He Lays in the Reins [AN/?] ML, MATURE *JULY 16*

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Re: He Lays in the Reins [27/?] ML, MATURE *JAN 22*

Post by azure_horizon »

Part 28

October 2005, Michael in LA
When Michael did eventually get to LA, Rod was the one to pick him up at the airport. Rod had replaced Nicholas as Max’s manager after the whole Carmen Tedesko fiasco (it had been him that leaked the ‘story’ of Max’s illicit ‘affair’ with the super model and Max had not been happy) and from what Michael could tell, he’d been doing a pretty good job of managing the new Moody Max.

Until now, anyway.

When Rod had been hired, Michael had been part of the ‘interview team’ Max had put together. And when it was finalised that it was Rod who would get the job, Michael had taken him aside and explained the whole Liz situation to him. Rod had been aghast – how could no one know about this? – but he’d acquiesced to Michael’s two demands. One, never, ever, ever leak this story. And two, if anything happens – call him and he’d come out. No matter what, no matter when.

Max had been sure that such a call would be unnecessary. And yet here Michael was, speeding along the freeway in a blacked out SUV, listening to Rod’s frantic ramblings.

“I tried to get in but he’s changed the locks on his house.” Michael winced. Already? “He won’t answer any calls. His machine won’t take anymore messages; I tried to get a look in the windows but he’s pulled the curtains.”

“When did you last see him?” Michael queried, watching the LA scenery fly by without actually taking any of it in.

“Just after he trashed the make up trailer?” Michael winced again. “He’d just taken a ‘personal call’ and then... wham. Clammed up. So, we left him to it thinking he just needed some time. And then... well... you should have seen that trailer, man. There were dents in the metal walls and everything. His hand was pretty fucked up but he just jumped into his car and...”

“How did you know it was about Liz?”

Rod shook his head, manoeuvring through the traffic.

“I didn’t,” he answered, still shaking his head. “Not until I had a missed call from you. I wasn’t even going to call you – he gets moody a lot these days, since...”

He didn’t need to continue but Michael responded with a nod anyway.

“Yeah.” He ran his hand over his face. “You speak to anyone else about this?”

“I had to spin some cock-shit story to the studio but other than that, not a word man. Not a word.” Michael nodded. “Not even the po-lees. I could have, to get them to break down that door but then you called and I knew you would come...” He dug out his cell phone from a pile of trash on the dashboard and pressed a few buttons. Michael heard one ring then the sound of Max’s voicemail. They both sighed in disappointment, even though they knew he wouldn’t answer. “Let’s hope you can get through to him.”

Michael nodded, not sure he was really up to the challenge.

--

“Want me to come with you?” Rod asked as he dropped Michael off outside Max’s home but Michael shook his head and Rod nodded. “Good luck,” he continued as Michael shut the door. He returned the sentiment with a nod and hauled his carry-on over his shoulder.

--

Three hours later, he was still out on the steps.

“Come on to fuck, Max, it might be LA but my ass is still freezing sitting here. It’s shady this side of the house,” he grumbled loudly, not even knowing if Max was inside to hear him. He sighed and dragged his hand down his face again, wishing for entry even if it was just so he could have a shower. He’d even settle for just washing his face right now.

There was a rattle then a click and Michael’s weary body couldn’t move fast enough so he ended up on his back, staring up at... what he assumed was Max Evans.

“Holy shit, what the fuck happened to you man?” He asked loudly as he scrambled to his feet, stepping into the hallway. Max quickly shut and locked the door before sagging heavily against it. “Shit, Max, what...”

Max pushed himself away from the door with his shoulder, cradling his right arm close to his body and Michael couldn’t see the extent of the damage incurred.

“What you doing here, Mikey?”

Michael narrowed his eyes. Max had called him ‘Mikey’ exactly once – the one time Max had ever been drunk – and after the black eye he received for it, he never did it again. Michael wondered if he was trying to incur another bruising blow.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Max made a ‘pf’ sound and wobbled by Michael, making his way unsteadily into the main living area of the house.

“Not enough,” he slurred as he slumped onto a bar stool, leaning precariously over the edge of the breakfast bar in front of him. Michael spied the bottles – two whiskey, one vodka, a dozen or so beer bottles that he could see from his vantage point – before turning back to Max. Max never drank – the one time he did, he’d spilled the whole sordid story of his and Liz’s relationship to Michael and then threw up all over his bare feet. Michael winced at the memory. “What you doing here, Michael?” He asked again and Michael shrugged.

“Fancied a party,” he said lightly, looking pointedly around the room when Max looked blearily up at him. “Clearly, I’m a bit late.”

Max smirked and waved his arm around, wobbling on his perch.

