gabrielle
queen of angst
ELYSIAN
-
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gabrielle
queen of angst
It seemed as if, regardless of how loud he screamed, no one could hear him.
Although, that’s not to say any sound was to be audibly spoken. No, these screams were laid in the plane of no other self than the starving artist. The ones that would never die for anything else other than the sweet escape of a desperate form of unspoken communication. Expression. It was all that mattered in this world of art, but how much was it worth if your words were never heard, regardless of how often or how loudly they were shouted?
Maxwell sighed, breathing heavily as he wiped the sweat from his brow as his form stilled. It was this kind of thinking that threw him off. It was a distraction more than anything. That self-doubt took away from the emotion he was trying to convey through his routine, and now all he had left were tired muscles and lungs that were screaming for a break. He loved to dance, but this was most certainly his least favorite part. He’d been in the empty studio without a single idle moment for hours now, but all that was left in him was a frustrated exhaustion. It was almost as if no amount of practice ever sated his overwhelming need to perfect every ability, even as he knew that no such form of perfection ever truly existed. Perfection existed in self-worth, he knew, but it was something that was almost entirely lacking.
In truth, he liked things being that way. For if he grew to become too comfortable, he’d stop improving. And if there was one thing he wanted most in the world, it was to be his very best self. How hypocritical was it to only apply that to his abilities and not his mental state? It was sure to take such a toll on him at some point to where he’d never be able to become anything should his head be in the wrong place. It most certainly already has to some extent, and it could be seen in the scars of before. Namely, the mar of a suicide attempt made in the days of his earlier youth. Back whenever he was reckless and impatient. Angry and full of hatred. He’d like to say that he’s grown to be much more since then, but perhaps that was just purely hopeful wishing. At the end of it all, people never really change, do they? They just grow to be more, and quite frankly, he hasn’t felt like he’s done much of it. The only thing that’s changed has been that the feelings were brushed away and focused on something other than death: his art and pills. Of course, the latter was most certainly not a habit. It was just a comforting pass time. Not some detrimental action, by any means.
Some small part of him knew that he was lying to himself. Everyone knew that. Or at least, it felt like it.
Perhaps no one actually knew him well enough or even cared to notice. As it were, Maxwell was an awfully closed off person when it came to sharing personal details, and he never stuck around one place long enough for anyone to ever notice him when he was high. They just knew the feening side of him. The one that laid hyper-focused on his ambitions. The perfectionist that always had an anxious impatience at the back of his neck, bouncing on his toes and fidgeting with anything in hand as if he could never stay still. The Max that seemed to always have an itch and somewhere to be or something to do.
But it wasn’t a problem. He’d swear on it.
Max stared up at the ceiling, his eyes burning and spots appearing within his sight. He’d laid down on the floor of the studio for this silent, unproductive moment as he’d let his body cool down. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and heat radiate from his skin. It was an awful moment of existence, yet one of the most satisfying ones in the world. That is when it goes without interruption.
The ringtone from his phone rang out, muffled from inside the bag pressed against the wall. In a moment of silent protest, he ignored it, trying to will himself to stay calm. But as it always does, aggravation quickly started lacing into himself at the incessant noise, and soon enough, he was angrily pushing himself up to reach for the vehement device. He’d answered with an agitated “What?” without bothering to check the name of the caller and thoroughly felt as if he’d made an ass of himself as it was good news.
He’d finally gotten in touch with a dealer for this town.
It had taken a while considering he’d moved here for the summer on short notice and hadn’t known anyone in the vicinity. Well, aside for Alaura, but that girl was an entirely different entity alone. She was a familiar face that he hadn’t previously paid much mind to, but in a sea of strangers, she had instantly caught his eye. It was nice to have the familiarity say the least, but as it were, he was bad at socializing when it came to making friends while focusing on his studies. Max was just far too focused on the instruction in those moments, and after classes ended, he was always too tired to try and speak with anyone. He truly was too sucked into his own world and seemed to only venture out of it when it came to making friends in order to get in touch with a plug. It was a warning sign he was aware of, yet refused to acknowledge as a problem. Even as he held onto the few dollars he had for dinner within his pocket and was soon leaving the studio to make his way to blow it on another form of escape.
As he stepped out of the building, Max zipped up his jacket and went on his way. He felt ridiculous dressing so warmly in the middle of the summer, but as far as he was concerned, New York’s summer was basically autumn weather where he’s from. It was beyond him for how he’d survive the winter.
The walk was mostly uninterrupted aside for a lingering paranoia, but he brushed the feeling aside. That anxiety was always there in him mostly at any moment, so he didn’t allow himself to take the time to entertain it. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t see any cops following him or anyone else for that matter, and soon enough, he found himself at a nearby park to meet this newfound “friend” of his.
It was a brief encounter and not one that any passerby would think twice to look twice on. After things were said and done, Max was left without the cash he’d taken out for food today and instead held a few nights of fun within his pocket and the slight burning scent of cigarettes on his clothes as he began to make his way back toward the dorms.
Although, that’s not to say any sound was to be audibly spoken. No, these screams were laid in the plane of no other self than the starving artist. The ones that would never die for anything else other than the sweet escape of a desperate form of unspoken communication. Expression. It was all that mattered in this world of art, but how much was it worth if your words were never heard, regardless of how often or how loudly they were shouted?
