Infinity: Based on a True Story (18 page)

His smile, the beautiful white one that I’d been a witness to during most of the ride and even before we left, evaporated right into thin air.

My face changed, too, watching as the light in his eyes immediately turned dark.

“Max?” I called, releasing the door and walking towards him. “What’s wrong?” The phone was glued to his ear, a voice steadily speaking.

I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I was left in the dark, confused and a little afraid of the horror that was etched on his face.

“Damn it, Max. What the hell is going on? What’s wrong?”

The person on the phone stopped talking and Max finally spoke, but it wasn’t directed at me. “I’ll… be there,” was all he said, and then he hung up, dropping his hand.

He released the suitcase and it hit the ground.

Then, without any kind of warning, he spun around and dashed for his car, unlocking the doors and sliding in.

“Max!” I chased after him, swinging the passenger door open as he waited for me, grip tight on the wheel. “What the hell is going on? Where are you going?” My voice was panicked.

He didn’t look at me, he just stared ahead, eyes cold, face blank. I’d never seen him like this. Speechless. Unmoving. He was beginning to scare me.

I slid in, pressing my hand on top of his arm. “Max, please,” I begged in a whisper. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened. You’re scaring me.”

Finally, he looked my way. His face was lined with thick tears and when he looked at me, they fell, skidding like raindrops down a cold windowpane.

His voice cracked when he finally said, “My parents…”

He didn’t continue. “What about them?” I inquired.

“They… a car crash. There was a crash.” He swallowed hard, fighting the tears but he was losing the battle. They were streaming, unstoppable. Pain seized him, and his forehead fell forward, landing on the top of the steering wheel. “They’re gone, Shannon.”

I kept my hand on his arm, but I was at a loss for words.

Gone? As in… dead? But… what? How!?

Max broke down, sobbing and shuddering so hard I thought he might break. His hand squeezed mine during the process, as if I could fill the hole that’d been set in his heart, but I couldn’t.

I couldn’t replace that bond.

I would never be able to.

I waited a while for Max to calm down, then I offered to drive us back to Charlotte.

The ride was already depressing, but the rain made it worse, bringing back the tears that Max couldn’t avoid.

He wallowed in his seat, gaze pointed out of the window, trying to avoid mine.

We finally made it to our hometown, where Eugene was waiting at the uptown police station, eyes full of sorrow.

Max busted into the station, scoping the entire office, expecting some kind of answer—expecting his parents to just show up—but it was hopeless.

The drunk driver that’d hit them with his 4x4 sat cuffed at an officer’s desk and when Eugene pointed to the man that’d killed his parents, Max was unrelenting.

We all knew Max had a temper, but I’d never seen him like this before.

He stormed for the driver, shoving the cops out of the way, breaking through their tight grips until he came face to face with the man, tugging him up by the collar and spewing venomous words of how he’d kill him for this, how he’d pay.

I knew he meant none of it—that he wouldn’t act on it—but I was shocked. I’d never seen him act so reckless. So monstrous. So destructive.

But I can’t say it didn’t make sense. Other than Eugene, his parents were the only family he had.

“Max! Stop!” I wailed.

But it was like he couldn’t even hear me.

The police officers finally got control of Max, handcuffing him as well and sending him to a back room.

I called for Max before he could disappear. He wasn’t paying me any mind. He was too busy screaming at the driver, shouting hateful obscenities.

It hurt to see him like that. So raw, so broken.

I waited three hours for Max to be released and, due to the guilt that ate at the drunk driver, he didn’t press charges on him.

I sat in the parking lot on the hood of his car and when I saw him I lit up, my heart racing, still accustomed to that old feeling I got whenever he made an appearance.

But my light rapidly faded when he came my way. I tried to hold him, but he pulled away from me, asking for his keys.

Hesitantly I handed them to him, unblinking.

“I’m taking you home,” he grumbled, passing by me and jumping into the car, slamming the door behind him.

