talk me down

@maxxiies

margot has tried every trick in the book to get out of this. feigning every illness she can find on webmd, faking every invitation out that she can, but lauren vanderbilt knows better and margot puts her through the same ringer every time they invite the st. perez family over. it’s almost tradition now, where they’re invited over and margot spends the day trying to convince lauren that she deserves out. and this display has been even more dramatic than the last, because the thought of seeing maxxie again does make her feel physically ill.

but there she is, at the door as the st. perez family arrives, fake smile stretching from ear to ear. she can pretend this is fine for her, but really, the sight of his face makes her feel like crumbling. it’s the whole st. perez family, really, that leaves her with a feeling of uncontrollable guilt, but the way maxxie’s eyes linger on her hurts more than the rest. she doesn’t remember enough of the night to piece together a clear memory, but she does remember the softness in his voice, the concern. and she also remembers the gala and the anger in his voice, the disgust. it’s almost like two very different people.

as their parents shuffle off, deep in animated conversation (albeit fake, they despise each other as much as their children do, they’re just better about hiding it), margot is left standing alone in the entryway with maxxie, expected to have some sort of conversation. her breath only hitches in her throat as she thinks of their last interaction. all she wants to do is run, but she knows that her parents will never let her hear the end of it. she’s supposed to be civil.

“hi,” her voice is emotionless as she avoids eye contact. she’s scared of what feelings might bubble up if she has to look into his eyes. “we can just stand here and pretend we’ve made small talk before dinner. there’s no use in actually trying to get along.”

for as vociferously opposed they were to crossing paths, it was inevitable that they’d be forced to eat their words. the longstanding history of their families made it completely unavoidable but that didn’t mean either of them had to like it. he can’t help but remember dinner parties where they’d sneak upstairs to a bedroom just to play music from one of their phones and talk. they could exist in their own little private bubble, away from the expectation and formality of an upper east side gathering. he’d felt warm and safe around margot, always. now, he just feels cold, if anything at all.

ashley made a face when she heard his words and groaned. why was she so quick to assume everyone was out to get her? this wasn’t helpful in any way and it only made her come off as a bitch. “i–sorry,” she said quickly before shaking her head. “can you please watch my stuff? i don’t mind you sitting here, i clearly woke up on the wrong wide of the bed.” she murmured before going ahead and grabbing her drink and returning back to the table. “i’m really really sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

“i don’t think you realize what i’m trying to say,” ashley let out a quiet sigh before looking back down at her papers laid out in the coffee shop. “this table is not free, because i need all this space to work. yes i realize this isn’t my office, but i just–feel inspired here and need this, okay? and as far as i can see, there’s another table just over there.”

“mom we’re shooting in new york, that’s why i took the job,” ana argued into the phone between spurts of yelling from her mother. “i don’t care about the reason he cast me aside from the fact that he said i was perfect for it. this has nothing to do with you.” every time she had a conversation with her mother it seemed to turn into a screaming match between them. “no please do not show up here. i will not let you ruin this for me. may i remind you that you’re the reason we left la in the first place?” and with that final statement her mother had hung up the phone. “nice talking to you too!” the brunette cried into the receiver before letting out a frustrated groan. “i swear my mom is a bigger drama queen than all of the upper east side.”

she can’t look at maxxie and control her heart rate at the same time. the memories he brings back make her anxious and now, there’s more to add to that. she doesn’t remember all the things she said that night, the apologies between sobs, the confession that she misses him and wants him back in her life. to margot, he knows none of that, and she’s left wondering if he really only helped her because he was a nice guy or if there was more to it than that. but everything she wants to say gets caught in her throat.

“only because you were in my way,” she points out, matter-of-fact. margot knows that maxxie has already seen too much weakness from her and she feels the need to try to establish herself as strong. maybe then, he’ll disregard what he’s seen of her to be a fluke. she clings desperately to this notion of herself that she wants to preserve, not understanding that it’s already too late. “whatever,” she dismisses his request, “it hardly matters. you’re not exactly a prominent person in my life.”

but he’s right. they do keep butting heads, despite how much she’d like to avoid him. “don’t act like this is my fault that you keep appearing in places where i am,” she argues. “do whatever you have to in order to revise and hopefully it’ll keep you out of my way next time.” there’s so many thank yous on her lips that she doesn’t have the courage to say. he’s the only one that could possibly understand how scared she was – he saw it himself – and how much she needed him. all she wants to do is collapse into his arms and have him tell her everything is okay, but at her very core she knows – she doesn’t deserve that.

something unfamiliar is bubbling up in maxxie’s veins -- frustration, anger, a need for confrontation instead of finding a way to avoid it. perhaps it’s a testament to how much margot used to mean to him that her behavior now infuriates him -- then again, he thinks such childish retorts would cause anyone to become irate. “no, margot. you don’t just get to treat me like this, again. god, are you really this entitled? you run into someone, you say you’re sorry. someone keeps you from passing out on the side of the road or in some sick, opportunistic stranger’s bed, you say thank you. or do they not teach basic manners in the vanderbilt household?”

he’s bristling and he imagines it’s a bit like a kitten whose had its tail stepped upon -- he’s hardly that threatening, even at his angriest -- but even kittens have claws. “you know, it isn’t on me to keep out of your way. in fact, i distinctly remember asking you to stay out of mine. guess basic listening comprehension skills aren’t your forte either? not to mention, this is a public function: a charity event which you should know is my family’s specialty. i’m going to be here but if you can’t handle that and be civilized, perhaps consider staying home next time. do us both a favor.”

Giulia watched him with concern, still worried by how stressed he appeared to be, but all she could do was offer him a warm smile and hope it offered some relief. “I understand, my parents are the exact same way—especially my mother who used to make me try on dresses for her. But on the bright side, you’ll never have to worry about not having a suit to wear.” She replied with optimism. She gives him an understanding nod when he told her he was always stressed. Giulia could certainly relate to that as she was continuously stressed herself. Her plastered smiles and cheery exterior just seemed to serve as a good mask. “Don’t worry I’ve got you, but it’s alright to be anxious Maxxie. Sometimes it’s best to be forward with it—or so I’ve heard. Nevertheless, I know just the place to take the breather you need.” She began, taking a step closer to him. “There’s a patio towards the end of the venue that no one ever seems to acknowledge, but I like to think of it as a secret hideaway. Come on, I’ll take you.” She told him, offering her hand.