quiet whispers guilty stares -- max

[aly]

Fuck. For a young woman who normally didn’t swear too much, that word has passed her lips (and mind) far too often in the last twenty four hours. Alyson couldn’t even believe it was reality yet. She was half expecting to wake up and realize it was just a vivid dream. It was the last thing she had been expecting, and yet. It didn’t surprise her. He grew up here, why should he not come back? Even the inevitable couldn’t be willed away with wishful thinking. There was some debate though, as to what that meant. If she was really over him and everything that happened why would she need him to stay away? Of course that was the sort of logic Alyson Kent could not entertain. Thoughts like that lead her down a path she closed up a long time ago, and she refuses to re-open it. No matter how many tacky ice-cream shaped gifts show up at her door.

Alyson bit her lip at that thought. Closing her eyes. She could feel the cold metal of the pendant against her sternum. Why she was wearing it was a question she had refused to answer. It had just been sitting there, on her dresser. All morning as she passed it various times getting ready her eyes had been drawn to it. And each time she felt her stomach drop and her heart rise, and heady feeling akin to holding your breath for just a little too long. She guessed she was just tired of looking at it, so she slipped it on under her blouse. Where is sat close to her heart but hidden from the world. A secret. Alyson was good at secrets. She’d kept many in her life, and even though she was older and should have been wiser some things just never change.

It felt heavy now against her skin, but Alyson liked the feeling. What was wrong with her? It was like she enjoyed the excruciating pain that came associated with Maxwell Heaton. She had tortured herself last night with texting him. Setting a fire she would never be able to put out. It was wrong, she knew that. She should have thanked him for the gift and left it at that, but when could she ever ‘leave it at that’ when Max was involved? There was always that pull, tugging at her heart-strings and compelling her towards him. He was addictive. She was an addict and needed to quit her addiction cold turkey. She should text him and tell him not to come. That she shouldn’t see him. That they shouldn’t be together. She couldn’t be trusted to be alone with him. She was going to throw away everything just.. just for what?

They would just talk, she decided. They needed to do that didn’t they? If at least for her to tell him why they couldn’t be more. It didn’t matter what her texts had suggested. They’d just talk. Self control. That was easy right? Oh god.. but if he brought ice cream- No. It didn’t matter. She could do this. And she would. Taking a deep breath, Alyson smoothed her skirt. She wanted to seem busy when he got there. Not like she had been just sitting there thinking about him for the past forty five minutes. Spreading out fabric swatches across the dining table, the blonde pretended she cared about what pattern was right for the bedroom drapes. Who cared? Any couple that noticed the drapes in the bedroom were obviously not having enough sex. Sex. Max. Fuck. She was really not good at this..

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[maxwell]

Five. That was the approximate number of whiskey shots that it took to get the vision of Alyson Kent at the alter with his cousin, Finn, out of his head. Seven, was the number of shots that it took to subside the urge to take a very large sawed-off shotgun to the face of every patron in that church. Taking another hapless swig (amongst many others that hadn't been included in his shot count, which was some where around eight by now), the man placed the open bottle of bourbon on the floor and slouched in his seat. Maybe he got lucky and her car had crashed into a ravine and she had had a terrible, painful, slow death on her way to work this morning. Ever since his father's phone call just fifteen minutes ago, his forehead had been pressed up against the glass of the back window in the town car - heart skipping a beat in excitement at every siren, scream, honking horn or flashing light. Max supposed he should at least thank his father for all of this; maybe he wasn't as useless as he assumed the man to be. After all, it wasn't every day that some one saved Maxwell David Heaton from the fatal mistake of laying his heart on the line to be broken by some harpy. Again.

