Chapter Text
Her gaze is fixed on a spot hanging on the wall of her childhood bedroom. Body too heavy to move around. Eyes too tired to stay open. Ears too loud to acknowledge anything. She felt… floating.
A bad kind of floating though. Like she was dying. Like her body had finally run out of faith and hope the situation would get better. Out of energy and will. It wasn’t hers anymore. It didn’t want her. She was the parasyte her body was trying to burn out. Body and Soul. Her own corpse wouldn’t be hers, fighting her till the very end.
She exhausted her life. Putting everybody else before herself, self medicating (if we still dare to call it that), not fighting enough for her friends, not fighting enough for herself… and the worst crime of all : giving up on her brother.
He was the only light in her life. Her twin. She sometimes liked to joke he was born with her to serve her when she’d become president or the greatest actress. Nobody believed her, she didn’t believe it either. She felt like she was just alive to ensure he would live to his full potential.
Because he was smarter than they know, funnier than they could handle, cared more than a thousand mothers, loved a person at 100% –even if they were a stranger, even if they didn’t deserve it–, his heart was bigger than Texas, he was the most loyal to his friends and loved ones and proved to have a lot more empathy (a bit too much). He was the definition of perfect, in her eyes. He had a bright future up ahead since the day he was born, he wasn’t going to lead some little life, he was actually going to change a lot more lives than she ever could. He had a purpose, she was alive to make sure he’d survive long enough to pursue it.
He was born to own the world. She got the broken brain.
She feels over and out. Can’t feel pain, can’t feel hunger or thirst. She can only feel what she tried to run away from for so long : sadness. Creeping over her like a shadow, like the last lightbulb just gave up with the rest of her and allowed her to finally come to terms with the reality that darkness grows. It waited for her, patiently, like it knew she couldn’t evolve fast enough to outrun it. Like it knew she would give up at one point and politely waited for her to do so. It brings her some form of kindness that she’s alone. Dogs do that, too. When they know they are dying, they usually find a place far from their loved ones so they can die without breaking anyone’s heart. Without making anyone suffer and cry and beg. Without making a noise.
It’s funny.
She’s always been so loud. She made damn sure of it. Always be the center of the room, the invisible spotlight directed on her, following each of her steps, her discussions filled with laughter, making every second a memorable moment so people would remember her. So people would feel her absence and crave her return. Be obnoxious and have a personality so clashing no one could forget it. Like she only wanted to be seen before going back to black.
And here she is. There is a party in the house next to hers, a party she left and no one stopped her. They are laughing and screaming and butchering lyrics like she taught them to. They are taking pictures and running and having fun. They are making memories to keep. And she’s not in them. They don’t need her anymore. They don’t care about her anymore. She’s over here – literally dying– and she can hear their voice dancing in the ignorant bliss of the assurance they’ll be meeting their friends tomorrow when the sun gets up.
There is no blood coming out of her old wounds opening one by one in harmony. She can feel them, each of them, bleeding memories in her mind and flooding her with all those laughter from her childhood and her dreams. She can feel them slowly drowning her, a pool of her own tears for her to sink in. All the way back to her birth. Her first scream. The first try she made to try and make a place for herself in this shit hole they call a planet. The first try and probably her brain was already wired wrong at that moment. She was never going to make it. She fought against a clock that’s been ticking since before her birth. She was never going to win.
She suddenly became very cold, her heart accelerating in an attempt to rid the disease. It was weird, to have it beat so fast without having done anything physical. It felt weird. She panics, which only adds to the abnormal speed of her heart. She knew there wasn’t anything she could do. She couldn’t scream –and even if she could, no one would hear her. She couldn’t move –and even if she could, where the hell would she go. She couldn’t call for help –and even if she could, who the fuck would pick up in time. She is going to die. She can feel it and she already knows it. And still, she can’t help but want to fight it. Wanting to crawl and get up. Get 911 on the phone and just scream until someone comes. Tears pouring from her eyes, blood oozing from her invisible wounds, heart racing and impossible competition, body giving out under her, … she still wanted to live. Wanting to swim to the surface and breathe until… until something!!!
But alas.
She couldn’t even lift her little finger.
Her eyes flutter close and stay closed. Her heart gives up the race and lets death win the round. Her mind is filled with water where she drowned and sank to the bottom. It’s the end. It’s a matter of seconds now. Time doesn’t procrastinate.
Her ears have another story. She’s too out of it to recognize it, or perhaps only her unconscious is conscious of it, and maybe that’s why she’s allowed herself to die now and not ten minutes ago. The very familiar sound of a door opening and closing with a dramatic urgency only Bakers have. The childhood run of kids jumping on the stairs. The vibrations of the wooden floor under heavy footsteps, each crack getting closer. She might have even heard the crash of a motorcycle outside. A new noise : her bedroom door being broken open.
One, two, three…
“Max ? Maxine ?!” a panicked voice, caring and overwhelmed. Clearly affected by the situation.
“MAXINE!”
… she’d love to jerk awake but simply can’t. She can only try to move, one last time. To hell with the idea of dying peacefully and quietly. She’s not a dog and she doesn’t want to die!
People are allowed to make mistakes right ?! People are allowed to learn from their mistakes ?! What’s the point of living if you can’t learn from it ?!
Surprisingly, her nails scratch something and she uses the little strength she has to hook them in whatever she just gripped.
“MAXINE! Max it’s me. You’re going to be okay. Abby called 911.”
Oh nice. The whole circus is here.
Cool cool cool.