“I think there might be some on the kitchen floor – you’ll need a straw though...” Michael grunted and moved to sit beside Max at the breakfast bar. He didn’t say anything, but his friend started babbling anyway. “Shit, Michael. I am... drunk...” he trailed off, giggling slightly before he dropped his head into his upturned palm, his right arm still cradled under his shirt. “Watch your feet man... don’t think the puking’s finished.” Michael winced and twisted around slightly. “This... sucks.” He sighed dramatically but Michael still didn’t say anything. Max would get there eventually on his own. Max giggled again. “Mikey-G in da house!”

“Thanks, man. Great to be here,” Michael retorted, rolling his eyes.

“Thanks for coming Michael... but it’s unnecess... not needed. I’m fine.” Michael nodded and Max rolled his eyes. “I am. I mean... it’s happened before, right?”

Michael nodded, pursing his lips in agreement.

“Why the rendition of the alcoholic then?” Michael asked and Max shrugged.

“Practicing for a role!” He snorted then shook his head. “Not really.”

Michael shook his head, smirking slightly.

“Didn’t really think so, Maxwell.”

“Maxwell...” he shook his head, amused at something but Michael didn’t question. “Woo, Michael... You know, Maria’s pretty great.” He paused for a moment and Michael frowned slightly, partially amused at the turn of conversation. “Well... for you anyway. Least she lets you love her, man. Least you got that.” Michael didn’t say anything, all hints of amusement gone. “Least she loves you! And not like... everyone else apart from you.”

Michael winced. “Maria’s a nice girl.”

Max turned his drunk stare on Michael, a sardonic hint to the crinkle of his lips and eyes.

“To you, maybe. To me... not so much!” he giggled again but then snorted, lowering his head to the marble worktop. “Why am I not good enough for her?” He asked quietly to the marble – at least, Michael hoped it was the marble because he, at least, had no idea how to answer the question. “I should just... just stop this, shouldn’t I?”

Michael nodded, even though Max couldn’t see him.

“I’ve been telling you that for years, Maxwell.”

“You’re kinda a wise guy, Michael. You are wisdomous.”

“Thanks, man...”

“No, you are! I mean... you could write a book! I’d buy it – hell, them publishing people would try sell just about anything.” He snorted again. “they want me to write a book. Me. Ha! Liz would kill me ‘cause all I’d write about is her and we all know how much she loves that.”

“You could write about me for me,” Michael replied, half grinning when Max rolled his eyes and snorted.”

“Well, I’m going for a shower,” Max announced some minutes later and half slid, half hopped off the bar stool. When he moved to walk past Michael, Michael reached out and gripped his upper arm. Max stopped, sighed and dropped his head slightly. “I need to clear my head, Michael. Give me some time, okay?”

Michael nodded and let him leave.
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Re: He Lays in the Reins [28/?] ML, MATURE *JAN 24*

Post by azure_horizon »

Part Twenty-Nine
A/N: Wow. I'm not even going to apologise for how long it took me to post a new part to this because it is unpardonable. I'm sure that this little piece is entirely insufficient but I hope you enjoy it anyway and I hope it won't take me as long to update again.
Ce que je sens c'est la colère mais dans ma colère, je vous aime toujours
The thing about Paris, right, is that it can make you believe you’re in love, even if you’re not. If you’re not sure that you’re in love, it can make you forget all the faults of just about anyone and convince you that you are. If you do actually happen to be in love then you’re not going to be the first person to have did something remarkably stupid like stopping it at Cartier on the Champs-Elysees to buy an engagement ring and propose to le plus belle fille du monde.

People come to Paris to find love, the pay homage to love, the embrace love. Not often enough does Love embrace them in turn. The people leave, disheartened and are surprised to find that love – or something like it, at least – was waiting for them at home all along.

And when the city is exorcised of all of the fools for love, there remains true Parisians. Those are the people who watch these grand gestures with unperturbed eyes, who no longer have the energy to be cynical about the hopeful faces at Les Halles or Gare du Nord. Some say the Parisian Parisians are cynical, unhelpful, arrogant but in fact they are none of these things; they have just simply and quite literally seen it all. None of it affects them anymore because of it did, they would live their lives in constant misery as they wonder why nothing like that ever happens to them, even though they’ve lived in the city of romance their entire lives.

Liz was none of those things. She was a refugee from a life that wasn’t working out for her anymore. She hadn’t sought out Paris because she wanted to find love; in fact, quite the opposite. She had wanted to escape love. She hadn’t wished to be swept away and yet to some extent she had. She had simply wanted to be someplace else and Paris was that place; that place where she could melt in with the rest of the crowd, be just another nameless face in the swarms of one of the most populace cities in the world.

