Page 18 of Rox

“Seventeen.Jesus.”

My hand comes up to my forehead before I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees. He’s lived the lives of seventeen other people for reasons unknown. The first one was to escape a murder charge. I get that. But the rest? Do the reasons matter? In all honesty, do they change anything?

The simple answer is no. The men in my life do fucked up shit. Worse shit than stealing identities. What type of hypocrite would I be if I allowed this to bother me?

“It’s who I am, Rox. It’s what I do. I can assume an identity easily. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what your dad uses me for when needed. I can’t stop it.”

I look him in the eyes. “I’m not asking you to, nor would I expect it. I only want to know who you are, not the people you mimic. I want to know Max. I want him.”

“I haven’t been Max for a very long time, Rox.”

“Maybe not, but it’s who you are. It’s who your mom gave to the world. It’s who belongs to me.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Rox. Even your father doesn’t know. He knows who I am at the time, that’s it.”

I shift and straddle his lap, placing my arms around his neck. Leaning down, I give him a kiss. When I pull back, I look him dead in the eye. “Max is mine. Mimic is theirs.”

Ten

Mimic

You would think being hers would have been the cherry on top of the perfect night. But it wasn’t. My mind won’t allow it. Something snapped, and now there’s something nagging at me. Crawling under my skin as I lay here with her. Even though her touch is soft, comforting, and everything I want, my nerves are on fire. I can feel every inch of myself. There’s a current under my skin, taking over my emotions, killing out the endorphins she had released.

I told her. I told her everything I swore I’d be buried with. Her father doesn’t know. My brother’s don’t know. Only she does. She knows it all. I was prepared to die with my story sealed tight. The pages of my book were glued together, the spine pristine. She was able to crack it open so easily.

She knows, and I should be relieved. I don’t have to hide it. She’s accepted me for who I wasandwho I currently am. There was no judgment in her body language or voice as we spoke. I was positive what I had to say would make her run. She’d take my words and use them against me. I gave her every reason towalk away. But she didn’t. She stayed right there as I told her stories about my mom and then about my stepfather and his sons.

Taking a breath, I try to clear my thoughts. I don’t want to dwell on the bad, only the good. I can’t. The good is making me itch. It feels like insects are trapped under my skin, attempting to crawl their way out. The feeling only got worse with every truth I told her. Why, though? I thought the truth was supposed to set you free. Here it is, trying to lock me down.

She asked more questions, and I answered. I told her what she wanted to know because she was right. If this was as forever as it felt, I didn’t want to start it off on a bed of lies.

No matter what I tell myself, I’m still lying to her. I told her I was okay with sharing the information I’ve hidden from everyone, even myself, for far too many years to count.

She calls me Max.

Hearing the name my mother named me fall from her lips brings back memories of how my mother would say it.

Everything comes back. It’s like a flood I’m not prepared for. The ocean water filled with memories consumes me, my body and mind trapped within the waves. I can feel myself attempting to swim to the top, but my vision is blurry, and my eyes burn from the salt.

Tears. Not ocean water.

A quick swipe and the evidence is gone, but I can still hear how she sounded when she called me with her loving tone. How she sounded when I knew I was going to get my ass handed to me. The latter being what she sounded like more often than not.

I remember the last conversation I had with her before my stepfather snuffed out the light she had in her, before she became a shell of herself, before her beauty dimmed and she collapsed into her mind.

She was telling me about my name. My day was worse than expected. My stepbrothers were picking on me for my lame name as if Steven and Joel were so great. None of that mattered, though. They were awful at all times, but that day, they took what they did and multiplied it by a thousand.

“Do you know why I named you Max?” She asks me softly as she runs her fingers through my hair. I shake my head, looking up at her eyes. Her blue eyes, which used to be so full of life and crystal clear, now always seemed sad. “Maxwell has been linked to great strength for hundreds of years. You came into this world ready to fight, and I knew you would do great things. I could feel it. The moment I held you, it was as if something shouted at me, ‘He’s going to achieve greatness.’ You needed a strong name to help inspire you to be strong and a great leader. You fought to be here, and I know you will fight for everything you gain in life. So what if they think your name is boring? We both know it means you are bound to greatness.”

Even at ten years old, I knew she was building me up to continue to survive if she wasn’t there. She knew. I’m positive she saw the future, and it was clear to her she wouldn’t be around. She. Knew.

“Max?” Rox’s voice snaps me from the memory, and the bugs and anxiety all come flooding back.

Unable to control my body, my senses, my…anything, I pull myself away from her and start getting dressed. She watches me from the bed, letting the sheet fall. She doesn’t say a word, but her eyes track me. I don’t know what I’m doing or what my plan is, but right now, I’m feeling suffocated.

I feel like I’m spinning out of control. Unsure of what’s going to happen. What does pushing forward mean? I told her my secrets. I gave her what she needed to have power and control over me. I have never given up control of my life before.

“Max?” I’m sure when my eyes meet hers, she can see the panic in them. They feel vast and wild. “Mimic,” she calls to me with finality in her voice, which somehow brings a sense of calm to me. I look her in the eye, but it doesn’t last long.

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