If Only Bruises Could Heal.

Chapter 13

Hello! I'm not dead!

I've just grown up lol. I remember writing this the summer after my freshman year of high school, and now I'm a month away from graduating. It's nuts to still get notifications TO THIS DAY that people are reading this story and wanting an update. So! Even though my band fanatic phase has passed, I've decided to finish what I started before I move away to college in Boston. I honestly had to re-read this whole thing to accurately continue, but fear not! I still remember where I was going with this, kinda. This won't be centered on the band but on the bigger issue this story focuses on, which I'm really impressed my 14(or 15?) year old self could think of. So to anyone who has waited these 4 years, you're pretty awesome, and I hope life has been good to you and that you are on your way to becoming whatever your heart desires.

Thank you for picking up my spirits each time I got a notification from this story, and in return: I will WRITE!

~~~~~

I woke up alone, and numb.

Of course I felt the blood throbbing under my skin, but my mind wasn't really paying attention to the physical pain; it was a secondhand concern at this point.

What the fuck was I doing?

I felt like a worthless excuse of a human being. My brain was pulling itself in a million different directions; I could feel my sense of sanity being torn in half. I was Alan's personal punching bag, and it was destroying every bit of me. Sometimes I would wonder why he does this to me. Why he feels the need to paint my skin black and blue instead of just telling me what I did wrong. The rage seems so sporadic and unprecedented most of the time, and then I'm just left wondering: why me?

But that's when I realize, I don't have to ask myself why. I already know; I'm worthless, I'm pathetic, I'm nothing but a fuck up. I should be wondering why he wouldn't try to knock some sense into me.

Now, it was even worse.

Remembering the way Austin's lips warmed my body from the chilled evening air the previous night made my stomach hurt. I had always been able to tell Alan that I was loyal to him, no matter how many times he had convinced himself that I wasn't. Well, now he was right. I was a good-for-nothing whore.

I can feel myself deteriorating. I can feel the unrelenting guilt and helplessness that prevented me from even getting out of bed for the first 2 hours I was awake. I can feel the anxiety piercing through my chest with the endless struggle of trying to pull my life together. I can feel the panic and fear that wraps itself around me like an iron vice that only gets tighter, and tighter, and tighter until...

The phone rings.

I'm snapped from my reel of negativity by my generic, yet nevertheless irritating, ringtone. I swing my legs over the side of my bed, deciding to finally face the morning, and yank my phone from the charger on the nightstand. The ID read Austin.

I picked up, but couldn't muster the energy or courage to say anything. What could I possibly even say to him?

"Max?"

I stared blankly at the wall in front of me. My eyes burned with the newly formed tears that slowly ran down my face.

"Max, please talk to me. I know you're there." I could hear the anguish in his voice.

I remained silent.

"I need to talk to you about last night. Please Max..." I closed my eyes and covered my mouth with my bruised and shaking hand, not wanting him to hear my uneven breathing.

I couldn't think straight. It killed me inside to know that I had no choice but to shut Austin out, the only person I ever had to talk to about my mess of a life. But I loved Alan, and I could never forgive myself for what happened last night. I should have listened when he told me to stay away from Austin, and now I'm paying the painful price.

"You know what, fine. Be this way." And with that, the line went dead.

I choked back the sobs. What the hell did I have to cry for? I had Alan; shutting out Austin was nothing but good for myself and my relationship. I needed to try to do something right for once in my life, right?

I must've stood under the ice cold water of the shower for at least an hour, letting the cold liquid numb my wounds in temporary relief. Alan was no where to be found in the house, and neither was his car; he had to be at the music store. One more day alone with myself. Maybe that's exactly what I need.

I threw on one of Alan's worn down black zip-up hoodies over my bra and underwear and slumped down the stairs, not bothering to put on any pants. I wasn't planning on leaving the house, so what was the point? My energy was beyond depleted; I didn't even feel like I deserved to exist.

Something as simple as pouring a bowl of cereal seemed like a grueling task. My breathing was getting more and more irregular everyday, though I attributed it to the endless bruising. Once I thought of this, I began to feel each damaged part of my body. My hands; fingers bruised, palms scratched, joints stiff. I looked at them closely, trying to envision a time when my hands weren't so blue and rugged and ugly, but failed. My knees and and elbows cut and sore from falling down constantly. I could never remain upright for long, why couldn't I hold myself together? My back was spotted with yellow and blue and purple with my ugly bones protruding out.

And my face...

Split lip. Black eye. Cut forehead. Scraped jaw line. Alan really went all out this time, but it wasn't anything new. I mean, what else did I expect, right?

I abandoned my breakfast, having lost my appetite completely, and went back up to my bedroom to get my phone. Maybe a short phone call to Alan could lighten my mood. Just something short and sweet, to keep the events of last night from weighing down on me all day. I couldn't be with myself all day; I'd self destruct. I needed a distraction, I needed to feel loved.

I needed to see Alan.

I nudged my phone between my awkwardly bend neck and ear, ignoring the soreness and digging out clothes to put on. After a minute, the call went to voicemail, so I hung up. He never checks his voicemail, so rarely anyone leaves him one. I carefully pulled on my jeans and threw on a tank top to wear under the hoodie. I tapped aggressively on my laptop to wake it up before searching the phone number of the music store where Alan was.

I felt lighter when the phone picked up on the second ring.

"Thanks for calling Paradise Records LA, this is Jake."

"Hey Jake, its Max." I replied as I struggled to unknot one of my shoes.

"MAX!" the intense scream made me jump more than I would like to admit. "How are you?!"

"Damn you Jake," I couldn't help but smile a bit. "You made me drop my shoe!"

"Well you know I'm a professional at inconveniencing others," I could hear the smirk on his face. I was happy I called, I haven't seen or talked to Jake in a while since Alan hadn't been in touch with him until recently. "So what's crack-a-lackin'?"

"Boring conference calls, coordinating events, lots of paperwork, you already know how glamorous life is," I joked, my dry humor allowing me to avoid actually talking about myself. "I just wanted to talk to Alan for a moment, is he busy?"

There was a brief silence before Jake chuckled light heartedly. "Why yes you can, if you had called his phone."

"Smartass, I did," I jabbed. "He didn't pick up. I know he's been helping out at the store for a while now, so thought I'd try here. He's not there right now?"

"Uh, Max, Alan hasn't been around here at all."

"What?" I was beyond confused. "No, he's been going there for weeks, maybe you just weren't there during times he was working." I tried to tell him, but maybe I was just trying to convince myself.

"I own the store bud, I'd know if he was here, let alone working."

My body and mind went numb.

"I'm sorry Max, but I haven't seen or heard from Alan in over a year."