Maxwell sighed, breathing heavily as he wiped the sweat from his brow as his form stilled. It was this kind of thinking that threw him off. It was a distraction more than anything. That self-doubt took away from the emotion he was trying to convey through his routine, and now all he had left were tired muscles and lungs that were screaming for a break. He loved to dance, but this was most certainly his least favorite part. He’d been in the empty studio without a single idle moment for hours now, but all that was left in him was a frustrated exhaustion. It was almost as if no amount of practice ever sated his overwhelming need to perfect every ability, even as he knew that no such form of perfection ever truly existed. Perfection existed in self-worth, he knew, but it was something that was almost entirely lacking.
In truth, he liked things being that way. For if he grew to become too comfortable, he’d stop improving. And if there was one thing he wanted most in the world, it was to be his very best self. How hypocritical was it to only apply that to his abilities and not his mental state? It was sure to take such a toll on him at some point to where he’d never be able to become anything should his head be in the wrong place. It most certainly already has to some extent, and it could be seen in the scars of before. Namely, the mar of a suicide attempt made in the days of his earlier youth. Back whenever he was reckless and impatient. Angry and full of hatred. He’d like to say that he’s grown to be much more since then, but perhaps that was just purely hopeful wishing. At the end of it all, people never really change, do they? They just grow to be more, and quite frankly, he hasn’t felt like he’s done much of it. The only thing that’s changed has been that the feelings were brushed away and focused on something other than death: his art and pills. Of course, the latter was most certainly not a habit. It was just a comforting pass time. Not some detrimental action, by any means.
Some small part of him knew that he was lying to himself. Everyone knew that. Or at least, it felt like it.
Perhaps no one actually knew him well enough or even cared to notice. As it were, Maxwell was an awfully closed off person when it came to sharing personal details, and he never stuck around one place long enough for anyone to ever notice him when he was high. They just knew the feening side of him. The one that laid hyper-focused on his ambitions. The perfectionist that always had an anxious impatience at the back of his neck, bouncing on his toes and fidgeting with anything in hand as if he could never stay still. The Max that seemed to always have an itch and somewhere to be or something to do.
But it wasn’t a problem. He’d swear on it.
Max stared up at the ceiling, his eyes burning and spots appearing within his sight. He’d laid down on the floor of the studio for this silent, unproductive moment as he’d let his body cool down. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and heat radiate from his skin. It was an awful moment of existence, yet one of the most satisfying ones in the world. That is when it goes without interruption.
The ringtone from his phone rang out, muffled from inside the bag pressed against the wall. In a moment of silent protest, he ignored it, trying to will himself to stay calm. But as it always does, aggravation quickly started lacing into himself at the incessant noise, and soon enough, he was angrily pushing himself up to reach for the vehement device. He’d answered with an agitated “What?” without bothering to check the name of the caller and thoroughly felt as if he’d made an ass of himself as it was good news.
He’d finally gotten in touch with a dealer for this town.
It had taken a while considering he’d moved here for the summer on short notice and hadn’t known anyone in the vicinity. Well, aside for Alaura, but that girl was an entirely different entity alone. She was a familiar face that he hadn’t previously paid much mind to, but in a sea of strangers, she had instantly caught his eye. It was nice to have the familiarity say the least, but as it were, he was bad at socializing when it came to making friends while focusing on his studies. Max was just far too focused on the instruction in those moments, and after classes ended, he was always too tired to try and speak with anyone. He truly was too sucked into his own world and seemed to only venture out of it when it came to making friends in order to get in touch with a plug. It was a warning sign he was aware of, yet refused to acknowledge as a problem. Even as he held onto the few dollars he had for dinner within his pocket and was soon leaving the studio to make his way to blow it on another form of escape.
As he stepped out of the building, Max zipped up his jacket and went on his way. He felt ridiculous dressing so warmly in the middle of the summer, but as far as he was concerned, New York’s summer was basically autumn weather where he’s from. It was beyond him for how he’d survive the winter.
The walk was mostly uninterrupted aside for a lingering paranoia, but he brushed the feeling aside. That anxiety was always there in him mostly at any moment, so he didn’t allow himself to take the time to entertain it. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t see any cops following him or anyone else for that matter, and soon enough, he found himself at a nearby park to meet this newfound “friend” of his.
It was a brief encounter and not one that any passerby would think twice to look twice on. After things were said and done, Max was left without the cash he’d taken out for food today and instead held a few nights of fun within his pocket and the slight burning scent of cigarettes on his clothes as he began to make his way back toward the dorms.
Gemma Nye
ConflictOfPinterests
Alaura had become extremely glad she'd opted not to be housed where majority of her class did. The high skytowers offered a better view and probably better water pressure, but she couldn't help the overwhelming sense of "I don't even want to be around that many people" and took refuge in one of the just-almost-off-campus buildings. She got a single room at the get-go. A part of her mind mulled over that decision for what felt like the hundredth time since she arrived on campus.
Just visiting the campus made Alaura hyper aware of the type of social settings that can come with going to a university like this. There were always so many things to do. And honestly, Alaura didn't exactly find those events to be uninteresting. Majority of the reason she didn't go to anything was that she simply hated being in crowds. She'd much prefer enjoying those events with as few people as possible. Alone, if that was even an option. The only people she dealt with on a regular basis for as long as she could remember were the ones she had to. Dance was a team sport and by all means was she a team player. But she never forced herself into friendships. Many of those girls were vapid.
