#maxfactcr

☓ ☓ ☓

     “M’not.... Not wasted? What’s a person not allowed to like tequila?” Maybe she’d had one too many sips. Or– Half a bottle. The glass hanging limply from her fingers as she shakily stood up on the foot of her bed. “C’mon and drink with me wonder woman, er are you suddenly a straight edge?” It was then that she held out the bottle toward the girl, a slight grin spreading at her lips. “I really need this right now.”

                He’s smirking at her as he says it, tone dripping with cruel sarcasm – there’s no reason why she’d take it literally, but she does, and it catches him off guard. He actually scowls at her in momentary confusion before replying.

           haHA,,,,,,,,,,,, || no longer accepting

                        + @maxfactcr​

          petite palms raise, reaching downwards to scoop up

             a simple button down, one of her many.

             she shed off an expensive-looking blouse, a gift, 

             now tainted with impure memories, as well as mud.

             they’d pushed her, cackling as her crumpled form lay

             in an aftermath of last night’s rainstorm.

             &&. of course they took photos. 

             she’d replaced her skirt with a different one, pleated &&.

             clean, one of a navy hue. 

             her knees poked out from the crimped folds, bruised &&.

             scraped, blood freshly spillt. 

             she peels off a camisole, before wiping the thin chain around

             her neck, pausing to look at it, a cross. 

             she seems to stop, looking into her reflection within the 

             bathroom mirror. 

             her brassiere covers full breasts, a small ribbon centered

             in betwixt her mounds. stretch marks peeked out from the

             waist of her skirt, slightly above her navel. 

             she wasn’t stick thin, like everyone here. she was short, 

             &&. chubby, one’d be so far as to say FAT. 

             one more thing for them to HATE.

             look left. 

             in the doorway, she’s staring. kate stares back. 

             everything connects, quickly covering her upper half with

              the aforementioned garment, a flustered expression painted

             upon her features.

                        ‘  SORRY !!

She stops for a moment, the rising and falling of the butterflies in her stomach making her uneasy.

She... She said yes?

There was no way this was a joke, it was as real as it gets; Max said yes to her proposal. Ally couldn’t respond, she was so nervous that it prevented her from speaking, yeah; it was that bad. her hand slowly raises, hesitantly placing the ring on the others finger with a nervous smile, she’s happy... But now what?

Just don’t cry, you need to be strong, but it’s okay, right..? It’s fine, it’s...

Already she was tearing up, giving a nod to everything Max said, she won’t be the one wearing a dress, though.

Emergency... Help...

 They kept having to restrain him at first. Restraints only made it worse. For the first month, he followed a pattern. Wake up, not eat, go to group, lash out, talk to a therapist and refuse to say shit, get violent with something, get dosed, get restrained, and pass out. Almost every day. It was as if he thought he could force them to release him if he acted out. Not taking his meds until they had to actually force him was stupid. Refusing to eat caused trouble. He attacked staff and had to be given shots to calm down. Shots like that night with Rachel…  The panic attacks and flashbacks happened anytime they brought up ANY of it. Chloe Price, Rachel, Jefferson, or his father. He was so violent and full of RAGE that he had to be separated from the other patients. Most of his time he spent alone.

The medicine is killing me. I won’t lay down, I won’t give in. 

Month two took forever to arrive. He was drugged up most the time. He still refused to say shit about his dad. Even if they seemed to know he was abused. His dad would disown him if he said shit. He bet these people would tell him everything like the old therapists. They constantly tried to make him remember. He could replay shooting Chloe in his head over and over, and he still couldn’t believe it really happened. That moment, his arrest, his trial, everything. It had all been one long nightmare. He just wanted to wake up. He hated always being watched, and they ALWAYS were. He was on HRSA because of his cuts and burns. He still fought. Refused to talk. Sometimes the doctors would sit with him for over an hour waiting for him to say something, and he wouldn’t fucking speak. He had no idea what he was trying to prove. He was just so angry. He verbally attacked anyone who tried to help him. If they touched him, he attacked. Kicking, punching, scratching, even biting. Well, they made him cut all his fingernails from him digging them into his own skin til he bled, but he tried.

The medicine is killing me. Some pieces have gone missing. 

By month three, he realized it. He was pissed at himself. Not everyone. He just wanting to disappear. He couldn’t bring himself to work with them. He still lashed out. He still hardly spoke. He never had any visitors. Victoria and Kristine would call sometimes, but he started refusing their calls eventually. It felt so wrong… Like they were afraid of him. Like they… Didn’t care about him. Then again, no one ever had. It wasn’t until then that he slowed down on the violent behavior and they started allowing him to be around other people. He kept to himself mostly. He never realized how much he LOVED drinking. He even suffered a few withdraws at first. He had been on way too many drugs. It wasn’t until almost his fourth month that he’d talk about Jefferson and Rachel. Just BARELY. He felt more broken than ever. He felt trapped. He felt like he should have died instead of Chloe. He just had to keep reminding himself he didn’t MEAN to shoot her. Not like it helped at all.

Halfway through his fourth month, and he had only made a tiny bit of progress. He hadn’t really spoken much since he was allowed among other people. He seemed almost catatonic at times. He felt like a living corpse. Of course, he was ready to turn down whatever visitor came. But he didn’t. He didn’t think it mattered much anymore. He would probably be here forever. He was in the day room, sitting alone.

“N-No--    It’s fine...”

Sure, she was flustered as all hell, she was nervous; Ally didn’t want Max to stop, it was just how she handled it on the outside that seemed otherwise.  Her hands shift to the others sides, while she was hesitant, she wanted more. But she didn’t want to confess that yet.