And still she found herself sitting on the banks of the Seine lamenting love. The mood she was in, she could quite easily write Odes and soliloquys to it and end the whole dramatic scene with an overacted feint into the inky river. But she didn’t. She steadfastly refused to admit that she was even thinking about Max Evans as she poured over the latest Les Langues and compared this particular article’s author to the Derrida it was so obviously attempting to imitate. And if she thought of Max Evans every time she paused at a period, no one would be the wiser.

Max was somewhere between the second and third kind of person; he had been in love and was sure that he still was when he arrived in Paris but now he wasn’t sure the person he had loved even existed at all and, in that light, he wasn’t sure he loved the person he’d met in the city. Rather than make him forget Liz’s flaws, the beauty of the surrounding city and the overtures of love so readily on display in any of the petite cafes was enough to turn him green at the edges and stomp off back to Liz’s apartment in a vile temper. Undoubtedly, this led to him taking out his mood on Liz because his black mood made her faults all the more apparent.

And what made it worse was that she went out every Wednesday night for near two hours and refused to tell him where she was going. It shouldn’t have bothered him – and he affected that it didn’t – but when he’d opened the door one day and found Mr Salt-and-Pepper on the doorstep asking to speak with Elizabeth he couldn’t help but wonder if it was Mr Silver-at-the-Sides that Liz was spending those two hours with.

Because she always came back in one of two moods; decidedly more at ease, or decidedly more distracted and unsettled. He preferred the first if only because it meant he was spared the gloomy glares as she shuffled about his mess (deliberately left to see how long it would take her to say something) or the exultant huffs as she had to dance around him.

He wasn’t about to make it easy for her.

And, he thought, after the year she’d put him through – hell, after the almost decadeshe’d put him through – a little discomfort would do her the world of good.

Suffice it to say, the pair were at a stalemate. The tension had peaked and was held there – a sort of potential energy zinging about the room – and neither of them made any move to alleviate it. Max was squalling away his days in the apartment or walking through the tourist traps behind beanies and sunglasses, recognised by only a few because really, who would guess he was in Paris?

But he was growing tired of it; there was only so long he could stay on the edge before the strain of it wore him out. He’d managed to keep his anger in check but still peaked and that level of emotional restraint was harrowing. Yes, he was harrowed and he could tell from the way that Liz was slowly coming apart at the seams that she was too.

A faint drizzle was ensconcing Paris in dreary light, the almost mist-like rain a fog before the windows. Looking out of the apartment windows, the twin peaks of Notre-Dame were barely visible, the trees lining the river shrouded in a gauzy linceul. It was the epitome of a melancholic, showery spring day and Max was feeling the weight of it pressing in on him. Liz was pottering about in the kitchen – making something with garlic from the smell of it – and he rose from his position in front of the window to lean against the doorway of the kitchen and living room.

“You’re still the most beautiful thing in my world.”

The only sign that she had heard his statement was the slight pause as she moved from one work space to the other and the slight straightening of her spine. Her right hand kept stirring the spoon in the pot while her left prodded the chicken on the grill. Her hips shifted slightly as she redistributed her weight and her head turned slightly to the right, causing her hair to swing gently across her back.

These things he noticed because he was staring at her. And he kept staring, taking in her hips that weren’t quite curvy, her waist that wasn’t quite indented, her arms that used to be toned but now were just thin. Her legs that seemed not thick enough to sustain her weight yet somehow managed to; her hair that was shorter than it should have been.

His eyes touched on them all, even though he wouldn’t let his fingers.

“You’re still the reason of mine.”

He nodded once, though she couldn’t see him and pushed himself languidly from the wall. At her side, he watched her work in silence, a careful four inches between them.

Their stalemate – though not broken – was altered. Gone was the tension, the rage, the feeling that he was on the very knife edge of his control. In its place was a gentle hum, a magnetism that, in its purest form, festered underneath them far more dangerously than any anger ever could.
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Re: He Lays in the Reins [AN] ML, MATURE *MARCH 21*

Post by azure_horizon »

12 September 2007

Paris was in an uproar. The faint din of the Parc de Princes could be heard in the heart of the city and the much clearer roar of close to seventy thousand Scots teeming out of pubs and bars startled Liz out of her study. She looked out to the balcony where Max was sitting with his book and he turned back to her with half a smile.

“I think that Scotland just scored.”

She smiled ironically at that and shook her head.

“Really?”

He grinned slightly before he caught himself and turned away. Beside her, her cell vibrated and she looked at the flashing screen and shook her head.

“Richard,” she intoned and Max snapped his eyes back up to look at her face but she turned away from him. “Commiserations, mon cher.” Richard babbled incoherently for some long minutes about the goal and about the final score and Liz couldn’t help but laugh at the image of her professor and mentor getting so riled up about a sport. He had tried once to explain the intricacies of soccer (“mais non! C’est le foot!”) but to no avail. It was even worse with rugby, which was a sport very much like the football she knew but still so far removed from it.

