Chapter 7

                                    

                                          
          If there was ever a time for no one to be home, it was now. Every single step was harder than the last, and even though I took my time on everyone of them, I still found myself standing outside of his apartment, hand raised to knock, the door much more intimidating than it had any right to be, and full of tricks, swinging open just as my knuckles brushed against it. Mrs. Morrison stood on the other side hand on the handle, outfitted in a tight black gown, neck and ears sparkling with diamonds.
          "Hey Max! Come on in."
          "Thanks Mrs. M." I said stepping inside. "You look great."
          She smiled and did a spin, an impressive feat in the six inch red red bottoms. "Thanks sweetie. We are going dancing. Graham is up in his room." 
         I took the stairs one at a time, as slow as possible, trying to gather my thoughts but had gotten nowhere by the time I reached his door. The time was here and I was unprepared for what was to come, how could I be, but there was no more prolonging the inevitable because just as the door downstairs shut, Graham's opened.
          "I could hear you out here mumbling to yourself," he told me.
          My cheeks flushed hotly. "Oh, was I doing that?"
          "For like five minutes. What's up?" 
          "Uh, are you still up for binging Boruto?"
          "I don't know. Are you going to ditch me halfway through?" He countered. I could tell he was angry and couldn't blame him.
          I shook my head softly, hair falling into my eyes. "No. I won't.
          He stared at me for so long I began to tremble, thinking he might just shut the door in my face, before finally stepping aside with a sigh and letting me enter. "Do you wanna tell me what is really going on or are you going to keep jerking me around? Everytime things start going good between us you bolt. I thought we were friends but you won't even tell me what I'm doing wrong."
         "Nothing!" I said quickly. "You haven't done anything... And we are friends... That's why I'm going to tell you..."
          He waited but when I didn't speak he asked, "tell me what? What's going on?"
          "That I'm broken..." I said, no longer able to avoid this and I did something I had never done before. I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head.
          My mother and father had divorced when I was young and despite what everyone thought, I don't think my father took me just to hurt my her. I honestly think he cared for me in his own way. The things he did may have been horrid in the eyes of some but no matter what they say I was the focal point of his attention.
          After Dad lost the custody battle, he took me, leaving in the middle of the night, not stopping until we reached Utah, over sixteen hours away, into a cabin off the grid. My father said we were meant to live how men lived back in the day, with hard work and grit, before they had lost their way, softened by a government that wanted to control their every movement and my mother had made me too soft to hack it. So he toughened me up. 
          It had started small, and I was eager to please Dad, to let him know that I was truly his son, that I was tough, that I could in fact hack it. I bore his cane without complaint, hugging the tree as it fell onto my back, my rear, and my thighs. Before long his nature became more grueling, perverse and when he pulled out the blade, I didn't flinch away, anything to make him proud. I became his masterpiece. 
          By the time the authorities located us, my father had lost his mind completely and I had become more than a little feral. The end result being dad shooting it out with the police, dying in the process, and me fleeing into the woods for almost a month, biting off the finger of one officer and stabbing another, before I was finally apprehended. I think he would have been proud.
          Tasha had led the man hunt for the FBI, day and night, relentlessly searching for a trail that did not exist. In the process she and my mother had bonded in a way that was unexplainable to someone who wasn't a mother themself. Over time I adjusted to being home, to the real world, and they were finally able to take their relationship to the next level.
          
          Explaining this was easier than I thought it would be. Though it started slowly, the words began to rush from my mouth like water breaking free of a dam and I realized that this had been building up inside of me for so long that I needed to get it out... Had to get it out. 
           When I was done I stood there, motionless, breathing hard, almost panting like a dog. I was glad it was out there, finished, and for the first time in a long time I honestly felt as if I could face what happened next... Even the pity in Graham's eyes but when I looked up, it wasn't pity that I found there. 
          He stepped forward, close enough to where I could feel his breath on my face, warm and moist, smelling vaguely of cinnamon. His hand came up slowly, palm out, fingers splayed, and I flinched. I had never shown anyone my scars before, much less let anyone touch them, and the feeling was electric, taking my breath away as he traced the lines and swirls with his fingertips.
          "You're not broken," he whispered, setting his chin a top of my head and wrapping his arms around me. "You're perfect."