Maxmoefoe; why are you calling me

0.29

You end the call and walk over to your front door, debating on weather or not you should let him in.

You stand there for a while, frozen in place with your hand on the doorknob.

Why am I letting him in? I know he's going to hurt me again. I don't want to hurt, I'm sick of it.

"(y/n)? I'm still here" he states in a sad tone as you hear him carelessly slump against the door.

"I know" you gulp nervously and exhale as you try to prepare yourself for the conversation you knew would happen.

You twist the door handle and open the door to see max sat there with his head in his hands obviously trying to fight back tears.

What the fucks going on? Why is everyone crying? Why am I about to cry?

"I'm so sorry" he mutters, you can hear the strain in his voice.

"so, so, so, sorry" he barley manages to choke out the sentence as he turns to face you.

That was it, that was all that had to be said for you to breakdown again.

A simple "I'm so sorry" and your walls come tumbling down, the realisation that he could leave you soon hits.

The idea that he could love someone else in the same way,

The idea that he could look at another girl the way he looked at you,

That he could touch another girl the way he touched you...

To put it simply,

Destroys you.

You don't reply to him because honestly, you don't need to.

You just lean down and lovingly take his hand in yours.

You stand up and lead him into the living room, closing the door behind you both.

"What do we do now?" he almost whispers, his brown eyes lining with tears.

run.

"drink?" you suggest knowing that's not the answer he wanted but it's what you both needed.

"I'd rather just-"

"great, I'll go get them now" you stutter and walk into the kitchen.

What am I doing? oh god, what the fuck have I done? what do I do?

Your hands shake as you take a beer out of the fridge for max.

You grab the bottle opener and take them both into the living room, placing them next to max.

"(y/n) we don't need to drink. why can't we have a real conversation!" he pushes the objects back towards you in protest.

Deadpan. Done. Broken. Stop trying.

"I'll be back in a minute, let me get my drink" you try and smile but your lips are quivering.

"(y/n)" he pleads but you ignore him because you honestly don't want to feel anything right now.

hurt. confused.

You shakily open your alcohol cabinet and pull out the first bottle that touches your finger tips.

You read the label of the bottle and find that its vodka.

It's always vodka, I swear that's the only thing in that damn cabinet.

You sigh and grasp at the neck of the bottle and walk confidently into the living room.

"(y/n) that's vodka. you'll drink yourself to death, here swap with me" he says while trying to pry the bottle of translucent liquid from your fingers.