The slam made me jolt. He cranked the car and I got in, wary. “Max, I’m so sorry about—”

“Just stop, Shannon, Don’t,” he bit out, avoiding my eyes. He drove away from the police station, muttering, “Just fucking don’t,” once more before allowing silence to take over.

I didn’t say anything more for the rest of the ride.

Hell, I couldn’t even look at him.

He dropped me off at home, didn’t even bother to come up or allow me to comfort him with a departing hug.

Instead he pulled off as soon as I’d made it to the sidewalk and my heart cracked as I watched him leave, his tires skidding.

It seemed like he wanted to be as far away from me as possible.

And as I walked up to my apartment, I thought, perhaps he was partially putting the blame on me. If I hadn’t suggested taking the trip to Hilton Head, he would have gone to the lake with his parents, like he did every single year.

Three tears fell down my cheeks but I swiped them away, and it was then that I realized I didn’t have my keys to get into my apartment. They were in my bags, which were in his car.

I walked up to the door, knowing Max wouldn’t answer his phone if I called, but luckily, Emilia was home.

She allowed me in with a smile on her face and questions in her eyes, but as soon as she saw the gloomy mask I wore, her entire demeanor changed.

She asked me what was wrong… and I told her everything.

That night… that’s when everything changed.

And the following morning, I expected to hear from Max, but I didn’t.

The day after that, still no call. Not even a text. I figured he needed space, time to grieve, but I wanted to be there for him.

I even went by his place but he wasn’t there. I visited the club. There was no sign of him. Eugene hadn’t even seen him.

All I wanted was to talk to him, be there for him, but he was avoiding me. I called an infinite number of times—so many times I lost count. So much that his voicemail box became full.

Then, one night, I felt absolutely horrible. My head was pounding, I vomited all night long. I slept all day long, and then felt even more fatigued when I woke up.

It was dreadful, and even worse, I was still without Max. He was the only person I wanted to be around but there was no sign of him.

After spending four nights going through the same vomiting and fatigue stages, I visited my doctor. It wasn’t like me to suddenly fall ill. I knew my body well; I hardly ever got sick.

The doctor ran every test that could lead to a stomach virus but it turned out it wasn’t a stomach virus at all.

My doctor came in, handed me a sheet of paper and said, “Shannon, Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

He beamed, but I stared with wide, blank eyes. And then I jumped off the table, rushing for the trashcan in the corner, heaving up the little fluid I had guzzled down earlier.

I held it together, though. I refused to cry until I made it to my car.

Unfortunately, I didn’t make it to my car. The tears started as I crossed the parking lot, but they overflowed when I made it home and hid beneath my sheets.

The feeling in my tummy was odd. It wasn’t good or bad. It was… a neutral sensation.

Oddly, I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t worried. I was just… confused.

I was confused because I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to keep it, but at the same time it felt like the wrong time to bear the child of someone that didn’t even want to see me.

So, I called Max again. Then once more. Around the fifth time, he actually answered. I was surprised, the sound of his voice making my heart throb like hell.

“Max,” I breathed. “What the hell? Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks!”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t say anything more.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, sitting up against the headboard.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Where are you?”

He was quiet for a moment. “In a good place. Don’t worry.”

I wasn’t sure how to accept that statement so I changed the subject. He was still grieving apparently, which was fine, but how long did he need?

Eugene figured he was at the condo his parents owned in Wilmington. He was most likely packing their belongings, about to sell the place. Eugene said Max hinted at doing that during the funeral that Max didn’t even bother inviting me to.

I would have gone if I’d known.

How long could he actually go without me? I ignored my last thought, pretending it never crossed my mind.

“I have something to tell you,” I went on.

“What?”

“Well, I’ve been feeling kind of bad the past few days. I wasn’t sure what was up so I finally went to the doctor to get checked…”

“And?” he urged.

“And… I still can’t believe it but…” I laughed a little, some joy finally present, “I’m pregnant, Max.”

