"Yeah I'll make some toast in a minute," I told him and sat at the breakfast bar, hands and fingers trembling from the fact that I hadn't eaten and I'd just thrown up stomach acid. "Promise that you won't tell dad about the article."
                          
He moved around the kitchen, wiping down the countertop and sliding containers back into their place. "I won't tell him. But I think you should come forward as well and help with the investigation."
                          
"Don't put that on me," I snapped. "They have him for rape now. Other girls will come forward but I can't risk dad finding out, Max."
                          
"How about we drop it for now," Amalia said, holding my shoulder as she stood behind me. "Max, baby, just let her go at her own pace, okay?"
                          
He looked at her over my head and sighed, both palms on the countertop. "Yeah. Alright. I'll drop it. Just— talk to me. If you need to. I'll help however I can."
                          
"You've proven that," I lightly touch the top of his bruised knuckles. I'm still pissed that I missed that. Max, losing his cool and beating the hell out of someone. Unheard of. 







                          
On Saturday, Amalia and I decided to take Bernie to the mall to do some shopping on mom. Just a few bits and pieces. 
                          
But it turned out that she wasn't the best shopper. "Wait, one hundred and sixty dollars for a T-shirt?!" She stared at the fabric with disgust and confusion. "I could make one at home for a lot less. Be better quality too. That stitch is garbage."
                          
Amalia explained that Bernie didn't and had never done high end shopping. It was a lot of thrift shopping which she thinks gave Bernie the eye for vintage design. Otherwise, Bernie made all of her own clothes with fabric that she sought through her father's art supplier. Who sold a huge range of materials and supplies. 
                          
"Bernie," Amalia nudged her little sister while we stood around a stand of ankle boots. "Look at that guy. Isn't he so cute?"
                          
Bernie peered at a teenage kid with a full head of curls, long legs and great street style. Her indifferent shrug was full of boredom. "Eh." She turned around and wandered towards another shelf. 
                          
"I feel like it'd be so much easier to talk boys if we were the same age," Amalia said to me, running her fingers along a row of woollen slippers. "I kind of want an opening to have the safe sex talk with her. Dad passed that job on to me. But I can't tell what her type is."
                          
"You can talk boys with me," I told her. "I don't have a sister to gush over gorgeous men with. Oh but ooh. You're dating Max. So. . . not too much information. Shit, why are two of my closest friends dating my brothers? The odds." 
                          
"Well how about we keep it unrelated," she linked her arm through mine and we abandoned searching the shelves. Instead we just followed Berns while she shopped. "Like who is one celeb that you love so much, you'd let him pass your hard limits?"
                          
"I don't have hard limits."
                          
Amalia slapped a hand across her mouth, gaze wide as she gasped. "No hard limits? Okay. So, you'd let Flynn poop on you? Or—"
                          
"Oh gross, what the fuck," I laughed loud enough that a few women browsing through the lingerie shot me an unimpressed glare. Lingerie? What are we doing in this aisle. "No okay. Yeah. I guess I do have some hard limits. Alright I suppose I would let. . . Michael B Jordan do some wild shit to me."
                          
"Mhmm," Amalia agreed and we saw Berns flicking through the sports bras so we wandered towards her. "I agree. He's gorgeous. I'd let Sebastian Stan poop on me." 
                          
Bernie recoiled, her hands full of colourful sports bras and a few black ones too. She glared at her sister and shook her head. "That's gross. I didn't need to hear that. How would Max feel?"