Kyle gently pulls the blanket up to look at him. "Come here," he says softly.
Max can't help it. As much as he wants to say no, as much as he wants to deny Kyle what he just gave up, he can't resist. He's weak. He practically throws himself onto Kyle, arms around his neck as he sobs violently into his chest. "Easy," Kyle murmurs, hand drifting down Max's back. "I've got you."
"Don't leave—" Max pleads between sobs, gripping Kyle's shirt desperately. "Please. Don't leave me."
He really is just as pitiful as his dad says.
"Hey, look at me." Kyle holds Max's face so gently that he can't help but lean into the touch, reluctantly making eye contact. "No matter what goes down between us, I'm not just leaving you. Kay?"
Max looks away, closing his eyes. All he wants is for Kyle to lean in and kiss his worries away, to lay in bed with him and watch shitty rom-coms until the sun comes up. He knows that won't happen though, and that's what stings the most.
"Okay." He looks back up at Kyle, eyes lingering just a little too long on the beauty mark at the corner of his lips. He sighs, wiping his face roughly and hiccuping. "I'm gonna… go to sleep now."
Kyle pulls away, and Max notices the briefest hint of hesitation from him. "Okay," he murmurs reluctantly, climbing into bed.
"Okay," Max breathes, knowing he'll never be welcome in that bed again.
Kyle was right. He never left Max's side, even as he came closer every day to rock bottom. Things changed between them, though. Every now and then, at a party, they'd make eye contact from across the room. Instead of pulling Kyle into the nearest closet to fuck—as they used to—Max simply took a long drag of his cigarette, eventually putting it out on his arm.