It was humid and hot.
My hands were sticky, chocolate ice-cream had wedged its way through my fingers and onto my sleeveless dress. I didn't seem to mind though, not when the summer breeze swept back my hair lazily and I hummed in satisfaction.
My back was bare, it laid tiny little Goosebumps as the sun finally rested against it. Another sound seemed to escape me, only this time it happened to be a small moan. It felt nice, my back arched at the sudden warmth and I took comfort in that. "Babydoll, what's got you making those noises?" I snap my head to the side, my eyes resting on a fiery red head. Long ringlets filled at her face, dimples pressed against the corners of her cheeks but what always seemed to catch my attention was her eyes.
It wasn't the fact that they were a rich blue - or that they were alluring when Max needed a quick fix. It used to be whatever could get her on a strong high, Hawkins didn't have many dealers but that didn't stop max from getting her mind away from things. If she couldn't get the drugs she wanted than she'd take people instead. She'd bare her flashy smile that worked every single time, perch herself on their laps at any bar she managed to get herself into with her shitty fake ID, and within minutes she'd be fucking them in the back alley. Her skirt pushed up roughly against her cream coloured thighs, if she chose to wear underwear that night it would be pushed to the side. All it took was -
seconds was all it took for them to be inside of her brutally. She choose the damaged ones, it made her feel somewhat normal. She took and took and took, until she milked them dry and had them groaning in her neck like little boys.
If Max Mayfield couldn't get her temporary high - than she'd find the only other comfort that clogged her brain, even if it was for a mere moment. I never judged though, not when she'd slip into my bedroom window after every fuck. I never gave sympathy when she cried in my arms, muttering endless whimpers and soundless cries that seemed to scream; "Why is nothing ever enough?"
I met her when I was six years old, she was different. Hawkins Indiana didn't like that, not when it was such a small town. She frightened them all though, except for me. I was a fragile little thing back than, pale and scrawny, big eyes that seemed to catch attention off others. That's how the nickname Babydoll became my first name, She knew my real name was Jane. But Hawkins was already plain enough, having another girl bare the name Jane would just not do.
At least not to Max.
She perched herself off her side and leaned against the park tree as she peered down at me, her eye's filled with amusement as her red-coloured lips held a cigarette between her front gapped teeth. I laid where I was, nestled between the picnic basket I stole off Mother this morning as I snuck in a sandwiches and a blanket to keep us company on such a fun day.
Mother didn't approve of her, neither did Father but what could they do when there only child had seemed to snatch one friend for her entire life?
"It's this heat. I swear if it was always this sunny, you'd be hearing me moaning for days M," I sighed leaning over the basket and pulling out a handkerchief to rub off the remaining ice-cream stains. Max took a few greedy puffs, smoke oozing itself from her as I than reached over and pried the freshly used cigarette from her lips and onto the muddy ground. Within a second, it was wet and cold and left a smile hanging from my lips.
"Oh M, when are you going to realise smoking is a bad habit huh?" I breathe out, I arch one eyebrow as I take notice of her change of demeanour. Max becomes more alert now, extra cautious and always on guard it seemed. She did this, when I tried pulling her out of her bad habits. I can't blame her though, it's all she had. She couldn't rely on her parents. Her mother was a coked-up addict, constantly in and out of rehab and the laughing stock of the town. Her dad was worse though, he was usually home.
But he was never there.
He was never really there when Max needed shopping money for next week's groceries, so she'd spend her remaining days eating at my house. Frank was never there when his wife needed guidance and a loving husband to stop her blinding addiction, instead, he choose brothels and woman that were faceless but had the right curves to make him forget his pain.
When you were a Maxwell, pain was the only thing that was durable. Never warmth, or laughter but instead scorching amounts of pain that left Max shaking in my arms when she would sneak into my room. It made her wither in agony but it was different on the night's were teenaged boys pressed themselves against her, she liked the dull ache that nestled its way between her silky thighs. It was something she had become accustomed too, addiction was all she had, it was everything she stood for.
It was Max's turn to throw her head back against the tree. Her now un-hardened eye's following the moving clouds, watching in careful appreciation." I wouldn't be saying those words so loud, we wouldn't want Mikey hearing that. If he saw you moaning like that, especially the way you were moment's before, he'd throw you over his knee in a matter of seconds." Max cackled at the last part, it was her turn to let out a loud moan as the sun fell against her freckled nose. A spurt of giggles arouse from my mouth suddenly at her loudness, Max's eye's snapped wide open, her own mouth beginning to snicker slightly as we erupted into a chaotic mess of laughter.
She was the cherry to my strawberry milkshake, she was the last pit of apple crumble that I couldn't wait to indulge as she filled my senses and cured my sheer sadness for that split moment. She was fucking angelic and I couldn't get enough of her, she was my best friend and that was the end of it.
"Mike wouldn't dare." I said, smacking her shoulder lightly as I arouse from my spot and planted myself firmly beside her. Her wispy hair tickled the end's of my ear as I twisted it between my forefinger and thumb, my head finding it's usual place nestled against her neck and shoulder.
We sat there in silence, breathing everything in. It was moment's like this that made me nauseous, one day this would become a memory. Max would become a memory, even Mike would be too.
My eyes fall closed as I imagined him. There aren't enough words to describe what I feel for that boy and I'm scared there never will be. The hairs on the back of my neck tingle and threaten to stand as I shiver and continue to push my face into Max's clothed shoulder. He's a walking sin, he knows it, and the whole goddamn town knows it too. My breathing hitched at Max's last words, I pictured his hands on me and in me, my thighs clamp together effortlessly and a sudden urge to see him pulls at my core.
I hate this feeling - it's becoming more needy and desperate. A never ending ache I can't seem to shake off. No amount of secret touches and unspoken words can fill the emptiness that has seemed to drown my thought's since Mike became something.
Something hidden, only few people knew about. How could people understand? He was the King at Belview High. He dominated every social clique, people either feared, praised him or wanted to fuck his brains out. No one would ever understand how Mike Wheeler ended up with me, one of the outcasts, one of the local freaks of Hawkins.
I remind myself over and over, like a melody:
He was mine, just as I was his.
But I start laughing manically, my breathing rapid and shallow as I continue to laugh until I screech into the humid air, my nails digging into my palms as I unwrap my grip from Max's hair and she lays still, unbothered and no judgement seeping onto her features and I can feel the small ache beginning to burn.
It becomes faster as I dig my nails harder, and harder and harder. The ache never seems to disappear and I choke back on my laughter now, I quickly scan the park. It's empty, apart from a few pigeons pigging there way through the remains of left over bread and cigarette buds. Max understands though, she knows the feeling of reliance as it burns heavily on her. She knows that Mike Wheeler is my addiction.
She knows she's not the only warm body that sneaks in my bedroom past Father's curfew, She knows her arms aren't the only ones that drape against my body most nights, and she knows this has been going on for months and months and I haven't done a fucking thing to stop it.
I repeat the mantra:
He is mine, just as I am his.
Yet, he isn't mine and the pain starts to seep in as I remember he belongs to Veronica Mars. Known for her pink frilly dresses and head cheerleading uniform. She is bitter and cold but she remains easy on the eye's with her silky blonde hair and pouty lips, I look at her and all I feel is; hate, hate, hate.
Isn't love just the sweetest thing?
Thoughts? What did you like? Please comment as your opinions mean a lot to me :) Pls don't forget to spread some love.