Days passed, but time no longer made sense to Erica. Morning and night blended into a blur of silence, pain, and the stale smell of closed windows.
She lay in bed, unmoving. Her body still ached in places she couldn't describe. The bruises were fading, but the memory of them pulsed louder than any heartbeat. Her parents' footsteps in the hallway made her flinch. Every time the door creaked open, she braced herself.
And it always came - the blaming.
"If you had told us where you were going..."
"You think this doesn't affect all of us?"
"We warned you about making friends we didn't know."
Each word chipped at her soul. They didn't want to know how she was feeling. They only wanted to erase what had happened. Like it could be cleaned up, hidden under a rug, buried beneath a smile at Sunday dinner.
She stopped eating. Nothing tasted like anything. Her throat refused to swallow. Her body didn't want to heal. And she didn't care.
But every afternoon, at the same time - 4:07 PM - he came.
Max.
He'd knock softly, wait until her father grudgingly opened the door, and quietly ask to see her. Her parents never questioned him - they didn't know who he was. Just a "concerned friend," they assumed. Someone from school. That was easier for them to digest than the truth.
And Max never pushed. He sat at the edge of her bed, hands clasped, eyes soft, full of silent pain.
One evening, as the light filtered weakly through the curtains, she finally spoke.
"Why?" Her voice was brittle. "Why didn't you leave like anyone else would've? I'm... ruined. I'm broken. Why are you still here?"
Max's lips parted, but he said nothing at first. He just looked at her - really looked at her. Like she was more than her wounds. More than the silence they lived in now.
Then he said softly, "Because you're not broken, Erica. You're hurt. You're in pain. But you're still you. And you're the most important person in my life."
Her breath hitched.
"I don't care what happened," he continued. "I don't care what anyone says. You're still the girl who made me laugh when I hated the world. You're still the one who made me feel like I wasn't alone. So now I'm here. For as long as it takes. Until you remember who you are."
She stared at him, tears threatening to fall. No one had said that to her. Not once. Not even close.
"You're not here because you feel guilty?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Max shook his head. "No. I'm here because I love you."
Her heart stuttered.
For the first time in days, she felt the faintest flicker of something inside her. Not peace. Not healing. But maybe... strength.
With Max, she didn't have to pretend. She didn't have to hide her rage or her sorrow. He sat with her through the silence, never asking her to smile, never needing her to speak.
He was there.
And sometimes, that was enough.