Alaura scoffed a bit, raising her white mug up to her lips to take a sip of tea. She'd brought the university up as an option for her continued education to her parents, they were absolutely thrilled. They scheduled a tour right away and flew her out to go view the campus so she could see what the university was all about. Of course, Alaura was only interested in their dance program and had purposefully scheduled a meeting for herself with the department head while her parents were in an information session. And she fell in love. This was definitely the school she wanted to go to. Even though all of the stupid student "togetherness" crap they had going on.
To her dismay, she was forced to live on campus. Regulation for all first and second year students. To her even deeper dismay, she didn't have a relative that lived within range to qualify for an exemption from this rule and live off campus. Her expression was bleak as her eyes lifted from the dark liquid of her mint tea to scan the grounds in front of the housing annexes. In particular, the dorm she would have been in, had she not checked a different box when applying for housing. She'd gotten the paperwork in the mail and read through it all, determining Harvester Hall sounded just absolutely dreadful by the sound of it. She wouldn't like it very much if she had to stay there. It wasn't until she'd continued flipping through the folder's contents to find the application form that she saw the letter attached to its front. Harvester is the designated freshman dorm, but due to the volume of incoming first years, it will not be able to house all of them. Lennon and Carrell Halls were listed as alternates, both being overflow dorms. Alaura understood them to be typically for second years and above, Lennon being preferred by sophomores and the remaining juniors or more filled in spaces there with even fewer choosing Carrell. This tidbit at the time she heard it was useless to her because then, she knew freshmen to all be housed in Harvester. Remembering it when applying did her even more good. She purposefully chose Carrell, which are fantastic dorms that feature bathrooms in each suite as opposing to shared facilities, and even was able to get a single dorm since she chose a traditionally unpopular building.
Funnily enough, when Alaura arrived, she gave her room and the dorm a thorough look over and didn't find anything to be wrong with it. Sure, the water pressure could use some TLC, but she preferred baths anyways. There was only a kitchen on the first floor, but she was only on the second and the building wasn't even filled to capacity. Pretty much, the sole reason people didn't much fancy Carrell is that it's the farthest from campus and full of "old" people. She wasn't even sure where that assumption came from. The oldest people in the building were 55 and 22. The former being the sweet lady that mans the dorm's front desk and the latter being a senior business major.
She liked it fine enough, but she couldn't lie. These nights were killer on her. She was able to snag a moment to herself before having to head out to work. Her boss promised a quick night, tonight. She was assured it would just be a meeting, but it's been "just a meeting" before and she didn't get home until much later than she was expecting.
Slowly, she unfurled her self from her position where she sat on the couch by her window. Her legs were slightly stiff while she walked to the sink in her bathroom and poured out the rest of her tea. The white tile was cool beneath her bare feet, toes painted an iridescent periwinkle. Her nails matched the same color, contrasting the purple berry hue of her hair. She'd dyed it a couple of days ago, a change from the previous bubblegum pink, and the bouncy ponytail of curls was holding up well enough to be suitable for work. Alaura had already changed into her light wash jeans and logo tshirt. Her make up was simple and she never really tried to impress anyone. She was good to go.
She went to her room to grab a pair of socks and quickly put them on so she could get her feet in her Converses and lace them up. Her purse was hanging on a hook on the tan wooden door, moved to sling over her shoulder while her other hand reached for her keys. Deeming everything accounted for, Alaura closed the door behind her, stopping only once more to get her phone and put it in the back pocket of her jeans. A dark purple cardigan was waiting for her on the table by the door and she picked it up before lifting her hand to shut the lights off.
But even when she closed the door to her apartment behind her, there was still such an amazing sense of quiet. She could hear the students playing disc golf in the courtyard, but it was too far off in the distance to be a nuisance. She could turn on her TV to drown that out. She only knew Maxwell to live in this dorm, and since she spent a lot of time to herself, she never really saw him or much of anyone. She didn't even know which room was his. All she knew is she's seen him around her enough to know he lives here, too.
Alaura made her way down the nearest steps to her room, which was the side entrance to the building accessible only with a key and if you forgot it, you had to go to the front. Her hand wrapped around the handle and she pulled on it, suddenly greeted to a form colliding into her, dropping her cardigan in the process. When she looked up, she saw the familiar blond hair of her colleague and bit her lip, involuntarily turning many shades of red. He must have been unlocking the door right as she opened it and the motion brought him into her. She stepped back and smiled crookedly at him.
"Sorry about that." She says in her wispy voice as she knelt down to pick up her sweater. While she was down there, she realized he'd lost grip on something as well, spotting it on the floor once her sweater wasn't covering it anymore. "Maxwell," her amber eyes glanced up at him. "What is this?"
Just visiting the campus made Alaura hyper aware of the type of social settings that can come with going to a university like this. There were always so many things to do. And honestly, Alaura didn't exactly find those events to be uninteresting. Majority of the reason she didn't go to anything was that she simply hated being in crowds. She'd much prefer enjoying those events with as few people as possible. Alone, if that was even an option. The only people she dealt with on a regular basis for as long as she could remember were the ones she had to. Dance was a team sport and by all means was she a team player. But she never forced herself into friendships. Many of those girls were vapid.