“You should join us – we are with the Scots down in la Bastille. A charming little... Quelle est la phrase?” There was a jumbled conversation before Richard’s voice returned. “hole in the wall called the Auld Alliance.” His French vernacular did not allow him to intone the Scottish ‘auld’ and Liz giggled slightly and she noted the way that Max furiously slammed his book shut and pulled the door to the balcony closed. She rolled her eyes and turned further away from him.

“Où il est?”

“Dans la Bastille. Take the one to Bastille and we will come for you.”

He hung up and Liz had no time to respond in either affirmation or declination. She looked to the books in front of her and contemplated for all of three seconds. She had been seated there for three hours straight; her back was stiff and her head was beginning to muddle. She stood up and stretched and glanced out to the balcony. Max was still there, pretending to read although she could see from her position that his book was upside down, and she took a step towards the door, paused then turned back and made her way to her room.

Several minutes later she exited, dressed in jeans and a Stade Francais jersey (it was ludicrously feminine with its pink lilies, which had been part of the reason she had purchased it in the first place) and was in the process of tying her hair back when Max opened the door from the balcony and stilled when he took in her appearance.

“Going out?” he asked, his tone dispassionate and Liz nodded and she fixed the band around her hair.

“Yep.”

“With salt and pepper?”

Liz frowned at that and looked over to him; he was standing with feigned nonchalance, his weight shifting from one foot to the other and she would have bought it if he hadn’t studiously avoided meeting her gaze.

“Who?”

“The guy... with the grey hair? The one you pretend you don’t go and see every Wednesday night?”

Liz frowned more at that.

“I don’t see him every Wednesday night...”

He snorted. “But you admit that you do see him?”

She nodded slowly, cautiously, wondering where he was going with this. “Of course I do. I see him ev-“

Max threw down a pen that Liz hadn’t even realised her picked up, his eyes flashing as they connected with hers. She gasped.

“You could have told me,” he murmured quietly, his voice tight with restraint and Liz frowned. “You could have saved me from wasting these past couple of months here! I have obligations, Liz, that I blew off to be here with you to try and work this out and you won’t even talk to me. You can barely look me in the eye!”

Liz scoffed and took a step closer to him but thought better of it and stepped back – she never did well in proximity to Max Evans.

I don’t talk to you? You’re the one who’s been sulking around here avoiding me ever since the day you set foot inside the apartment! You’re there when I leave in the morning and you’re there when I come back. Tell me, Max, when was the last time you actually left this apartment?” He didn’t say anything, and Liz found that her chest was heaving and she tried to control her breathing. Her calculated breaths only served to fuel her irritation and she closed her eyes briefly and opened them. “You’re not the only one who has obligations, Max. I do, too-“

“Yes, Liz but the difference is, you still complete yours. You go to college, you read some books, you grade assessments and then you meet your friends and have your Wednesday night appointments and not once – not once have you even thought to ask how I’m feeling, what I’m doing. It’s like... I’d be as well not being here.”

She barked out a laugh at that and threw her hands about her, shaking her head at him.

“I didn’t ask you to come, Max.”

He stilled, his heated gaze chilling instantly and she watched as his eyes darted up and down her body once before he settled his gaze somewhere on her face that wasn’t quite her eyes. She could see the usually warm honeyed was a dark, obsidian chocolate that she normally associated with arousal. This she knew was not arousal but pure, unadulterated anger. And it was directed at her; she felt a shudder course through her at that.

“No. But you asked me to stay.” Her lips parted automatically to deny it but she stopped herself. It was true. He shook his head once, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Michael was right.” Liz cocked her head inquisitively at him and she sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, his expression dull, his eyes expressionless. “You are a selfish, selfish little girl.” Liz... didn’t know what to say. Her mouth moved of its own accord but her brain wasn’t playing the game and no words came out. She gaped at him; anger, hurt and indignation battling for supremacy. “Don’t.” He shook his head and held his hand up, turning away from her. “Don’t even try that with me, Liz. I can’t...” He took a breath and turned to her. “Just do what you were going to do.” He pursed his lips again and turned back towards her slightly. “I never was able to stop you; why would now be any different?”

She tried to speak but he brushed passed her, refusing to meet her gaze or listen to her half started sentences. She followed him to the bathroom door, which he locked behind him. She stood outside it, staring at the hardwood for five full minutes of silence before she realised that he wasn’t going to come back out while she was there.

So she picked up her zipper hoody, her purse and slipped out of the door.

Numb.

--

The crowd had been insane; the Scots had beaten France in a 1-0 victory for the first time in over fifty years and the place was wild. The Scots could party and, as one of them had so kindly informed her, they didn’t half have a fucking reason – James McFadden, ya bas!

She found it easier to try and sort through their accents than anything that was going on in her head. So that’s what she spent the night doing, until she got drunk enough that no one was sure whether she was celebrating or commiserating because one moment she was laughing, the next breaking down in tears.

