Page 22 of Lovers Like Us
“It’s irritating that he’s texting you and not me, but that’s it. I didn’t start the cold war. It’s all him.” My father wants me to join the family legacy and be a practicing doctor. I have the MD, but I’m never finishing my residency. It’s just not what I want, and he hasn’t acceptedthat.
Maximoff nods. “I’ll call him backlater.”
I try to slide off the bedagain.
Maximoff pulls me back for a second time. “Where the fuck are you going?” heasks.
My lip quirks. He really doesn’t want me to leave him, and I struggle to look anywhere else but at him.Consumed.“Need myhand?”
“No,” he says firmly. “I just wantyou.”
That hits me hard. I almost crawl back.Do your motherfucking job, Farrow.I grit down and then tell him, “I have to get my phone. I haven’t checked social media threatstonight.”
Security’s tech team spends more time doing this tedious shit for us. But personal bodyguards are still supposed to “stay updated” and “aware” of the discourse about our client on socialmedia.
With the media fallout, it’s more important for me to gauge the climate surroundingMaximoff.
“You can do it on my phone,” he tells me, handing me his cell. Trusting me withit.
I can imagine the envy of girls and guys everywhere. And he choseme.
He lovesme.
Damn.
My chest swells for asecond.
Maximoff lies back, smashes a pillow and then places his head down. He yawns. “I think I’m going to…” He yawnsagain.
He’s going to pass out. Exhaustion starts drawing his eyesclosed.
Good.
He needsthat.
I’ve slept in the same bed with him enough to know that he’s typically not a cuddler until a couple hours into sleep. It’s a private, personal fact that tabloids would crave and reprint a hundred times. And it’s all mine forsafekeeping.
I stack a couple pillows and lie flat. I’m not about to click into his texts. Privacy is already hard for him, and I’ve never been a nosy littlebastard.
I download a program to his phone. It filters certain words on all social medias, and I select a time range. Basically from the last time I did this yesterday to now. Then I type out variations of phrases I need searchedlike:
kill MaximoffHale
dieMoffy
murder Lily & Lo’sson
Results pop up, 99% just hyperbolic bullshit or slang. I scroll and scroll for two hours. Long enough that Maximoff turns on his side towards me, and our legsinterlace.
He rests his head on my shoulder, his arm splayed across my abs. A small smile edges my mouth, and I rub his back before holding him againstme.
With my other hand, I still scroll. I have to reach the bottom of the list. About finished, I hover over a search result:@maximoffdeadhale
Usernames like that one are rare. I click on @maximoffdeadhale to find the origin. An Instagram account: 3 posts, 0 followers, 1following.
I go very still, and my gaze narrows on the oldestphoto.
Posted 8 hours ago, the user photoshopped Maximoff reading a comic at Superheroes & Scones into a gory death scene. Eyes crossed out, swords impale Maximoff’s chest, and blood gushes. In the comments, the user posted only one thing: #DeservesToDie