Alaura scoffed a bit, raising her white mug up to her lips to take a sip of tea. She'd brought the university up as an option for her continued education to her parents, they were absolutely thrilled. They scheduled a tour right away and flew her out to go view the campus so she could see what the university was all about. Of course, Alaura was only interested in their dance program and had purposefully scheduled a meeting for herself with the department head while her parents were in an information session. And she fell in love. This was definitely the school she wanted to go to. Even though all of the stupid student "togetherness" crap they had going on.
To her dismay, she was forced to live on campus. Regulation for all first and second year students. To her even deeper dismay, she didn't have a relative that lived within range to qualify for an exemption from this rule and live off campus. Her expression was bleak as her eyes lifted from the dark liquid of her mint tea to scan the grounds in front of the housing annexes. In particular, the dorm she would have been in, had she not checked a different box when applying for housing. She'd gotten the paperwork in the mail and read through it all, determining Harvester Hall sounded just absolutely dreadful by the sound of it. She wouldn't like it very much if she had to stay there. It wasn't until she'd continued flipping through the folder's contents to find the application form that she saw the letter attached to its front. Harvester is the designated freshman dorm, but due to the volume of incoming first years, it will not be able to house all of them. Lennon and Carrell Halls were listed as alternates, both being overflow dorms. Alaura understood them to be typically for second years and above, Lennon being preferred by sophomores and the remaining juniors or more filled in spaces there with even fewer choosing Carrell. This tidbit at the time she heard it was useless to her because then, she knew freshmen to all be housed in Harvester. Remembering it when applying did her even more good. She purposefully chose Carrell, which are fantastic dorms that feature bathrooms in each suite as opposing to shared facilities, and even was able to get a single dorm since she chose a traditionally unpopular building.
Funnily enough, when Alaura arrived, she gave her room and the dorm a thorough look over and didn't find anything to be wrong with it. Sure, the water pressure could use some TLC, but she preferred baths anyways. There was only a kitchen on the first floor, but she was only on the second and the building wasn't even filled to capacity. Pretty much, the sole reason people didn't much fancy Carrell is that it's the farthest from campus and full of "old" people. She wasn't even sure where that assumption came from. The oldest people in the building were 55 and 22. The former being the sweet lady that mans the dorm's front desk and the latter being a senior business major.
She liked it fine enough, but she couldn't lie. These nights were killer on her. She was able to snag a moment to herself before having to head out to work. Her boss promised a quick night, tonight. She was assured it would just be a meeting, but it's been "just a meeting" before and she didn't get home until much later than she was expecting.
Slowly, she unfurled her self from her position where she sat on the couch by her window. Her legs were slightly stiff while she walked to the sink in her bathroom and poured out the rest of her tea. The white tile was cool beneath her bare feet, toes painted an iridescent periwinkle. Her nails matched the same color, contrasting the purple berry hue of her hair. She'd dyed it a couple of days ago, a change from the previous bubblegum pink, and the bouncy ponytail of curls was holding up well enough to be suitable for work. Alaura had already changed into her light wash jeans and logo tshirt. Her make up was simple and she never really tried to impress anyone. She was good to go.
She went to her room to grab a pair of socks and quickly put them on so she could get her feet in her Converses and lace them up. Her purse was hanging on a hook on the tan wooden door, moved to sling over her shoulder while her other hand reached for her keys. Deeming everything accounted for, Alaura closed the door behind her, stopping only once more to get her phone and put it in the back pocket of her jeans. A dark purple cardigan was waiting for her on the table by the door and she picked it up before lifting her hand to shut the lights off.
But even when she closed the door to her apartment behind her, there was still such an amazing sense of quiet. She could hear the students playing disc golf in the courtyard, but it was too far off in the distance to be a nuisance. She could turn on her TV to drown that out. She only knew Maxwell to live in this dorm, and since she spent a lot of time to herself, she never really saw him or much of anyone. She didn't even know which room was his. All she knew is she's seen him around her enough to know he lives here, too.
Alaura made her way down the nearest steps to her room, which was the side entrance to the building accessible only with a key and if you forgot it, you had to go to the front. Her hand wrapped around the handle and she pulled on it, suddenly greeted to a form colliding into her, dropping her cardigan in the process. When she looked up, she saw the familiar blond hair of her colleague and bit her lip, involuntarily turning many shades of red. He must have been unlocking the door right as she opened it and the motion brought him into her. She stepped back and smiled crookedly at him.
"Sorry about that." She says in her wispy voice as she knelt down to pick up her sweater. While she was down there, she realized he'd lost grip on something as well, spotting it on the floor once her sweater wasn't covering it anymore. "Maxwell," her amber eyes glanced up at him. "What is this?"
gabrielle
queen of angst
He knew he messed up the second that the small bag containing pills had slipped onto the floor as he’d haphazardly collided into someone with a quick, quiet mutter of “Shit,” under his breath. Vulgar as always.
Max held his breath for a moment as he recognized Alaura, reaching toward the back of his neck to pull at his hair. It was barely long enough to entertain his nervous habit, but he somehow managed as he heard her speak out to him, asking, “What is this?”