Richard and Calum (who had somehow become attached to Richard’s side at some point during the night) escorted her home and when she’d entered, the apartment had been in complete darkness. She stumbled forward and rested her head on the cool door of Max’s room. Well, technically it was her room but it was where Max had been staying since he arrived in Paris... wow. Months, months before.

She was such a bitch.

But he wasn’t much better.

She laid her hand on the wood and sighed.

“Max?” She called out quietly, half hoping he heard her. He didn’t answer and she sighed again, feeling tears well in her eyes again and she sloppily batted them away. “Max... I’m so confused. Why do you want me? How can you want me? I... you deserve better. I’m... we’re... so dysfunctional. But... I want you. I love you and...and... the thought of not having you... of you not being mine... it kills me. I want to be good enough for you; I need to be but I don’t... I don’t think I can be.” She heaved a sigh. “If you want... ask me again... in a year. I want to be with you, Max. I do. I...”

She pushed off the door and walked backwards (‘walk’ being a loose interpretation of the swaying dance she did) to her bedroom and disrobed in the dark. In the bathroom, she wrapped her robe around her and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was a mess. She washed her face, cleaned her teeth and laughed at her ludicrous attempts at flossing before dropping her head into her hands.

“Water... I need water...” she whispered to herself as she padded back down the hall to the living room. She paused for a moment, listening to the city as it hummed up from the streets below, the city of lights sparkling on the horizon.

The paper on the table caught her eye and she stumbled over to it, even as tingles set fire to her fingers and lead settled in her stomach. She lit a lamp in passing and her eyes darted around the room, taking in the absences. Her mouth dried; her heart beat slowed, yet each beat pounded mercilessly against her rib cage and she almost bit right through her lip.

It feels quite rude and a little cliché to leave you with a note but you don’t listen to my words when I speak them so I think I’ll try writing them down for you. Maybe that way they’ll mean something to you.

I have loved you since the day you put that Galaxy Sub in front of me. I may never have said it that often but I truly think that if you looked – even if you glanced at the things I’ve did for you, you would see that. I have wanted nothing but to be with you, close to you... But you continually pushed me away. I don’t know why well maybe I do and if that’s what it is... That’s ridiculous.

You have this idea that... that somehow you’re not good enough for me. Well... maybe you’re right. The way you are now... No, you’re no good for me. You’re not enough because you are half a person – you’re half the person you were when you first went to Boston. You can’t even blame this on your parents death, although I don’t pretend to try and play down its effect on you but my God Liz... What happened to you in Boston? Where did my Liz go? I could see it, I watched you wilt every time I saw you and I couldn’t think of a way to make it better. To make it go away. Well, I could but you just wouldn’t listen. You were so far gone that you couldn’t see how much I loved you.

You’ve hurt me Liz. Continually. From day one, when you brushed me off the day after that first night on your balcony. I tried to talk to you but you just walked passed me and giggled with Maria. That killed me Liz. It killed me. And you lied about it. You encouraged me to go with other girls...

But that’s not what I want to say.

You have this idea of me in your head, Liz. I don’t know where it came from or why you think it because I have done nothing to warrant it but it’s there. I don’t appreciate how you see me; I don’t want to be with someone who thinks so little of me. I do deserve better.

I just... I can’t do this anymore. I have done nothing but fight for you and you keep trying to push me away. So I’m letting you let me go. It’s easier than I thought it was because this person that you are? I don’t love this person. I can accept that people change but the person you’ve changed into isn’t someone who I can love; not when all you seem to want to do is hurt me. So I’m doing what you’ve wanted me to do all along. I’m walking away. I have to because this, it’s tearing me apart.

And I deserve the chance to at least try to be whole.

Good luck, Elizabeth Parker.

Max
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Re: He Lays in the Reins [30/?] ML, MATURE *APRIL 2nd*

Post by azure_horizon »

14/15 September 2007

Michael picked him up at the airport. The night air was still warm and humid, the remnants of a heat wave that had gripped Roswell for three weeks before finally breaking the day Max had left Paris, and they drove down the desert roads with the windows down. Michael didn’t say anything; didn’t welcome him back, or ask what was going on and Max was grateful. Or at least he thought he was gratefully – he knew he should be but he was numb; the voids filled with the direst apathy.

They passed no one on the long highways and Max vaguely realised that it was taking far longer than usual to reach Roswell than it should have and he turned to Michael with a half smile, forlorn at the edges, in thanks. Since he’d left Paris almost two days ago on the longest, most obscure trip to Roswell he’d ever taken with stopovers at Hong Kong, Brisbane and LA in an effort to avoid the swarms of paparazzi that camped out in Heathrow and New York, he’d barely slept and the thought of food made his stomach clench in protest. He caught his reflection in the side mirror and looked away; he was gaunt, pale as the sliver of moon above and the scraggly growth on his chin was almost unruly.

