Story of the week: Innocence lost

                                      Credit// Deviant Art

Innocence lost 


Abruptly, Max raised his forehead from the table at the sound of my voice. He left an oily imprint, but Max, being Max, didn’t bother to wipe it away.

I scanned him briefly. A black leather jacket I’d never seen before hugged his shoulders. His nails were bitten down to a nub. 

“I forgot you worked here.” I cocked my eyebrow. He hunched over like he had something to hide. I noticed the left side of jacket was torn.

“Did you get in a fight again?”

“I’m fine.” He announced, as if a plea to convince himself. But I knew something was up.

He started to crack his knuckles.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” He grinned devilishly. “I’m fine. Peachy.”

“You only do that when you’re upset.” I pointed out his blinding white knuckles. He clenched his hands into fists.

“You’re upset.” He rolled his eyes.

“Is this about Lucy?”

 Something in Max’s eyes flashed, His usually sparkling blue eyes, bloodshot and stormy.  

“Stay out of this Sam.”

 I sighed, “Haven’t you thought about laying low for a while?”

 Max’s fingers drummed on the table. His right leg jiggled up and down rhythmically.


“SHUT UP Sam! It’s different when the whole town wants you locked in the loony bin because they think you killed your girlfriend!” Max rose in anger. His chest heaved heavily, sweat pouring down the sides of his face.

“Max, sit. down. People are staring.” I hissed through clenched teeth.

Max took a long look at me. The light washed out his already pale skin.

“Of course. The only thing you care about is appearances,” he snarled.

My heart slowly collapsed to the pit of my stomach, as he sat himself down. Avoiding my glare he summoned up two fingers.

“Another vodka on the rocks” Max swayed dizzily back and forth in his seat.

“You’re drunk?

“So what?”

“What is wrong with you?” Anger rose in my voice. A look of guilt washed over his face. 

For a second, there sat the same innocent boy who cried when he fell off of his bike in the sixth grade. The same boy who spent a month planting a vegetable garden, simply because his mother adored home cooked meals. The same boy who rejected an offer from the football team, stating he’d rather write than get tackled on the field.

That same boy who was my best friend.

But as quickly as it came, it left. Max’s features turned dark, as he slammed his fist on the table.

“You know I’m sick of all your questions. I’m out of here.”

And with that, he left all traces of his innocence behind.



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