This was quite the predicament. He had about three seconds to decide on whether to lie, get snappy, explain himself, or grab the pills without a word. All things listed were something that he’d find himself doing. Maxwell was indeed the unpredictable type, yet it was still beyond him whether that was a good trait or not to have. Either way, he supposed it didn’t exactly matter in this moment. Especially not whenever he had a collection of opiate painkillers unfortunately lain on the floor.
Maxwell swept the unmarked, white pills up and pocketed them swiftly before anyone else happened to catch a glimpse of his vice. A light shade of pink was beginning to color the tips of his ears, showing hints of his truly flustered state. He wasn’t sure why it was so hard to look at her. It nearly pained him to force himself to look toward her honeyed eyes. In all honesty, this might have been the first time that their eyes had met like this, and he stood more than ashamed that it occurred under this circumstance. That the first time he’d hear her voice so clearly would be seconds before his clean slate would be warped under his not so well known title of the dancer junkie. There were words of rumors in his last town of yeah, he was good. Amazing, even. But he’d never get anywhere with a habit like that. Such talent wasted on a careless junkie. That drug addict was gonna get sent to jail or rehab sooner or later. What a shame.
His jaw tensed in a quick anger at the thought of Alaura thinking of him like the rest did, and it frustrated him, even more, to realize that he wasn’t quite sure why it mattered so much. She was a stranger to him. Just a pretty little stranger... A pretty gorgeous little stranger that he wanted to be friends with, yet never quite mustered up the courage to really speak to such a distant figure. It was much easier to place their lack of acquaintance on the both of them being too busy rather than on his own shyness. He was a grown ass man for fuck’s sake! How ridiculous would it be for him to not be able to approach someone?
Joke’s on him, though. He was, unfortunately, too anxious to really make friends underneath his determined facade of ‘all I care about is being the best dancer in this place, and I don’t need anyone to be able to achieve my goal.’ Not that anyone knew that, of course. He was quite the actor when it came to these things, and boy, has he faked a good show of confidence to all.
Man, was he screwed.
“It’s uh, y’know.” He stuttered, that light Texan twang lacing itself into his words. “Just… um.” Pills. They’re obviously pills. He didn’t get why she asked that question, as it was so painfully, obviously clear that those were pills that had been on the ground. Was she asking as some joke? Did she already know that he was like this and was asking out of some sadistic game? Or some self-righteous take on ‘let me get him to admit his faults so we can confront how wrong they are in order to fix them.'
Maxwell took a breath, rubbing at his face as he sighed. He caught his temper latching onto him in that moment in the midst of his cringe-worthy stuttering. He knew the girl probably wasn’t messing with him. It was noticeable how much she kept to herself; there was no way she’d already know about him whenever the only person that did was his roommate, James. And James was most certainly the trustworthy type.
Yet irrational images of the two talking a vicious amount of gossip had him pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes shut closed with more words spoken under his breath of, “Oh my god, I’m such a mess.”
Okay, he thought to himself. Let’s not have some self-hatred fueled meltdown right here of all places. There’s a time and a place, and this wasn’t it.
“I’m sorry,” He finally spoke to her clearly as he composed himself in seconds. “Where are you headed?” He asked quickly, ears still red as he pulled an attempt at gas-lighting her. “You’re dressed nicely. I could walk with you if you’d like.” In all honesty, he would really rather spend his night getting high in his dorm room, but the words had all fallen out in a rushed take at distracting her. If anything, he knew he was coming off pretty frazzled, but wasn’t that how he always was? What could be done here? He felt like this could have gone far smoother than it did, but the poor boy was trying his best, even if he unfortunately failed. With that thought, there was a small look of defeat that finally changed the obvious anxiety that had painted his features moments before.
Max held his breath for a moment as he recognized Alaura, reaching toward the back of his neck to pull at his hair. It was barely long enough to entertain his nervous habit, but he somehow managed as he heard her speak out to him, asking, “What is this?”
This was quite the predicament. He had about three seconds to decide on whether to lie, get snappy, explain himself, or grab the pills without a word. All things listed were something that he’d find himself doing. Maxwell was indeed the unpredictable type, yet it was still beyond him whether that was a good trait or not to have. Either way, he supposed it didn’t exactly matter in this moment. Especially not whenever he had a collection of opiate painkillers unfortunately lain on the floor.
Maxwell swept the unmarked, white pills up and pocketed them swiftly before anyone else happened to catch a glimpse of his vice. A light shade of pink was beginning to color the tips of his ears, showing hints of his truly flustered state. He wasn’t sure why it was so hard to look at her. It nearly pained him to force himself to look toward her honeyed eyes. In all honesty, this might have been the first time that their eyes had met like this, and he stood more than ashamed that it occurred under this circumstance. That the first time he’d hear her voice so clearly would be seconds before his clean slate would be warped under his not so well known title of the dancer junkie. There were words of rumors in his last town of yeah, he was good. Amazing, even. But he’d never get anywhere with a habit like that. Such talent wasted on a careless junkie. That drug addict was gonna get sent to jail or rehab sooner or later. What a shame.
