"Come in," I choke, afraid of what Max will think of me. I let him down. Will he still love me? What if he found a beautiful girl while I was gone? I'm wrong. When the door opens, Max looks thrilled to see me. Angela is the one who looks still grave. " "Em!" Max cries. He runs over and hugs me, but the choked gasp I let out when he crushes my arm makes him stop. "What happened?" He asks. "I," I say. "I feel as though I should not answer that." "How were you hurt? Did the Houma lady hurt you?" Max asks. "I fell," I say simply. "Fell where and when?" Angela pipes up. "In the yard near sundown." "Whose yard?" Max asks. "Yours. I don't know really what time it was. I think I was out there all night unconscious." Angela nods. "Max watched the yard, but I suppose he didn't see you." This breaks me down. "You wasted your evening looking for the likes of me? I was DRUNK, Maxwell. I drunk myself sick and crashed in your yard." I sob in hatred for my actions and myself. Max stares at me for a while, then kisses me right on the mouth. "That's okay," he almost sobs himself. "I was only worried you had tried to commit suicide." "What? No," I say uneasily. It has crossed my mind numerous times since the Houma disaster. "Promise," Angela says. "That you will never do that again." I won't, Angela. But I might die. Actually, I will. And I haven't even told you yet.