He smelled like he’d been on planes for upwards of forty hours, as well to boot.


“Rod,” he managed in an even voice when his agent did eventually pick up his phone. “I need a flight back to the states.”

“Um... okay. No problem. When for?”

“As soon as possible. I’m on my way to the airport right now.”

“I’ll call you ba-“

“I don’t want to go through New York or LA.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Rod replied after a beat.

“Please...”

“I’ll see what I can do.” There was a beat of silence then Rod’s voice softened. “Are you all right?”

Max swallowed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his node between his thumb and forefinger in an effort to stem off the deluge of tears that threatened.

“Just get me home.”

“Sure. I’ll call you back.”

Three hours later he was on an Air France direct to Hong Kong.”


“What are your plans?” Michael asked affably as they took an exit off the highway and doubled back onto the other side to head back towards Roswell.

Max shrugged.

“I need to call my estate agent.” He could see Michael turn towards him from the corner of his eye with a frown on his face and Max winced slightly at having to give voice to the plans that would surely prove painful. “I’m going to the Boston apartment on the market.”

“Oh.”

“I might move out of LA, too.” He shrugged. “I can’t think about it right now.”

Michael nodded and was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the empty highway ahead before he took a breath and turned to Max with a slight smile.

“You might not want to hang about here for too long, you know.” Max turned to him with a raised eyebrow at Michael’s humorous tone. “Maria wants to set a date, so we’re being dragged around locations.”

Max grinned, despite the chasm that opened up in his chest at the knowledge of his friend’s happiness. He let out an airy laugh that seemed foreign to him and he watched as Michael’s eyes crinkled at the edges as his own grin widened.

“I’m happy for you, Michael.”

Michael glanced obliquely at him, and his grin dimmed into a smile of contented pride.

“Thank you, Maxwell.”

--

This far out into the desert, the sky was a brilliant wash of stardust and moonlight but Max felt the cold chill deeper than he did any beauty surrounding him. He sat on the hood of his car, drained beyond all comprehension with his arms folded over his knees, his eyes turned towards the compacted sand on the ground below.

When Michael had dropped him off at his parents’ house that morning, his mother had scolded him for disappearing and his father had stared at him from the background as he tried to assess what had befallen him in the duration of his absence. His mother asked after Liz hesitantly and he replied as best he could, ignoring the way his parents glanced at one another in despair when his voice cracked.

“I’m just tired,” he’d tried to reassure them and while they’d smiled, he knew they hadn’t believed him.

He’d slept fitfully for three or four hours before the sunlight had made anymore hours of napping impossible and he rose from his bed and stared at the wall for another hour or two wondering when it was he was going to start feeling again. He didn’t even care if what he felt was pain but the empty apathy was sending him into a deep black mood that he wasn’t sure he would be able to find his way out of.

Rod had emailed him after it became clear that Max wasn’t going to turn his phone on anytime in the near future asking if there was anything he could do. Max deleted the email. His mother had tried to feed him and he’d picked at the lasagne before pushing the still mostly full plate away and retreating to his old room again. Michael had come round but he’d feigned sleep, opting to stare at the wall instead of the pitying eyes of his friends and family.

So he was out in the desert with the coyotes and crickets and his thoughts, bathed in ethereal milky chill wondering what it was that had finally driven him back home.

What had occurred in Liz’s flat that last night was nothing more or less than what had already happened, so what had pushed him over the edge? The fact that she’d left, despite their fight? He had known she would go, so he knew it wasn’t that. He couldn’t explain it. But as he’d stood there in the bathroom, listening to the front door slam shut as his chest was cleaved into further fractions, he’d finally understood what everyone had been telling him for a very long time.

He deserved better.

Before, he had heard what people had said; he could understand why people told him this. But, there in that moment as he listened to the silence following Liz’s departure, he’d finally got it. He really did deserve better and while he may still have wanted Liz Parker, he knew that that person no longer existed and that he was wishing after a ghost. He didn’t deserve to be put through hell because of her insecurities. At one time, he’d thought she’d loved him – he’d believed that he could be everything to her – but as he’d stood there, staring at himself in the mirror, he’d realised the only person Liz wanted to needed... was herself. She didn’t care for anyone else because if she did, she wouldn’t treat them the way she did.

And it wasn’t just him; the whole time he had been in Paris, Liz hadn’t so much as text Maria let alone called her. She probably hadn’t even spared her supposed best friend a second thought after their conversation that first day in the little cafe.

Liz Parker was selfish. And Max finally understood that.

The minutes after this revelation were filled with an almost maniacal laughter that stemmed from his incredulity at his own stupidity. Then he’d broken down into hacking, painful, tearless sobs that made his knees buckle and he dropped to his shins covered his face in his hands.