Letting lose a very drawn out, very loud and very painful sounding groan, he pulled his head away from the glass and collapsed back into the seat. The all too familiar numb of alcohol had begun washing over his muscles, his composure slipping by the second. It was just a few moments ago that he was excitedly running his fingers through his hair, pressing away all the creases in his shirt and inspecting himself in the mirror. It had been six years since Max had last seen her after all, and what good would it be if he didn't look his best? His outfit comprised of all of his most flattering "modest" ware - a simple white button down with a fitted cut, a slender black vest, a black and dark blue tie tucked beneath it, and a pair of generous black dress pants. More time than he would like to admit was spent in front of the mirror debating upon whether or not she'd like his small amount of facial hair, what to do with it, and whether or not he should just shave it all off. It seemed so foreign for him to actually try and impress any one these days. Thank god it was a short lived sensation.

Picking up the bottle off of the floor and taking generous swig, Max couldn't find the motivation to make himself care how he appeared now. No, no all that mattered was that it wouldn't happen again. He took another swig. None of this would ever fucking happen again. Too many hours of sleepless nights and self inflicted damage had been logged to her cause: the hopeless, sadistic, unsatisfying cause entitled Alyson Kent. He had thought maybe over his six year absence the memory of catching fire flies in his backyard with the blond would fucking fade away. Maybe if he learned how to not want it, it would just disappear too. He didn't want to think of their silly games in the sun. He didn't want to think of her at prom. He didn't want to think about happiness. He didn't want to think about her. Or just how fucking great it would have been if he would have just allowed himself the luxury of falling in love when he was younger, when she was single, and when he was dumb enough to think that it all could have worked out in the end...He took another sip. Christ, he was drunk.

As the car slowed, he could feel his pulse do the same, eyes lifting from the lavished interior of the Heaton town car to his destination. This was no time for him to sit and wallow in the things he couldn't change. No. This was time for revenge.

Grabbing his bottle of bourbon for a much needed boost of reassurance, he swung open the door and exited the town car. God that apartment looked tacky, and that sun was too bright and the car in the driveway...pretentious. It must have been hers. Stumbling his way up the curb, he approached the blue vehicle, taking the moment to inspect himself in it's tinted windows. Resting his bottle on the hood of her car, he composed himself (as best as a drunken Heaton could at a time like this), rolled up his sleeves and turned his attention towards the entrance of the building. A few steps later, which was much harder then they sounded due to his lack of coordination at the moment, he had found his way up the stairs and at the door of the designated apartment he had been instructed to. There was another pause before he raised a hand to the door, placing it down on the cold wooden surface, then picking it up again in uncertainty. He ran his hands once through his hair before resting his fist on the door and banging on it twice to signal his arrival. If he was any better of a man, he would have just chosen to stood Alyson Kent up today. It would have been much kinder then the fresh hell he was about to put her through.

[aly]

It hadn’t occurred to Aly that someone would tell Max that she was engaged. Those sorts of things never occurred to Alyson Kent. She lived in a bubble, expecting her life to go a certain way, without considering that anyone else could have an effect on it, getting angry and upset when outside actions did upset her little world. She had always been like that to be honest. For example, she was so convinced her parents would stay together back in her senior year, that she completely disregarded the fact that the choice had nothing to do with her, and was utterly surprised and devastated when she came home for her first college break to find that her mother was moving out. The world was always supposed to happen according to her specifications. If she didn’t want Max to know that she was going to marry his cousin, then no one was going to tell him. Despite the fact that everyone in the circles she and Max belong to knew about the wedding, and seemed excited for the upcoming union, she expected it to stay her secret until she was ready to tell Max herself.

She’d actually almost told him over text message. He’s been giving her grief over the difference between can’t and wont and she’d wanted to explain exactly why she couldn’t. However, Not even Maxwell Heaton deserved that. Alyson wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive her if she let him find out over a text message that she was engaged. She’d never forgive herself, either. Then, late last night she’d considered calling him and cancelling. Explaining that it was wrong and that she was engaged. However she told herself that over the phone was just as cold, and settled herself by deciding that she’d tell him when he came to the apartment. Of course, that all just seemed to be a cover for the fact that she desperately needed to see him, because on the drive over a few hours ago she had admitted that she really couldn’t stomach telling him today, but that she’d do it sooner rather than later. Of course she made no promises as to when later would be, but that didn’t matter. She’d be sure to tell him before- before she walked down the aisle at least...