His jaw tensed in a quick anger at the thought of Alaura thinking of him like the rest did, and it frustrated him, even more, to realize that he wasn’t quite sure why it mattered so much. She was a stranger to him. Just a pretty little stranger... A pretty gorgeous little stranger that he wanted to be friends with, yet never quite mustered up the courage to really speak to such a distant figure. It was much easier to place their lack of acquaintance on the both of them being too busy rather than on his own shyness. He was a grown ass man for fuck’s sake! How ridiculous would it be for him to not be able to approach someone?
Joke’s on him, though. He was, unfortunately, too anxious to really make friends underneath his determined facade of ‘all I care about is being the best dancer in this place, and I don’t need anyone to be able to achieve my goal.’ Not that anyone knew that, of course. He was quite the actor when it came to these things, and boy, has he faked a good show of confidence to all.
Man, was he screwed.
“It’s uh, y’know.” He stuttered, that light Texan twang lacing itself into his words. “Just… um.” Pills. They’re obviously pills. He didn’t get why she asked that question, as it was so painfully, obviously clear that those were pills that had been on the ground. Was she asking as some joke? Did she already know that he was like this and was asking out of some sadistic game? Or some self-righteous take on ‘let me get him to admit his faults so we can confront how wrong they are in order to fix them.'
Maxwell took a breath, rubbing at his face as he sighed. He caught his temper latching onto him in that moment in the midst of his cringe-worthy stuttering. He knew the girl probably wasn’t messing with him. It was noticeable how much she kept to herself; there was no way she’d already know about him whenever the only person that did was his roommate, James. And James was most certainly the trustworthy type.
Yet irrational images of the two talking a vicious amount of gossip had him pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes shut closed with more words spoken under his breath of, “Oh my god, I’m such a mess.”
Okay, he thought to himself. Let’s not have some self-hatred fueled meltdown right here of all places. There’s a time and a place, and this wasn’t it.
“I’m sorry,” He finally spoke to her clearly as he composed himself in seconds. “Where are you headed?” He asked quickly, ears still red as he pulled an attempt at gas-lighting her. “You’re dressed nicely. I could walk with you if you’d like.” In all honesty, he would really rather spend his night getting high in his dorm room, but the words had all fallen out in a rushed take at distracting her. If anything, he knew he was coming off pretty frazzled, but wasn’t that how he always was? What could be done here? He felt like this could have gone far smoother than it did, but the poor boy was trying his best, even if he unfortunately failed. With that thought, there was a small look of defeat that finally changed the obvious anxiety that had painted his features moments before.
Gemma Nye
ConflictOfPinterests
All Alaura could do was raise her perfectly sculpted brow, her topaz eyes nearly boring into his features.
She'd known what she had seen, and knew enough about addiction to tell whatever he was on, legitimately prescribed or not, was holding him back. But, a part of her mind did consider speed. Steroids didn't seem probably. Dancers were in general fairly lean, even for males. Being bulky added weight and made one less light on their feet. Alaura knew Maxwell to spend hours at the studio and she was sure that's where he was before he made his pit stop.
She took a moment to run through her thoughts and eventually, her brow relaxed. Whatever it was, it wasn't her business. He was welcome to do whatever he wanted. There were no accolades given in the dance program, so even if he was on speed to allow him to rehearse longer than the average person, he had to live with his own guilt. No sense in her worsening it for him. She wasn't the type of person. She didn't agree with it, but she wasn't a snitch. She decided to just smile as best as she could manage for as confused (and maybe conflicted? She couldn't honestly tell) as she was. There was a time in her life where she smoked weed and her parents had given her an earful when they found a half-finished joint in her dresser, but it never really stopped her anyways. But she didn't do it as much after her parents found out not because she got scolded, but she was always so much more aware of how alone she was when she was high. To this day, she still had an eighth in its baggie stored inside an airtight jar to keep fresh. She hadn't touched it at all since moving into the dorm and hadn't really considered it again until just now. But this was different than speed. Or whatever he was on. It had to be speed, though. He was a beast at rehearsals.
"Thanks," she replied simply. "But I probably look like shit. I barely did anything apart from whatever I could be bothered with this morning." The compliment had elicited a soft blush to permeate the satin soft skin of her cheeks and her teeth nibbled on her lip slightly. What are you doing, she asks herself, forcing her eyes to look at Maxwell again. "I was just on my way to work. I do nights at Duffy's just on Main Street." Main Street was located just a couple of blocks off of main campus and was home to all of the college bars and hot spots. Duffy's was a bar that had live music and she usually just served. She wasn't sure as to why he'd offered to walk her all of a sudden. Perhaps to make her forget what she'd just seen. But she honestly didn't know how to answer. Sure, she'd received some male attention, and female, too, since arriving on campus, but she'd paid little mind to it. She and Maxwell shared a possibly more involved future together and she didn't have a clue as to what to do or say next. She figured she'd return the polite gesture and leave it up to him. She wouldn't make him do something he didn't want to do.
"I don't really need anyone to escort me. You seemed like you were just getting home, yourself, so I'd feel bad about making you go out again," she chuckled dryly, imagining him holed up in his room just as much as she was. "I mean, if you want, I get off at around 10 or so. Keep a lookout for me around 10:30." Alaura offered another small laugh and raised a hand to place it gently on his shoulder. Apart from the occasional group or partner exercise in which she'd been squared off with Maxwell, she'd never actually touched him. "I appreciate the gesture, though, Maxwell. I'll see you later." She kept her words ambiguous and simple and she was proud of herself for that. Really, Alaura felt so massively out of place in any social situation, be it a conversation with ten people or just one. She was an awfully pensive girl and she found herself often lost in though. She only found release through dance. Something in Maxwell touched her. She would keep his secret, even though she didn't know exactly just what that secret entailed. She'd had her own share of secrets and knew the burden of carrying them.