After that, his actions seemed automatic, shrouded in a dark cloud as he grabbed a holdall bag from Liz’s cupboard and threw in his few, meagre clothes. He was halfway out the door when he stopped for a moment, glancing around the room with a swift, practical eye.

He wanted so badly just to walk out the door, leaving it as it was. He’d received nothing better when she’d done it to him over a year ago.

But he wasn’t as callous as that. He stepped back into the living room and set his bag beside the table before sinking into the sofa. His intention was to wait until she came back but as the minutes ticked by into an hour, the thought of seeing her sickened him. And who’s to say she would even care? And that thought had been even worse; that he might tell her he was leaving and she wouldn’t care. No. He’d had to bite back the vomit. So he’d tore a page out of one of her notebooks and appealed to her in the only way he knew would actually mean anything to her; in any case, it would give her something to study.

Even now, he can’t remember the contents of the letter; he knows only that by the time he’d finished, the tears had dried up and he’d been left with the distinct feeling that he’d wasted years of his life.

And now, in his home town desert, the feeling hasn’t gone away. It’s there, along with the apathy and they are working together to make him numb. He wonders if it’s self protection; or if he really just doesn’t care that he’s left her. He wonders if, when the dam breaks, he’ll feel relief at being free of the agonising torture of not knowing whether he was coming or going.

He takes a breath and drops his head onto his knees, his fingers snaking into his hair and tugging painfully. He let out a silent scream of frustration and hopped from the car, taking off at a sprint in the direction of a large outcropping and kept going up the steep face, cutting his hands as he scrabbled with loose shale to reach the summit. It wasn’t very high but in the daylight he knew he would be able to see for miles. As it was, he was limited to whatever the silvery moon wanted to highlight and the murkiness was strangely soothing. He dropped to the surface, crossing his legs Indian style beneath him, taking in deep breaths of cool, dry air and tilted his head up to the sky.

When he opened them again, the sun was tinging the horizon tawny brown, shattered with gold. He watched as the upper rim of the luminous orb appeared, as the shadows lengthened and the land beneath him became ever brighter.

And just like that, something within him cracked, shattered and his head fell forward again as he fought for breath. But he didn’t cry; he’d shed enough tears for her. Anger crept in, understanding, pain, relief, hatred, love – all of it.

And he was grateful; grateful for it all because it meant she hadn’t broken him. That he could be whole again, without her. Maybe not yet, and maybe not soon. But definitely, without a doubt...

He could live without Liz Parker.
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Re: He Lays in the Reins [AN] ML, MATURE *MAY 14*

Post by azure_horizon »

Thought I should repost this with the update, just to remind everyone of the timeline here



April 2001 (L17, M17) – High School, their first time
Max’s decision to try acting
August 2001 (L18, M17) - Liz goes to Harvard, Max goes to LA

August 2002 (L19, M18) – Liz in Boston (2nd year college), Max LA
September 2002 (L19, M18) – Liz Boston, Max LA


May 2003 (L19, M19) – Max linked to rising starlet
August 2003 (L20, M19) – Diana Lane interview (Liz 3rd (degree) year)
November 2003 (L20, M20) – Max hurts his knee in a stunt. ‘disappears’ from LA to recover


March 2004 (L20, M20) – Boston (Liz still 3rd year) – Liz’s friends find out she knows Max
May 2004 (L20, M20) – Max asks Liz if she’d transfer out to LA (Berkley) to finish her degree
August 2004 (L21, M20) – Max buys apartment in Boston

January 2005 (L21, M21) - fight about the distance – Max mad she wouldn’t come to LA
-stories about Max and co-stars escalate


August 2005 (L22, M21) – Liz starts her Masters in Boston

October 2005 (L22, M21) – Liz starts to ‘date’ Greg, Michael flies out to LA

March 2006 (L22, M22) – Liz’s parents die
Max ‘proposes’
Early April 2006 (L22, M22) – Pictures of Tess and Max released
End of April 2006 (L22, M22) – Liz doesn’t hand in her dissertation

June 2006 (L23, M22) – Goes from Roswell back to Boston, applies for Paris trip (joints Masters/PhD)

August 2006 (L23, M22) – Liz goes to Paris (studying for Masters/PhD, gets job as tutor in university)

October 2006 (L23, M22) – Maria hears Max’s POV
Max sets up HYSTG.com

Nov 2006 (L23, M23) – Pictures of Max and Tess revealed to be scenes from the movie
Liz contacts Max via email after finding out about HYSTG.com
Max finds out Liz is in France – doesn’t know where

January 2007 (L23, M23) – First HYSTG.com billboards go up in France and America

March 2007 (L23, M23) – Liz agrees to see a therapist
Posts on HYSTG.com
Maria tells Max where Liz is, Max goes to Paris, moves in with her

April 2007 (L23, M23) – Liz has her personal epiphany
September 2007 (L24 M23) – Max leaves Paris
February 2008 (L24, M24) – Liz’s letter to Maria




February 2009 (L25, M25) – unknown location – all seems to be okay
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Re: He Lays in the Reins [AN] ML, MATURE *MAY 14*

Post by azure_horizon »


Maria,

I know I don’t deserve any kind of attention from you, at all and if you want to tear this letter up and throw it in the trash I would understand. Rather, I will understand.