She hadn’t really thought of the topic since. That was, until she heard the knock on the door, and for some instinctual reason she really couldn’t fathom, her eyes glanced down towards the sparkling diamond on her finger. As if she needed to remind herself the implications of her actions. Biting her lower lip, Alyson stared at the ring for a moment. Taking it off felt far too deceptive, and yet the diamond was sure to catch anyone’s eye. Frowning, she slowly turned the ring so the stone was on the underside of her hand. Rubbing against her palm. There was still the fact that the band was visible to consider, but she decided that it was less obvious that way. Logic had never really been a strong spot for Alyson though, or she may have considered things a little more carefully. She wouldn’t be Alyson Kent though, if that were the case. She would say it was part of her charm, when in reality those who knew her probably just put up with the fact she never considered anything for longer than a moment or two.

She didn’t exactly have time to consider anything at the moment though, did she? Brushing hair from her face, the young woman took a deep breath. She suddenly felt a little nauseated. Six years. She hadn’t seen the boy in six years, and here she was having a clandestine meeting with him like some cheap whore. God. She really knew how to live up to the worst didn’t she? Biting down hard on her lower lip, Alyson forced her feet to work. Forced them to walk over to the door of the apartment. She wasn’t going to have sex with him. She wasn’t going to be a cheap whore. She was just going to- Oh God, who was she kidding? With all the self control she had neglected to show last night, telling herself she wasn’t going to sleep with him was just not going to work. She wasn’t sure what was going to work, but something had to. Or.. she just gave in and you know...

Giving a low sigh, Alyson took a moment to clear her mind before placing her slender fingers on the door handle and turning. It seemed like slow motion to Alyson as she let the door swing open and reveal Maxwell Heaton. A lump formed in her throat. Her eyes locked into him. Her lips parted and an indescribable sound came out. She knew it was him, how could she not? And yet. He looked so foreign. His clothes, his whole demeanour, it was different. And yet it somehow it was just how she expected him to be. His face seemed to have aged a lifetime. She wanted to reach out and touch him. Run her fingers gently over the shape of his face. Re-learning his features in the new form his face seemed to have taken on. In the moment she had seen him, she was sure her heart had skipped a beat, and now it was thumping in double time to catch up. The top of her mouth was dry. She had no idea what to say. Somehow a simple hello just didn’t seem enough. All she could do was stand there, eyes boring into his now that she had taken the entirety of him in.

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[maxwell]

God damn it. She was still alive. She was still alive and she was well. The universe could never grant him any favors; Alyson Kent was still as stunning as he remembered. He swore it would have been easier to hate her if she had lost her figure. Maybe if she didn't have such flawless skin, he wouldn't be so tempted to experience every part of it. If her lips weren't so full and soft, he wouldn't spend so many nights trying to remember just how they felt on his body. If her waist was too wide, perhaps his arms would stop feeling so empty with out her in them. And if her eyes weren't so ultramarine, she wouldn't be able to see past his facade and down into the depths of his ever stubborn, struggling, desolate soul. But no. No favors from the universe. Here she was - Alyson Kent, as truly beautiful and truly breath taking as ever. And here he was: Maxwell Heaton. Drunk.

Slouching against the door frame with the collective effort of an off hand sigh and a spark of confidence, there wasn't much else for the man to do besides smile. Although painful, he did - his eyes meeting her own for the first time in six years while the hollow center that he had prided himself on sporting began filling up with things. Things like feelings and memories and pain and love...He laughed. Love. Right. Sure. If this was love, it would have been easy. If this was love, this would have been something great. Instead, here he was - an unstable intoxicated time bomb mustering the strength to hold himself together in front of the only woman in the history of man kind who had found a way to hurt him. To destroy him. To take him apart and unglue him, then rebuild him back together and make him feel just oh so alive. There were no words in the English language to describe how much he regretted this.