Alaura stepped around Maxwell and began walking down the pathway, turning after a few steps to give him a light wave. "I'll see you at 10:30," She joked, resuming her walk down the pathway and pulling her headphones from her purse to place them over her ears so that she'd have some tunes for her walk. It wasn't until she'd reached the crosswalk for the road's intersection that she realized she was actually bright red and her face was profusely warm. Was I blushing like that the entire time? She questions, suddenly filled with an unsettled feeling in her stomach. A nervousness that always happened anytime anyone talked to her. When she arrived to work, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in her phone when she was pausing her favorite Morningwood song. Her cheeks were still a little pink from the interaction with Maxwell as she walked in and she greeted everyone familiarly.
The crew happened to be all sitting in the dining room of the bar. Looks like there really was going to be a meeting. She showed up on time at 8:30 and had been hopeful that the meeting would be done by 10. Alaura actually didn't feel like working tonight and probably wouldn't be able to be coerced into working until midnight or one in the morning. Not only did it tire her out staying up that late every night she worked to be at class in the morning, but she walked alone to and from work, regardless of the time. The later she stayed, the more sketchy the walk home would be. There was this one time she'd been walking back from work and was followed by a couple of drunk men at a different bar located on the route she took home. She'd picked up the pace to shake them, but they were both at least 6'4 so they were able to keep up with her. She ducked into a corner store to hide out after happening upon a busy street and waited it out a few minutes until she saw them walk away, distracted by some other going on further down the strip. She actually purchased a box of hair dye there at the store. Ever since then, she changed her route to take her into campus even though it was out of her way toward going to her dorm. But she felt safer going through campus because that meant she had a lot of more places to duck into if she noticed someone following her again.
The meeting went well, the owner just wanted to discuss new protocols and go over a limited time menu offered during happy hour. Alaura wasn't even sure why she had to be at the meeting. She only worked as early as 7 because she had dance until 6 at the latest. She worked the last operating hours of the bar so this meeting didn't even apply to her. She spent the most part of the meeting spaced out in thought, idly twirling the jewel of her labret piercing by toggling the flatback of the post with her tongue. Alaura knew how alternative and punk she looked with her piercings and tattoos and to most people's surprise, didn't listen to rock music very much. She had a couple of bands she liked, and in general she stomached 90s grunge and rock well, but that was about it. She didn't really like Led Zeppelin or Metallica. She loved the idea of body modification and planned on doing much more to her own vessel.
When the meeting ended, Alaura collected her items and headed toward the door. It was now completely dark as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, shrugging on her cardigan to block the chilled breeze that whipped through the street. She kept her eyes on the light a couple of blocks up from the bar. That was her turn to make so that she could cut up into campus. It was the first available entrance on campus and she didn't really let her guard down from 200% to 100% until she was walking down the familiar and easily visible walkway with large lights and emergency phones. Alaura had some strength to her so she knew she could fend off an attacker for the most part, but it's not like she desired to have to do so in the first place.
Her thoughts had taken her away again and before she knew it, her shoes stepped on the other side of Harrison Ave and her dorm building became more easily visible past the trees. A quick glance at her phone gave her the time of 10:25. She was a little early and pondered on if she should have made that 10:30 joke and think she was serious. Maybe he had, she considered thoughtfully chancing a quick glance at the dorms. She didn't catch a glimpse of him with such a short look, so maybe he hadn't. As she made her way down the sidewalk, she dug into her purse and procured her door key to unlock it. It was only a few more steps until she'd be in the comfort of her dorm...
She'd known what she had seen, and knew enough about addiction to tell whatever he was on, legitimately prescribed or not, was holding him back. But, a part of her mind did consider speed. Steroids didn't seem probably. Dancers were in general fairly lean, even for males. Being bulky added weight and made one less light on their feet. Alaura knew Maxwell to spend hours at the studio and she was sure that's where he was before he made his pit stop.
She took a moment to run through her thoughts and eventually, her brow relaxed. Whatever it was, it wasn't her business. He was welcome to do whatever he wanted. There were no accolades given in the dance program, so even if he was on speed to allow him to rehearse longer than the average person, he had to live with his own guilt. No sense in her worsening it for him. She wasn't the type of person. She didn't agree with it, but she wasn't a snitch. She decided to just smile as best as she could manage for as confused (and maybe conflicted? She couldn't honestly tell) as she was. There was a time in her life where she smoked weed and her parents had given her an earful when they found a half-finished joint in her dresser, but it never really stopped her anyways. But she didn't do it as much after her parents found out not because she got scolded, but she was always so much more aware of how alone she was when she was high. To this day, she still had an eighth in its baggie stored inside an airtight jar to keep fresh. She hadn't touched it at all since moving into the dorm and hadn't really considered it again until just now. But this was different than speed. Or whatever he was on. It had to be speed, though. He was a beast at rehearsals.
