HEARTBEAT

claudia dangles the spray between delicate digits. “so explain why you almost killed her!” did he not hear that? that she knew he almost sucked lizzie dry? she gets giving into parts of who you are. she embraced both sides of herself sure, but she usually stuck to the fire starting part the most. “am i really to be expected to believe your attitude toward him hasn’t been inspiring that? i read the letter(s) max. did you even read mine? only two people have ever gotten away from jack, max, and even being with wyatt for four years, you can’t expect an abused child just to change overnight.” because that’s what it was, abuse. abuse claudia experienced but to a different extent. “our lovely father BEAT HIM and TURNED HIM INTO A KILLER. he was just a little boy, max. he starved him and caged him, and deprived him of every joy you’ve ever had. and maybe i don’t get it. i’ve been with jack longer.” not that that she’s going to tell him the things she’s done or the things jack’s done to her, “so why are you treating me like i’m a fucking nun? i almost broke your nose the second time we met, when you thought i was dating him. i could’ve stabbed you instead. do you even know how easy it is to rip out someone’s jugular? can you imagine how hard it could be to look at someone, someone who looks just like you but isn’t you, and know you could’ve had something different? we rescued him from a fucking cage, max! and what’s worse, you think he’s a monster and you keep treating him like one but you drank from him too. no, you’re not a monster, max. you’re a hypocrite.”

he’s reacting which is both nice and infuriating. another spray. “that’s fucking rich, maxwell.” it’s either this or punching him in the face again and since she’s still slightly part human, she knows she needs to save her energy. breaking her hand on his face might sound like fun but it wasn’t as much fun as you’d think. “what is up with me? i’m not drunk enough to handle how stupid you are. you’re a fucking vampire, you drank from will’s girlfriend and almost killed her, and you keep treating will like shit! so again, what the fuck is wrong with you max?” another spray.

@earnyccrstripes

“What,” she spoke through clenched teeth, spraying the other with the spray bottle in her hand, “the,” another spray, “fuck,” and another one, “IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

    he wondered— could max even eat now? how did food taste to him? did max even care? “sure.” any kind of cookies sounded pretty damn nice right now. “daisy…” he wondered how she took this. he knew she loved max so damn much, it couldn’t be easy to learn that he died. (it still wasn’t easy for will, to think about it in actuality. that max was now dead. undead. ) he gave max a look of wonder because WHAT DID HE EVEN MEAN? “what are…. what are you talking about?” because honestly what the fuck did he mean? killing max??? that was never something that had been on the table, not ever. what the fuck was wrong with him? a sigh left his lips, blood was still on his clothes and he still felt DRAINED. “ya think?” he did, honestly. he couldn’t walk even if he tried. “i feel like…” a pause because he NEEDED a pause. “not good.” more like he was going to pass out any given moment. 

  “i thought you might.” it was small, his delivery, but earnest. he could see it, max having some sort of cookies just lying around somewhere. it wasn’t so hard to believe. “i’ll take them then.” he needed all the food he could get, cross or not. he was too depleted to do much of anything, he needed fucking energy. (should he be angry? at max? probably, that voice that sounded remarkably like lizzie SCREAMED. ) he caught it, slow in opening it but fast to shove it down his throat. “thanks for the vote of confidence.” he was PROBABLY right though. then there was liquid over his hands ( a bit of a ew but he wasn’t one to make big of this kind of shit when he was so out of it ) so he washed the blood off as best as he could. wiping wet hands against the stupid floor to take the staining blood out of his skin. “i might need…” even now, he hated to ask. to ask to CRASH here, just for a small ten minutes of shutting his eyes. he needed it. 

 he wasn’t. not good at all. and there was something unnerving about hearing his own voice used that stupid word, dude. “you have cookies?” because now he wanted a damn cookie. ( for a brief instant he remembered lizzie’s bitemark on her arm, he wondered why max went straight for the neck, then decided he would rather not know ). ragged breathes escaped his lips as he lent against the wall for the support that he very much needed. “thanks.” he said thoughtlessly, just grateful for the water and then gulping it down like his life depended on it. it helped and it didn’t, he was able to move some– put hands on his wounds and then OH. blood on his hands. it made him feel a sense of ill. “is there somewhere to wash up?” the blood made him feel– it made him remember THINGS. 

