The Portrait of Gamophobia (2) Harvey Spector

Beautiful

"His face had no emotion."

...

Max was always on the fence about her photographic memory. Her ability to remember everything was mostly a blessing, but the days that had been a curse hurt the worst. She remembered her seventeen-year-old self slowly pacing, standing in her kitchen. She remembered just being… blank. It was curve ball thrown her way. The police said her mother had died. How could she be dead, Max recalled, remembering the horror of that day. How could she have died? The young brunette had ran out of her house, barely throwing her shoes on as she sprinted down the hallway of her apartment. Jumping down several flights of stairs as she moved through the stairwell, Max could remember blinking back the tears as she burst into the lobby, running out into the street. She remembered her mind went on auto-pilot, her legs following every command.

What was worse was remembering what happened after.

"If my mom was murdered," Rachel said, lost in her thought as she looked out the window, "I don't know how I'd stay so sane."

"Most of the time I think I'm crazy," Max said, letting her mind ease for a moment.

The caramel-skinned woman looked to her pearl-skinned friend, letting a bittersweet smile edge onto her face.

"Wade, Max, you still haven't told me about him," Rachel said, reminding her. "I know you're thinking about twenty other things, but I do have to go home and get ready for work."

Max inhaled sharply, "I was hoping I would tell you at the office."

"I was hoping you'd tell me-," she shifted closer to her friend, "-why Harvey is going overboard?"

The brunette's eyebrows furrowed, "If I had a nickel for every time Harvey went overboard I'd buy Prada every day."

"Not in general," Rachel said as she crossed her arms, "Harvey knows people. And Harvey would know whether or not someone is dangerous."

"This is evident."

"And you're deflecting."

Max blushed, scratching the back of her head.

"I can handle Evan, but he is dangerous."

"As in does he want to kill you?"

"No…"

Max bit her lip, "I don't know."

"But you said he's dangerous?" Rachel pushed on.

That was something Max confirmed, "Yes, without a doubt."

"Why?" Rachel asked, confused as she looked at her friend's face. She soon realized that was a question she feared, as she watched Max's expression turn grim.

He stood in barely clean jeans, a light blue plaid shirt, and a big leather jacket that was much too large for his frame. The last time she had seen him was almost twelve years ago, yet here he stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, hair in a disarray. He looked so much older, Max thought he had aged at least twenty years. He still had those shielded eyes, but there was some form of spark beneath them. She sighed in relief after realizing this. He didn't seem to be stalking her, or hurting her. He just genuinely was standing at her front door, waiting for her to respond.

"Hello Maxine," the low tremor of Evan James Wade caused Max to thrive with life again.

"Hello," she responded sternly, keeping her guard up.

Max could see his eyes roam around behind her, inspecting the home she lived in.

"What do you want?" She asked him, shutting the door slightly as to hide the interior of her home.