"Thanks," she replied simply. "But I probably look like shit. I barely did anything apart from whatever I could be bothered with this morning." The compliment had elicited a soft blush to permeate the satin soft skin of her cheeks and her teeth nibbled on her lip slightly. What are you doing, she asks herself, forcing her eyes to look at Maxwell again. "I was just on my way to work. I do nights at Duffy's just on Main Street." Main Street was located just a couple of blocks off of main campus and was home to all of the college bars and hot spots. Duffy's was a bar that had live music and she usually just served. She wasn't sure as to why he'd offered to walk her all of a sudden. Perhaps to make her forget what she'd just seen. But she honestly didn't know how to answer. Sure, she'd received some male attention, and female, too, since arriving on campus, but she'd paid little mind to it. She and Maxwell shared a possibly more involved future together and she didn't have a clue as to what to do or say next. She figured she'd return the polite gesture and leave it up to him. She wouldn't make him do something he didn't want to do.
"I don't really need anyone to escort me. You seemed like you were just getting home, yourself, so I'd feel bad about making you go out again," she chuckled dryly, imagining him holed up in his room just as much as she was. "I mean, if you want, I get off at around 10 or so. Keep a lookout for me around 10:30." Alaura offered another small laugh and raised a hand to place it gently on his shoulder. Apart from the occasional group or partner exercise in which she'd been squared off with Maxwell, she'd never actually touched him. "I appreciate the gesture, though, Maxwell. I'll see you later." She kept her words ambiguous and simple and she was proud of herself for that. Really, Alaura felt so massively out of place in any social situation, be it a conversation with ten people or just one. She was an awfully pensive girl and she found herself often lost in though. She only found release through dance. Something in Maxwell touched her. She would keep his secret, even though she didn't know exactly just what that secret entailed. She'd had her own share of secrets and knew the burden of carrying them.
Alaura stepped around Maxwell and began walking down the pathway, turning after a few steps to give him a light wave. "I'll see you at 10:30," She joked, resuming her walk down the pathway and pulling her headphones from her purse to place them over her ears so that she'd have some tunes for her walk. It wasn't until she'd reached the crosswalk for the road's intersection that she realized she was actually bright red and her face was profusely warm. Was I blushing like that the entire time? She questions, suddenly filled with an unsettled feeling in her stomach. A nervousness that always happened anytime anyone talked to her. When she arrived to work, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in her phone when she was pausing her favorite Morningwood song. Her cheeks were still a little pink from the interaction with Maxwell as she walked in and she greeted everyone familiarly.
The crew happened to be all sitting in the dining room of the bar. Looks like there really was going to be a meeting. She showed up on time at 8:30 and had been hopeful that the meeting would be done by 10. Alaura actually didn't feel like working tonight and probably wouldn't be able to be coerced into working until midnight or one in the morning. Not only did it tire her out staying up that late every night she worked to be at class in the morning, but she walked alone to and from work, regardless of the time. The later she stayed, the more sketchy the walk home would be. There was this one time she'd been walking back from work and was followed by a couple of drunk men at a different bar located on the route she took home. She'd picked up the pace to shake them, but they were both at least 6'4 so they were able to keep up with her. She ducked into a corner store to hide out after happening upon a busy street and waited it out a few minutes until she saw them walk away, distracted by some other going on further down the strip. She actually purchased a box of hair dye there at the store. Ever since then, she changed her route to take her into campus even though it was out of her way toward going to her dorm. But she felt safer going through campus because that meant she had a lot of more places to duck into if she noticed someone following her again.
The meeting went well, the owner just wanted to discuss new protocols and go over a limited time menu offered during happy hour. Alaura wasn't even sure why she had to be at the meeting. She only worked as early as 7 because she had dance until 6 at the latest. She worked the last operating hours of the bar so this meeting didn't even apply to her. She spent the most part of the meeting spaced out in thought, idly twirling the jewel of her labret piercing by toggling the flatback of the post with her tongue. Alaura knew how alternative and punk she looked with her piercings and tattoos and to most people's surprise, didn't listen to rock music very much. She had a couple of bands she liked, and in general she stomached 90s grunge and rock well, but that was about it. She didn't really like Led Zeppelin or Metallica. She loved the idea of body modification and planned on doing much more to her own vessel.
When the meeting ended, Alaura collected her items and headed toward the door. It was now completely dark as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, shrugging on her cardigan to block the chilled breeze that whipped through the street. She kept her eyes on the light a couple of blocks up from the bar. That was her turn to make so that she could cut up into campus. It was the first available entrance on campus and she didn't really let her guard down from 200% to 100% until she was walking down the familiar and easily visible walkway with large lights and emergency phones. Alaura had some strength to her so she knew she could fend off an attacker for the most part, but it's not like she desired to have to do so in the first place.
Her thoughts had taken her away again and before she knew it, her shoes stepped on the other side of Harrison Ave and her dorm building became more easily visible past the trees. A quick glance at her phone gave her the time of 10:25. She was a little early and pondered on if she should have made that 10:30 joke and think she was serious. Maybe he had, she considered thoughtfully chancing a quick glance at the dorms. She didn't catch a glimpse of him with such a short look, so maybe he hadn't. As she made her way down the sidewalk, she dug into her purse and procured her door key to unlock it. It was only a few more steps until she'd be in the comfort of her dorm...
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