            of course being tortured by their dad, will knew the pain of so many fucking things he knew spikes and he knew tight knots. he knew asphyxia and he knew the burning sensation of flesh RIPPING. but biting? blood being taken? by someone he loves? that one, it was admittedly new. there had been waiting and waiting and waiting for it to be over and then it just WASN’T. max was going to kill him, or he was taking sweet time. still he wasn’t fighting back ( was he DUMB? ). or was it something else? fuck, if he knew. his knees buckled down from beneath him— he felt DRAINED. to say the very least. there was blood, on his throat and then his shirt too— fuck. ( wyatt was going to find out, eventually. would there be a lecture or a hug or cursing? ). “i…” he was going to set something up, a supply. yet, words felt HARD to say. 

    “yeah….” lizzie was amazing, and as much as will loved talking about it to whoever would listen, right now wasn’t the right moment. he knew that much. “oh…” he hadn’t understood that before, it hadn’t dawned on him. went right above his head. “oh thats good.” it was, actually. made it… cleaner. at least in will’s eyes, he thought so. cleaner might not of been the perfect word but… yeah. “i don’t want you to die again either,” not that it mattered much, but still needed saying. he suddenly felt awkward, sheepish, almost afraid in the response to the small confession he gave. “yep.” he popped the p because yeah, there were so many. far too many, dead by his two hands when will hadn’t realized just how permanent death was. just how horrible. “really?” so he’d take the offer, a stream of blood supply given magically. he knew wyatt would have no problem in helping them figure something out (he was wyatt after all) but then— OH. he didn’t fight. fought the instinct to grab max by the teeth— HE DID OFFER ON TECHNICALITY. a sharp intake of breath from the throat that was being pulsed in by teeth. 

“i think i know her well enough.” it wasn’t said sardonically, not sarcastically, just… confidently. he knew lizzie, fuck, he loved her. more then he loved or hated himself, will flynn loved lizzie saltzman. “express.” he repeated, a moment of unsureness of not even knowing what the hell he needed or wanted to say. he blinked his eyes— MAX WAS A KILLER. somehow, he felt guilt for something he had nothing to do with. “i don’t know the right thing to say.” he confessed. “i don’t even remember mine.” my first kill. “and you don’t look too uh… bothered.” that was the fact of it, and if max wasn’t bothered— well OKAY will was. but this was neither the time or place for it. “i think so.” he didn’t know for sure, actually. he didn’t know much about vampires after all. (he would change that, do the research, now). “better.” he gave a nod of his head, unsure of what to do with that. “we should– i could, if you want. blood.” he could have wyatt find a steady supply, wyatt would be able to do that. “a supply of it.” 

    oh there was something so fucking off. will had to wonder, had vampirism changed him? or was this who max had always been? was he too blind to have seen it? HAD HE BLIND TO HIS OWN TWIN? BLINDED BY HIS OWN FACE AND PERCEIVED GOODNESS? “i think so. never had one before.” it felt weird and AWKWARD to say, something he had been PROUD of and now— “max–” he didn’t even know what to say. confirmation for a question that hadn’t actually been asked. almost ironic. then max was moving and there was an unnerving feeling– he felt it in his stomach, in his chest. will didn’t know much about vampires but– but he did know– (  oh god were those FANGS—- ) “how do you get your blood?” somehow, will couldn’t imagine it was as simple as a bloodbank or stash for a newbie. for MAX. a small breath was forced behind his lips, calming his heartbeat and HIMSELF. “i don’t know if it makes you dangerous.” he found himself saying. “i’ve heard– i heard that becoming a vampire just makes you more of who you’ve always been.” a good thing, WILL wasn’t the one turned then. if it was true. 

he wondered, briefly, if max would change to william or something to distance himself. it wasn’t like him, will wanted to say, but as little as max knew him he knew max. neither of them knew each other well at all. “uh…” so much, to talk about. vampirism, biting, so much. how did he even start? “lizzie,” he began and stopped because he didn’t want to ambush him but rather- “we’re officially um— she’s my girlfriend now.” a pause once more, not an angry look but more confused, almost swaddled to say such words. “you… bit her. max. you bite people now…” his eyes finally met those so alike his own. “you’re a vampire.” no questions, just confirmation.

