Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Max woke up to the sharp brightness of the morning pressing against her eyelids. The sunlight came in through the window and hit her face in uneven patches, warm and almost painful, and for a moment she didn’t move. Her body felt impossibly heavy, like every muscle in her body was weighed down by something she couldn’t name. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe around her, trying to convince herself that she could stay like that forever. The air smelled faintly of dust, of old laundry, of Karen’s cleaning supplies. It smelled like a home, but it didn’t feel her home.
She rolled over slowly, her limbs stiff, her stomach hollow and twisting with a gnawing emptiness that had nothing to do with hunger. The mirror in the corner caught her eye, and for a moment she looked at her reflection. Her face seemed wrong somehow, too pale, the circles under her eyes darker than they had ever been. Her hair had grown out of control, tangled and flat in places, dull and lifeless, no hint of the bright streaks she used to dye. She looked at her hands, at the thinness of her arms, at the slight curves of her body she barely recognized, and felt nothing. Nothing was easier than feeling anything at all.
The glass of the photo frame on her nightstand made a rainbow on her wall, she didn't reach for it. She knew it was a small reminder of the universe to let her know about el.
El.
She didn't want to think about her, not now, not when she had just woken up. She didn't have the energy to cry. She pushed herself up slowly, dragging her legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cold wood floor. The tiles of the kitchen below felt colder than usual as she walked across them, and she pulled her hoodie tighter around herself. She didn’t brush her hair. She didn’t look at herself in the mirror. Mirrors reminded her that her body had been through things she couldn’t explain, that her mind had survived things she shouldn’t have, and that surviving didn’t feel like enough.
The house smelled faintly of toast and coffee. Mike was at the kitchen table, slouched over his own breakfast, papers and a notebook spread in front of him. He didn’t look up, and she didn’t look at him. They shared space but not attention.
“Morning,” he said quietly, his voice careful.
She nodded. Words were heavy. They required effort she didn’t have.
Karen came in, hair pulled back in a tired ponytail, eyes soft and watchful. She placed a plate of eggs and toast on the table and a glass of juice. “Max, honey, you want some juice?” she asked. Her voice was gentle, careful. She didn’t push.
“No thankyou,” Max replied, voice flat, almost lifeless. She sat down at the table anyway, picking at the edge of the plate but not touching the food. Eating felt impossible. Even swallowing was hard, as though her body had forgotten how. Karen glanced at her for a moment and then left her alone, knowing she wouldn’t fight her. She didn’t know what else to do.
Max let herself drift into the quiet of the room, listening to the small sounds she could notice: the faint hum of the refrigerator, the creak of the stairs, the sound of mike's pencil on paper. She focused on nothing, or maybe everything, letting the noise fill her head without letting her think. Thoughts were dangerous. They reminded her of the things she had lost. Her brother. Her mother. The quake that had torn her world apart and left her with walls that were not her own. The coma. The hospital smells, the tubes, the pain that would not leave her even when she left the hospital. Her father’s abuse, her brother’s absence, the way people she had once trusted had disappeared or changed while she was gone. Memories crawled across her mind like insects she could not kill.
Eventually, she made her way to the couch, dragging a blanket over her shoulders. She curled up into herself, knees drawn to chest, and let the house settle around her. The sunlight shifted, casting shadows that stretched across the walls. Dust danced in the light, tiny particles suspended as if they had their own lives. Outside, the wind barely moved. The sky was pale, almost sterile, without clouds or movement. She imagined herself as a ghost, drifting through the world that was moving too fast for her to touch, too loud for her to hear, too full of expectation for her to meet.
Karen left her alone, knowing she couldn’t force anything. She didn’t know the half of it anyway.