For the last year – ever since I was seventeen, in fact – I’ve lied to you. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t really a lie, that it was just an omission but in recent weeks, I’ve come to realise that neither one of them is better than the other. It all boils down to the same thing; I lied to you about my relationship with Max. From what I can understand, you seem to know a little more about it than you did the last time I really spoke to you and for that I apologise. I mean, I apologise for not being the one to tell you. I apologise for not being there for you.

Which, by the way, I should probably have started with.

Congratulations. I hear Michael finally asked you to marry him (or is it more that you finally said yes? – either way, I am unbelievably happy for you). For a while, I was angry that you hadn’t told me but then I realised that I had no grounds for that anger, given what you now know. I’m just sorry that I haven’t been there to help you freak out, giggle with, plan parties... The usual stuff we always talked about doing for each other when this time finally came.

I’m not going to lie and say I don’t want your forgiveness. That’s just ridiculous; of course I want it was I’m not naive enough to expect it. You were always my best friend, Maria and there is no excuse for the way I’ve treated you lately. Cutting you out my life – or cutting myself out of my life, however you want to look at it – has been my biggest regret, bigger even than everything that’s happened with Max.

I’m going to take a few sentences to try and explain to you why I didn’t tell you about Max. About what we were to each other. I was scared. He was always ‘Max Evans’, totally untouchable you know? Even at school, he was the star – the one everyone wanted to be, or to be with, even though he didn’t really want it. I don’t even know how it started, really. Just one day I gave him my galaxy sub after he got injured and then he walked in on me having an emotional breakdown about my Grandma. At first, I was ashamed of what I’d done – Oh God, Maria, I’d slept with Max Evans. I’d had sex, we fucked up against the wall of my balcony and he had to patch up my back. I mean... who wants to admit to that? Then when it happened again, I just didn’t see the point in telling you about it because it was going to be over soon, anyway and... But it wasn’t. I went to college, he went to LA and things just got so complicated. I hardly ever saw you and you were always so judgemental of Max because of all that stuff with you and Michael and I just... By this point, he was the ‘rising star’ of Hollywood and everyone was writing about his exploits and... why would I want to admit that I was just another one of those girls? But I couldn’t seem to stop, I had to be with him, I had to see him but it was pulling me apart... One half of me was still that embarrassed girl that got fucked up against a wall and the other part of me was so madly in love with him that it killed me to see him with all of these absolutely gorgeous women.

And then my parents died and he asked me to marry him, sort of and I couldn’t handle that then. I couldn’t handle anything – I was frayed around the edges, barely holding it together and then BAM he hits me with that and you’re trying to convince me to stay and I’m trying to hold back the pain like a goddamn dam or something and I snapped. I fled and I thought it would be easier on everyone if I just lost myself in Paris for a while, let myself get swallowed up by something other than real life.

And for a while it worked. And then I started seeing my parents sitting on benches, seeing Max and you and everyone from back home, I started having nightmares and I couldn’t sleep and I felt like I was falling apart again and you were giving me little updates and then Max’s website... Everything just got compounded. I even dreamt that the scratches on my back that Max patched up that first night burst open and wouldn’t seal...

I hope that this makes some sense to you. I’m not asking for absolution, I’m not trying to blame this on anyone else but myself. I could have handled it better; I should have handled it better but I didn’t and there’s nothing I can do to change that now. I can only try to change what comes next.

I don’t expect anything from you. But I miss you, Maria. I have missed you. I’m finishing up my thesis with Richard and by the end of April I’ll be back in the States – I’m thinking mid-west somewhere, or maybe Arizona; I’m not ready for Roswell yet and I can’t go back to Boston. I’ve reconnected my US cell, too but I thought I’d leave the next step up to you, if you take any step at all.

I’m sorry and I miss you,

All my love,

Liz
Last edited by azure_horizon on Tue Jun 08, 2010 8:39 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: He Lays in the Reins [32/?] ML, MATURE *JUNE 8*

Post by azure_horizon »

Just a quick update.

My granda died two days after I came back from vacation so I've not had motivation to write. Hopefully things calm down soon enough and I can get back to writing. Had to pull out of a few big bangs and stuff, too, so it's not just this fandom lol.
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