There’s a pang of something deep within her chest, something she hasn’t felt in a while, not since she discovered the secret her mother had kept from her her entire life — hurt. And it remains there, swelling and festering in the darkness, reflected in her orbs only momentarily before her gaze drops his and returns to the floor, beneath her dangling feet. “I see.” So he hadn’t been looking for her, was she surprised no, whatever had happened had clearly taken precedence, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Think lashes settled upon rosy cheeks as her gaze remained settled upon the floor, and it isn’t until he moves to take his place beside her that she can smell it. The difference, he didn’t smell normal, nor like himself, not like her Max usually did. Yet she didn’t move an inch, nor give an indication of the discovery instead remaining still as her dug her hands under her thighs in search of warmth. His apology leaves a bitter taste in her mouth and for a long moment she ponders as to whether it’s genuine or somewhat mechanical. 

“If you missed me so much, why didn’t you look for me?” Words left her lips before she could even give them a second thought, bitter perhaps that she hadn’t gotten the chance to spend the time she had desired with him at the masquerade, and that since she had been left to nothing but her thoughts. Then she settles into a comfortable silence, the idea of a robbery having occurred in the very apartment she had just spent the last few nights alone in sent shivers down her spine.  Sure she could hold her own but there was no telling what others were capable of. He shot me. It hits her in that moment, the change in his scent, the lack of a heartbeat, it wasn’t something she had even realized until he mentioned it but it all made sense now. The truth fell upon her shoulders like a tonne of bricks. Each passing second was another jolt as the ‘what if’s’ rolled in, like a tsunami, solid, aggressive and unrelenting. “You’re telling me I spent hours scrubbing at my boyfriends blood — completely oblivious to the fact he’d died in this damn apartment days before hand?” She murmured, voice strained as irises flickered from one side of the room to the other. The very place she’d been living in alone for the past few days. It made her sick to her stomach, for the fact she hadn’t been there. “What if they’d returned for whatever they may have left behind and shot me? Maybe then you’d think twice about checking the kitchen.” It was harsh, selfish even, but it was all she could do to stop herself from breaking down. She was fuming, not at him but at herself for not having been there. I’m like you. The idea that he was no longer the human he once was, that he could now match her strength for strength was as puzzling as it was comical. And for a long moment she was lost in her thoughts, processing everything as the guilt she had suppressed reared it’s ugly head once more. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, dark brown hues finally lifting to meet his gaze. There’s a sadness there, heavy and lingering. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. Through all of this.” Because as much as she wanted to be mad at him, to scream and punch anything in her way she couldn’t, her own pride wouldn’t allow it. This changed everything and yet nothing all at once. 

“You thought I was ‘out’?“ Daisy couldn’t help but utter a short mechanical laugh, as she shook her head, stray tendrils from her messy bun falling down to shape her features while she spoke. “In the middle of the damn night?” Obvious disbelief in her tone as she set the hockey stick back against his wardrobe where it belonged, though she made a mental note to keep it there in case the next time someone walked in, wasn’t her Max. And of course, in true Maxwell fashion there was no immediate explanation, no method to his madness. “Yeah well, you can’t have looked very well.” Was all she answered, arms folding across her chest in response to the chill in the air. The comment about her attire ignored, though she had taken to the jersey in his absence, his scent lingering despite his lack of presence. It was reassuring somewhat. And perhaps it was the fact she had just been awoken in a somewhat violent fashion, or maybe it was the concern she had bottled up that emphasized the harshness of her melodic tone. “Okay, so something happened — would you spit it out already?” She countered though opted to settle on the edge of the bed as dark brown orbs lifted from the floor to meet his. “I was worried, you know.” It almost feels like a token comment as her tone softens, and her gaze turns curious. Whatever it was, at least he wasn’t on stuck in a hospital bed again thus it couldn’t be too bad, could it?