After a few moments of allowing his heart to writhe under the pressure that her gaze placed on him, Max decided it was time to break free of the moment before he decidedly did something he would regret (ie: spit in her face or kiss every part of her bare skin). Fully knowing that it was a bad decision for him to come here, he broke the silence the only way he knew how - with a smart remark. "I suppose I'll just invite myself in then, shall I? Since you seem to be too caught up in this staring contest," His voice was low and deep, a soft laugh capping it's consonants as he took his eyes off of her and began to step past her in the door frame. As his foot fell over the threshold, it would be too late to run away from this god awful situation - although running away was never an option for the man. He never backed down from a fight, it just wasn't in his blood, even if he did know he was about to be in over his head. He was too heart broken and intoxicated to armor up in front of this wretch, for he had forgotten just how much her appearance alone dissolved him.

"Im glad to see you still have your manners," he muttered with a fake smile, sliding past Aly in the door frame with little struggle. This of course was a joke. She was a joke. If she had manners, he wouldn't be here right now. Inviting your old flame to an empty house under false pretenses while your engaged to his cousin? Max felt the saliva build under his tongue as if he was going to be sick. It was her - he was sure of it. She had defiled his concept of love and innocence since the start - and here she was doing it again. She had ignited a flame that had been dead in him for six years with the promise of her flesh. A flame that he had unwillingly kept alive even after he had finally scraped the courage together to be with her only to have her leave him for another man. Not again. No. If Alyson thought she was going to play him for a fool again with those eyes, she was wrong. Nobody made an ass out of Maxwell Heaton. No body.

Smiling cordially, he wiped his hands and placed them in his pockets. If she thought she could fool him, he'd let her. It was her mistake to be had. They had been playing this game for so many years it was his only comfort to know that he was one step ahead of her as always (well that and the liquor). She led him here under the promise of some sexual escapade. A false promise, sure. But he wasn't supposed to know that just yet. "And your looks, as well," he added shortly, biting his bottom lip softly and giving an infamous smirk. If Alyson wanted seduction, she'd get it. If he knew her as well as he knew himself, Max knew she could never say no. Not to a slightly drunken, sincere and vulnerable Max, anyway. The guilt of sleeping with another man during her engagement would drive her mad, she'd break and tell Finn. The poor boy wouldn't be able to take all of this again. And once Max was the only one left for Alyson to turn to, he'd leave her just like she left him. After all, it was the least he could do. She had once again broken his heart, he might as well break apart her wedding.

[aly]

He was drunk. Alyson could smell the whiskey on his breath as soon as he opened his mouth to talk. If she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she wasn’t at all surprised. That was his way of not dealing with anything that was remotely difficult; get drunk and fuck it. Well, there would be no ‘fucking it’ today. That was what had gotten them into such a mess sex years ago. Instead of talking about feelings, they had slept together. Making Alyson a cheater. At least in the literal sense of the word. It could be argued that being emotionally involved with someone also made you a cheater, but that was not a concept that Alyson wished to entertain. Her guilt was already large enough thank you very much. Not large enough though, it seemed, to stop her from igniting the fire between herself and Max. God. If Finn knew. It wouldn’t matter what happened now, but if he knew that she had texted him, and asked him to meet her.. Well that would be it. Her past indiscretions would be enough to make her current one unforgivable. It was probably what she deserved anyway, but Alyson wasn’t used to consequences.