“Don’t let go! Don’t close your eyes, okay, stay with me– Just one second more, please!” Marcus begs, she can almost hear a laugh in his voice, something like hope that makes him think it’s okay to joke about her dying. She gives it to him, she probably wouldn’t be any more professional if it was him that was dying. But still. “If you die now— If you die now I’ll tell lies at your funeral. I’ll even invent some stuff. You wouldn’t like that! My sister wouldn’t like me to shit on her at her own funeral! She’d think I’m stealing her spotlight – at her own funeral! Please… Just let me have my sister back .”
And Maxine has honestly no idea who the hell he’s speaking with. No idea why he speaks of her in the third person. Then she gets it. He’s talking to himself.
He still has his old demons following him, waiting for a second chance to bite him, waiting for him to be down and have their teeth deep in his flesh. Knowing him, her golden boy will blame himself for her death and let them eat the whole of him in an instant. Right there and here, she signed both their deaths.
She digs her nails deeper in whatever soft texture in hope of coming back to him and preventing him from doing something stupid.
“If you die, I’ll fucking kill myself.” he whispers. Not quite low enough, she can hear Ginny scream and cry harder in the background. Ouch, bitch.
The fuck you are, asshole!
“I know! What an asshole move that’d be right! Why are you dying then ? Faggot.”
“I’d still have sex with her corpse.” Abby whispers under her breath, she’s a lot closer than expected and Maxine isn’t sure if she heard correctly. She hopes she didn’t. Or maybe she did. If so, dying wouldn’t be so bad.
“ABBY! I know weird jokes are a coping mechanism but that one was very dark.”
“Move, move, move!!” a low voice breaks the tandem and something lifts her, way too quickly –she thinks she can still vomit. Their hands are very cold. For a second, Maxine thinks this is what death feels like, it feels like being saved, it feels like you’re going to wake up and be okay and put the bad dream behind you, it feels like your loved ones will be around you and people would cry but no one would be dead. No one would be grieving. Death probably tricks people. The “being taken by the hand” bullshit is overrated. Making people think they’ve done it, that they’ve survived, that they’ll live… making it less painful for them. Wouldn’t be the first time the brain tricks humans in weird coping ways.
But if she’s supposed to feel like she’s going to make it, why does she feel worse? Someone opens her eyes and shoves a light in it. They let her eyelid fall shut and tap her on the shoulder while screaming in her hears :
“Hold on just a second! Responsive!”
Just how many seconds do I have to hold exactly?
[...]
As it turns out, because the world is a fantastical place that takes irony very seriously, the “soft material” she had found to dig in the remains of her strength –a literal lifeline– happened to be her brother’s forearm, now bearing the half moons very deep in his skin. They’ll scar eventually and he wants them tattooed. Very proudly. That was the first thing he showed her once she woke up from a sleepless night –or otherwise known as three days in a hospital hooked to a ventilator and different other beeping infernos.
“We were born in this world together and I know you’ve very competitive but I’d expect for you to wait for me before dying.” which their mom didn’t find very funny though Maxine saw a nurse hide her laugh under her mask. If it wasn’t for the joke, Maxine would think this is just a random operation but she can feel the panic in his eyes when he looks over her every feature. As if, if he looks long enough, he’ll understand what happened and stop it from happening again. He sat on the edge of her bed, she made some space for him to lay down next to her. He offered a hug that she took avidly.
His scent, his sweat, his warmth, his arms around her, his heart beating fast next to her ear.
Fine. He can’t live without her ?! He’ll have to live with her then. She’ll have to live with herself. Their parents with have to live with them and their problems. And that’ll be that.
“Now that I’ve died for like… a second… I think I’m in a more educated position than you to announce to our little family that there is nothing more to life than problems. Big problems, small problems. Problems that overlap, that wait for their turns… I think the point of life is to have a little fun going through them with people that allows you to share them. I think that’s what a community is.”
“Well that’s just dumb.”
“It’s true. I’ll write a book called revelation.”
“That’s the bible, sis. But I’ll buy it so I can read your scripture back to you every time you annoy me. Asshole.”
She laughs, then coughs more severly. And although she quickly stops and her heart rate goes back to normal, she can’t help but feel the tension in the room. How everyone is on the edge of their seats ready to run and get a nurse. She can feel how terrified they are. That's going to stay. The fear that they might die. Or combust. Or implode. Maxine realizes their parents never expected her to be the one to break in a thousand pieces. She also realizes she's the only one to blame for their lack of preparation. So many excuses. So many apologies. So many words that won't be said. And all she wants to do is go back to sleep. She can feel how Marcus brings her closer to him, tightening his arms around her.
“Please never ever do that again.” he whispers, hiding his face in her hair like she could still shield him from his own demons. She probably didn't help his situation either. She did, for a good while she did. And she was good at it, too. Now he's grown used to it. It was a stupid idea to make herself be such a support in his life only to take it away from him. On the other hand, she never truly knew that what she did actually helped. It seems so. She brings herself even closer, hiding her own face in his arms :
“Never go away from me ever again.” she whispers back and feels when he understands, nodding in her neck. The places he goes to where she can't follow him, she hates that. But maybe it's for the best. It's not going to help either of them if they simply drink all night and get high on her drugs. It's wierd. The way she build a fort around him to protect him, the way he let her. It's weird that they continuously help each other get better but when once relapses, the other falls even deeper --dragging themselves down all the way to hell. It's weird that none of their friends noticed. It's weird that, even highger than ever, she knew when to stop him. It's weird that, even drunk out of his mind, he still knew she was worse than "okay" that day.
It’s weirder than a codependency. Each other’s best and worst.