“ ... midnight stroll? ” come on, maxwell. even your lies are better than that. and even she’s better than that. safer, brighter, smarter. she’d always been better than him, perhaps this is a mere reflection of his personality. steadfast for once in his life, taking one of the qualities he admired most in her, and watching it blow up in his face. “ i just looked in the kitchen so you’re  probably right. ” on his way in. he hates the way it sounds; like she’s an afterthought and not the sole motivation for the fact he was able to keep himself going. the question lays unanswered, but he can make up the pattern of the jersey from where he stands in the dark. it comforts him to know she needs him, in a way. not dependency and definitely not necessity, in his mind, but at least preference. “ somethin’ did happen. ”  he opts to take a seat next to her, shrugging off his jacket along the way and laying it by the chair near his bed. one of his arms moving to stretch out across the mattress behind her. not yet touching her but a suggestion that he was there, barely skimming the edge of the fabric of the jersey. “ i know. i’m sorry. ”  he was worried about himself, but mostly daisy. ( always daisy. ) 

            lucky. he wants to say that’s lucky. but can he really put this kind of label when, yes, the kid was lucky enough to elude his balcony generated death, but FUCKED enough to die the very next day? it’s a mess. it’s almost karmic. “ at least it wasn’t the balcony, in the end. that would’ve been super fuckin’ lame. ” just like his comment. but, hey, he’s got quite the situation on his hands. some de-tensing is gravely needed.

           oh, fuck. that almost sounds hopeful. sure, it’s good that the guy ended up in his undead life with someone who knows what’s going on. but the information isn’t pretty. THAT’S the problem. “ that you don’t have to be left to figure this shit out on your own? yeah. that’s good. ” push out the positives. he remembers his old man being like this. 

           still, evan is pretty damn sure nothing he says can make this an easy reveal for the poor fucker. so, he awaits for the reaction. he says nothing for a hot moment. he knows this kind of thing needs to be processed – heavily. “ a proper vampire, ” he answers, the moment an actual question is flung his way. “ you got a bit of a stomach rumble goin’ on right now, don’t you? ” blind assumption. it’s just what he knows from others, who are actually vampires. “ i’m guessin’ you do. and, max, this means you kinda got a choice here. a tough one. you gotta pop a vein or—- ” a hand runs down his face. fuck. “ —- or you die. for good, this time. ”

  “ yeah, super fuckin’ lame. ” as insane as he feels, as utterly powerless and struck by power at the same time, he still has the energy to crack sarcastic comments. look at that, vampirism ( apparently ) wasn’t personality altering. “ who dies fallin’ off a balcony? way worse than bein’ a creature of the night no one fuckin’ believes in? ” back home, max. not here. here - anything was possible. his demeanour weighs between deadpan sarcasm and petrified hysteria, voice still low at the end of the utterance because, well, no one used to believe in vampires. 

@earnyccrstripes

           there was so much on will’s mind. from lizzie to wyatt to, well, MAX. a vampire, lizzie had said. HIS max? the same one who tirpped and squandered? who pretty much said i don’t want you in my life. … well too fucking bad. at least, for now. he just needed to see. see his vampirism with his own eyes, see the fangs that bit his girlfriend ( girlfriend! ) and see his TWIN. “… max?”

Sleep had been hard to come by since the masquerade, turns out being trapped in a confined space wasn’t always a good thing for the subconscious mind. And yet it was just as she felt herself dozing off after god knows how many hours that she heard it, the unlocking of the front door. Eyes snapped open and before she could even comprehend what she was doing she was shifting silently out of bed, legs bare as her petite frame was cloaked in one of his many over-sized jerseys. Days she had waited for him, occupying her time with anything that could be considered a distraction, anything that would settle the growing feeling of worry as the days went by, Nevertheless the red head was sure he was off with his brother, probably messed up in something she didn’t wish to ask about, that had to be it. Everything would be okay, right? And yet as footsteps approached she grabbed the nearest weapon she could, one of his old hockey sticks from the closet and made her way to stand before the door, prepared to swing at whomever thought it was a good idea to break into an apartment at 2am or whatever ungodly hour it was, in the morning. The moment the the door creaked open she raised the stick, hands gripped tightly as she moved to swing — only to falter the moment two familiar brown orbs appeared in the moonlit room. “Max..” She breathed, hands falling to her side as she dropped the stick to the floor breathing hard as the adrenaline began to slowly wear off. “Where in all of hell have you been?” She countered, hand shifting to clutch at her chest.