A role of her blue eyes, and the gaze was broken. Of course he was going to be an emotionless asshole about it all. Of course the first words he said to her in person after six years was some smart-assed, sarcastic remark. Would it be them if it was any other way? Max had never been the one to sweep in with epic story-book romantic gestures. At least not when it came to Alyson. He probably saved the romance for whatever little bint he was trying to bed. No, Alyson got the heartless, emotionally stunted prick act. Joy. Oh, and on really special occasions she even got ‘drunken vulnerable’ Max. He was particularly fun to deal with, because he tended to say the very thing she didn’t want to hear. Alyson knew how to deal with him when he was cold and calculating; saying things with a clear purpose of angering her. She was okay with that. It was when he said things; unmeasured truths that she wasn’t prepared to hear.. Things were better when they were unsaid between them. If no one uttered the words, than they could pretend they weren’t true, and Alyson could push it aside and not deal.

Stepping out of his way, Alyson held her arms up in slight defeat. A small sign to show that she was attempting to be the bigger person, and not buy into the bitter insult-fest that he was trying to ignite. Of course, a million different scathing come-backs popped into the blonde’s mind. It was so easy to insult someone when you knew them as well as she knew Max. When you knew exactly what to play on to get the biggest rise out of them. It was so completely tempting that Alyson had to literally bite her tongue to stop her mouth from running off. Just because Max was falling into what was ‘easy’ for them, did not mean she had to do the same. Alyson had grown up- at least she liked to think she had, and she needed to have something of a mature conversation with the Man who had consumed more of her soul than he should for longer than she liked to admit. Closing the door carefully behind him, she let out a low sigh. Ignoring the comment about her looks was... Close to impossible. And that smirk.. Alyson willed herself to look away from him, swallowing, hard.

She could feel the cold metal against her chest once more, and without thinking, the blonde moved a hand up to touch the pendant. Tracing its shape with her purple polished finger nail. “Take your shoes off. The carpet is new..” Before the entire sentence was out, Alyson realised what she was doing. Pausing, she felt her cheeks flush for a moment before she pretended to smooth the collar of her shirt. It wasn’t exactly a stealthy cover, but the idea of him knowing how the gift he had given her was affecting her.. Well that would give him way too much ammunition. He already had her in a vice, she didn’t need to give him a new way to torture her.

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[maxwell]

He wasn't exactly surprised at the cold greeting. While Alyson Kent was a very loving woman, it was a side of her he hadn't seen in years. It wasn't that she felt nothing towards him - in fact it was quite the opposite. It was blatantly obvious her heart still had a rather significant sized section dedicated to him; even as repressed as it was. She was cold to him because he had conditioned her to be. After his mother's death, things were never the same. How could they be? They were best friends when Max had lost touch with the world. He had had no choice but to teach her the only way to still reach him. He had to teach her how to hurt him. With out much thought, he pulled his heels out of his shoes and kicked them aside. He hated to admit it, but she was the closest thing to his heart that he had ever known. She was the one thing he had learned to love and he had turned her into stone.

"It's great to see you too, Alyson," he stated curtly. His lips twisted from their usual smirk to settle naturally on his face. This was a lie. It was not great. He didn't want to see her and he would have given any amount of money in the world to be able to return home and pretend today had never happened - pretend that none of this had ever happened. Maybe, just maybe...if he hadn't come, he wouldn't have known the truth. If he hadn't come, he would have still had the childish leisure of repressing the hope that one day she could have been his. Max bit the interior of his bottom lip. Hard. There was a reason why silly little hopeless pipe dreams like that were adamantly repressed. He must have been out of touch. No. Just out of time. He wasn't the type of man that appreciated being made a fool of. Not by any body, and especially not by himself.

Placing his hands in his pockets, he eyed the woman for a moment before deciding on what to do next. His mind was an atom bomb at this point and any false move could give him away. He raised his brows then dropped them. Max hadn't consumed nearly enough alcohol for that happenstance to be ok. In fact, it would never be ok. Instead, the man took to parting ways with the woman's appearance to inspect the room. She said she was an interior designer, now. It was only natural for him to be arrogant enough to inspect it. Looking from the curtains to the rug, to the sofa, to the curtains and then back again, he locked eyes with Alyson and gave a short shrug. His face molded itself to show moderate satisfaction as his hand emerged from his pocket to shimmy slowly back and forth to signify her work as "so-so." Of course, this was a lie as well. It was beautiful, just like everything else about the woman. It just wasn't him to admit it, though.

