Perfect Disaster

Of course Max doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know why she’d expected her to.

It at that point when the barman realises she’s having a meltdown, and asks if she was okay, if there was anyone they could call, and she shakes her head, pushing away from the bar.

“No. There’s no one.” She whispers, turning and walking away, her phone clutched in her hand. She’d just have to deal with it by herself.

Her phone starts vibrating as she exits the bar, and she stares at it in confusion for a moment, tears blurring the words on screen until she blinks them away.

[Max Clarke CALLING]

She answers quickly, trying to fill her lungs enough to talk. And when she does, it’s quiet, not wanting to talk to loud in fear of screaming.

“Max?”

amillionmaxs‌:

Max’s heart jolts in her chest at the sound of Reyna’s voice, at Reyna saying her name. “I... Yeah, yeah it’s me.” She manages to croak. 

They’ve been broken up for two weeks and she can’t even maintain composure at the sound of her own name. Pathetic.

Swallowing thickly to clear whatever lump had formed in her throat at the sound of Reyna’s voice, Max presses forward, “I got your voicemail. Are you okay? I mean-- obviously you’re not okay but I mean...” 

Max cringes at herself, she’s absolutely fucking this up. How the hell did Reyna think she’d be of any help with the word vomit pouring out of her mouth?! “You’re not... hurt or anything, are you?”

She’s five? six? drinks in when she gives into her tears and the alcohol and presses call.

[CALLING: Max Clarke]

It rings. It rings and rings and she’s about to hang up, to give up, because why would Max answer? when she hears Max’s answer machine message.

She speaks without thinking, her sentences broken up by her tears.

“Max. Max, I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. I don’t know what to do. I know you probably don’t care because we—we broke up but I need help. I need you.”

amillionmaxs‌:

Max is on her way home from game night (which is now less of a game night and more of a Lara-and-Brit-distract-Max-from-her-piteous-love-life night) when her phone buzzes with a call. Not wanting another driving charge smearing her record and license, Max ignores it. It’s probably Gabi with some motivating speech anyway-- Lara always tattles when she leaves early. 

She doesn’t check her phone until she’s spread out on her couch with her TV playing some mindless sitcom in the background. 

Max’s heart practically stops in her chest when she checks her missed calls.

There’s no name, but there doesn’t need to be, this number has been embedded in Max’s brain pretty much since it was given to her. 

Reyna. 

There’s a voicemail too, which is weirder than the call itself, and Max doesn’t think before jabbing at the screen and pressing her phone to her ear. 

Max isn’t sure what’s happening, but she knows that Reyna is crying harder than Max thinks she’s ever seen or heard, and for some reason, Reyna wants her to fix it. 

That’s really all the information Max needs to call Reyna back. She presses the phone to her ear as it rings and hopes she’s not running into a situation she’s ill-equipped to deal with.