Max, who I expected to respond with an eager tone, didn’t respond at all. I waited for him to speak. He said nothing.

“Did you hear me?” I asked.

“Yeah…” Silence again.

“So… what do you think?” Another stretch of silence. It was killing me. He’d never been this quiet on the phone with me. Ever. “Max?”

“I’m thinking right now… isn’t the right time, Shannon.”

His statement made my heart sink to my stomach. I shut my eyes briefly, trying to place myself in his shoes, but I just couldn’t.

This unborn child that I’d just found out about… he or she was a blessing. He was right about it not being the right time. We were young and had just started at this boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but I knew deep down we could make it work.

Babies, they change everything. They test your patience, your faith, and your love, but if anything, I assumed this baby could make us stronger, heal Max in a way that I couldn’t. As someone new to love.

“What do you mean?” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“I just…” He sighed. “You know what? I don’t know. Just do whatever you want, okay, Shannon? Just understand that I’m not ready for that… not right now. Not with everything that has happened the past few weeks. I’ll be there… but I’m not ready.”

Selfish. That’s what he was. A selfish asshole. Rage ignited within me and I sat forward, my nausea momentarily subsiding.

“Max, I get what you are going through, but I think you’re are forgetting that you aren’t the only person that’s lost someone! I lost a parent too! I know how it feels. It fucking hurts but look at me, I’m still here. I survived.”

“Your situation is different,” he muttered.

“How?”

“It just… is. You know it is.”

I huffed, wanting so badly to unleash my wrath but instead I just hung up. I couldn’t deal with his childishness. I only hoped that he’d come around—realize how good the baby could’ve been for us.

Max called later that night. I answered.

“I’m not ready. Just think about it, Shannon. I’m only being honest with you.”

“I have thought about it,” I whispered. “And I don’t mind keeping it.”

“No, you’re living in a fantasy world. Shannon, you work two fucking jobs just to provide for yourself. What makes you think adding an extra mouth to feed will help? I’m still in school. I’ll hardly be around. I want kids and I know you do too, but this just isn’t the right time.”

“There is never a right time when it comes to me, Max! But somehow I always make a way.”

“Shannon,” he groaned.

“No,” I snapped. “Fuck you, Max! Fuck you! Just grow the hell up already and stop thinking only about yourself for once!”

I hung up, weeping the rest of the night, until my stomach began to hurt.

I thought about it all, but mainly how much he was right. How much I couldn’t stand how right he was. How little I felt in this big world and him… how hurt he was.

I had no idea where he was, but I knew one thing: keeping this child would only keep him away.

I wanted him back, but I also wanted the baby.

I had to choose between the man I loved and the unborn child I had no clue about. This was a person I could create. Someone I could get to know from day one. That seemed legitimately rare.

I swore I would never resort to it—abort my child if I ever got pregnant—but now that I had a choice to make, I knew which one it was.

Though it was a tough decision to make, it was already made.

I laid on that icy cold operating table, legs spread apart, thick tears rolling down the side of my face, feeling each tug and pull, each clip and snag. Each one tore me apart even more, shredding my heart up.

When the doctor was done, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and then I shielded my face from the light, crying so hard the nurses came in to check on me.

They weren’t cruel about it or judgmental. They understood and they soothed me.

But it didn’t help.

I drove home, crampy, muddled, and depressed.

I instantly regretted my decision. Even when Max showed up the next day to apologize, I couldn’t look him in the face without crying. I cried because his presence was no longer enough.

I wanted that baby.

And I hated myself for what I’d done.

All I could think was, “What if I’d kept it?”

Where would he be?

Would he still be here, sitting beside me?

That fucking crash, it ended us way before we completely gave up on each other. To this day, I hate myself for not fighting for us, but I hate myself even more for giving up a child that would have been beautiful.

I hate myself for throwing away that tiny blessing.

I hate myself for putting a man before myself.

But I mainly hate myself because now I won’t have the opportunity to have kids. That is my biggest regret. That kills me. Cuts me deep.