"You know..." Max started then paused, hand replacing itself into his slacks if only to couple his contemptuous air. Slowly he walked towards the next room, taking his eyes once more off of Alyson and back to the setting to inspect. "I am quite disappointed in myself for forgetting that vanilla bean ice cream you requested." Stepping over the threshold, he found himself in the dining room, comfortably leading himself around as if he had owned this home for years. Gingerly, he picked up the fabric swatches from the table, inspecting their patterns, their texture, anything possible to build tension for the young woman so that she felt as pressured and out of place as possible. "I apologize, of course. But not to you. To what ever poor automaton lives here. It seems this place could use some stains on the carpet just to give it a little...life."

He was half tempted to turn towards her with a grin and ask, shall we?

[aly]

At the mention of Vanilla bean Ice-cream, Alyson bit down on the inside of her cheek. Her fingers instantly moving to stroke the cold pendant again. Cold, even though it had been sitting against her sternum all day. That was kind of a perfect analogy, Alyson noted bitterly. It wouldn’t matter how close Max was to her heart, he was always so cold to her. She probably deserved it, to be honest. She hadn’t always been the nicest person to him. Though, he hadn’t exactly been full of warm feelings towards Alyson either. She supposed they were both at fault for the ice surrounding them. What she didn’t understand though, was why she was so completely drawn to that ice. There she was, with a completely warm and loving fiancé, and yet she’d felt like something had been missing. Finn was everything she had ever wanted since she was a young girl. He loved her even if she was messy, selfish, stubborn, and as it seemed people in Capeside liked to remind her, a bitch. Despite all of that Finn wanted to marry her and yet there she was, craving the chills that only Max could supply.

There was something wrong with her. That was the only logical way to make sense of it all. There had to be something wrong with her. Why else would she be such a glutton for pain? There was just something wired wrong in her brain. That’s what she had to keep reminding herself. That her behaviour was just not normal. Maybe she needed professional help? Alyson considered that thought, but really.. She wasn’t the sort of person that could lie back on a couch and tell some stranger all her darkest secrets just to have them confirm things she already knew. And as far as she knew, there wasn’t a cure for masochistic selfish brats who made very bad choices with a weakness for Vanilla Bean Ice-cream. Following behind him slowly, Alyson shivered as he started handling her fabrics. It was like he was judging everything about her, including her job. Which was probably true. He had looked around the room in judgement not five minutes ago, so what was stopping him from continuing in his mission to make Alyson feel about two inches tall. Why did she let him make her feel so inferior? Max Heaton was the only one on the planet that could have that affect on Alyson, and she would give anything to change that.

God, he was such a pig. Alyson shook her head, and snapped her hand away from the pendant. Suddenly no longer wanting to be anywhere near it. Annoyance and frustration flooding her, Alyson stalked towards the dining table where her samples were spread out. Snatching the one from Max’s hands, she shot him a glare before collecting the rest from the table. Piling them on the edge as far away from Max as they could be. She knew she was probably acting like a child, snatching her things away from him just because he had upset her. Why should she let him touch her things anyway? He was likely to ruin the samples just to be an ass. While she collected the samples, she spoke without giving him eye contact. “Drop anything on the carpet and I will sell your manhood on EBay to replace it.” Hatred dripped from her voice with each syllable. She meant it to, in that moment she really did hate him. Though, her feelings towards Max never stayed constant. One moment she was craving his touch, the next she wanted to scratch his face off. It all depended on her mood, and how much of a complete ass he was being.

Turning to face him, Alyson let her eyes burn holes in his facial features. “What the hell are you even doing here Max? Did you just come to be a dick?”

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