Max: Max, the Series, #1

ONE

THE FIRST SESSION

MONDAY, JUNE 13 TH

I wish you would stop doing that. The words were spoken in a friendly tone, each syllable enunciated so precisely that they gave the impression of a foreign accent.

Crane frowned at the young man seated across from him in the oddly plushy bright-orange barrel chair. They were over half an hour into their first session, and he was still struggling to establish a rapport with this new patient. Doing what?

Mimicking my posture to make me feel more at ease, replied Max, and he drummed a few beats with his fingertips against his calf as he looked around in distaste at the small shabby office Crane shared with the other therapists at the psychology clinic.

Crane uncrossed his legs and sat back in the chair, discomfited. I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

S’aaall right. This time it came out slow and drawled, and Crane found himself smiling. It has the opposite effect on me, Max explained with a shrug. I’m intensely cognizant of you doing it.

Crane chuckled. Cognizant. The crisp pronunciation was back. The way Max’s accent and speech patterns shifted constantly was fascinating.

Okay, Max, he said, nodding. I’ll try my best to stop doing it. It’s my training, you know.

I know. The reply was accompanied by a smile, but there was something slightly unsettling about it.

Crane looked down at his notes, just to take a moment to think. Relief. That’s what he felt. It was as if he’d gotten a pass because he’d given the right answer—like it would have been inexcusable had he been mimicking Max on purpose. Crane flipped over the scant info Max had provided on the clinic intake sheet, still pretending to read. For some reason, as they spoke, his mind kept slipping to the mafia movie he had seen that weekend with his wife, Mary. When he finally glanced up, Max looked amused.

Sorry, I was just trying to get back to what we were talking about, Crane said. They had been talking about what Max called his ghost, an imaginary friend that had been with him since childhood. Can you tell me more about Eric?

Eddie. There was a flicker of annoyance in Max’s dark eyes.

"Sorry. Eddie. Can you tell me more about him?" Crane couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the need to apologize so often in a session. Then he wondered if Max even cared for his apologies.

What do you want to know? The finger drumming again.

It was one of three nervous tics that came over the young man whenever he was asked something uncomfortable. There was something odd about the tics though. Crane decided then to take note of them to see if they always happen in the same order. After putting two marks on the upper left-hand side of the page, he gestured with his pen. What is he like? Is he like you? Crane asked with interest.

He’s not like me, no. We’re actually rather dissimilar.

In what way?

A furrow appeared between Max’s dark brows as he thought. It was like he was mentally shuffling through his answers to give Crane the one of least importance, and he was reminded of that expression about holding cards close to one’s chest. Under reason for seeking counselling on the intake sheet, Max had written "taedium vitae, which translated to tired of life". Crane was about to point out that Max was the one who had come to see him, not the other way around, when Max finally spoke up.

He’s nicer. A little shy. Says I should be more serious… He’s a bit of a fucking pain in my ass sometimes, to be honest. The words were followed by the cheerful, almost self-mocking laughter that always surprised Crane by how genuine it sounded.

Would you call him a friend?

Yeah. But it’s more than that. Max uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with his elbows on knees, stroking down over his mouth and jaw with one hand.

Crane made another mark on the paper, this time in the top-centre of the page. That’s tic number two. More? Like you have a deeper relationship?

Max nodded.

Is there a sexual aspect to this relationship? This time Max smirked before he nodded, and the answer didn’t surprise Crane. He wanted to ask more about the sex just because he was curious as to what exactly that entailed but decided against it.

The young man clasped his hands loosely so that they hung between his knees as he watched Crane, but he didn’t say anything else. Something about the way Max blinked was odd… like it was too slow or not done often enough.

What I’m getting at is that— Crane glanced quickly down at his notes "—Eddie provides you with all the companionship you could ever need."

Mm. Paired with the tiny nod, it was a grunt of acknowledgement. Again, nothing else was said.

Crane started to get annoyed, but noticed then that Max was looking at him with obvious levity. He exhaled in frustration.

I’m sorry, Max offered with a chuckle. You’re not asking for more than yes or no answers. Try to reformulate your questions so I’m forced to say more.

Crane’s eyebrows rose. There it was again, that mixture of unsettled and relieved that had him sitting tense in his seat, but he smiled and nodded anyway, trying to keep his expression bland and friendly.

Ah! That’s you giving me a hint, right? Crane said. It was like every time Max got tired of seeing Crane flounder, he would throw him a bone about how to approach his therapy.

Max’s smile was sly. Then he rubbed the back of his neck as he sat back before pushing the peak of his cap up a bit.

Crane’s pen made a fourth pen tic, top-right corner. Do you think Eddie gets in the way of making real connections with other people?

A slight curl in Max’s lip appeared, like he disapproved, and Crane realized that he’d asked yet another yes or no question. He frowned and rephrased it quickly. I mean, why do you think Eddie affects your relationships with real people?

The laugh that rang out was so lively and full of mirth that Crane found himself laughing along even though he was struck again with an infuriating juxtaposition of emotions.

You asked the right question! Good boy! Have a liver treat!

Okay, Doc. You’re assuming that Eddie isn’t a real person. I assure you he is. Realer to me than you are, said Max, still grinning. However, his expression flashed to serious an eye blink later. "Why do you think he’s affecting my relationships? You said for yourself just a few seconds ago that he provides me with all the companionship I could ever need. Wouldn’t real people, as you called them, affect my relationship with Eddie, and not the other way around?"

Crane opened his mouth, but Max swiped the air with a hand and cut him off before he could voice his concerns.

"No, I know what you’re going to say. Human beings need other human beings. I get it. I do. But really, Doc, I’m happy with the level of socialization I get. If I want more, I just go find more, it’s not a big deal."

Crane kept himself from frowning. He knew that people, in Max’s world, were sort of like commodities or tools—easily obtainable, useful, but impersonal. Then he did let himself frown. What if you were to ask Eddie to go away for a while and see how you do without him?

Max’s handsome face was devoid of expression. He shifted in his chair, placed his ankle on the opposite knee, and drummed out a little beat against the denim; Crane made a mark, top-left.

I wouldn’t. Fingertips drummed again, and Crane made a sixth tic, again in the left-hand column.

Just as an experiment.

I wouldn’t, Max repeated and rubbed his jaw; another mark went into Crane’s notebook.

"What if I were to ask you to do it for the good of our sessions? Just to see what happens?" He knew that if Max had had his imaginary friend for as long as he claimed, it would take more than that, but Max was incredibly self-controlled—anything was possible. Mostly, Crane was curious about how Max would answer.

The last tic in Max’s cycle showed itself as he scratched at the back of his neck and then lifted the peak of his battered old army cap high enough to show his squashed brown curls beneath it. Crane made another small dash in his notebook, feeling like he’d accomplished something by discovering the repetitive pattern of Max’s nervous tics.

Dr. Crane, said Max, shaking his head slowly when he finally replied. If you knew what you were asking me to do… Suddenly, all the nervous movements stopped, and Max went still, staring at Crane with dark eyes. "No. I’m going to tell you what you’re asking me to do. Consider this one a freebie. You’re asking me to— Max paused, his expression becoming a little pained, even vague for a moment —send the one thing that’s keeping me out of jail or out of the loony bin on holiday. That is what you’re asking me to do."

Crane was disturbed by the way Max’s gaze held his, but he couldn’t look away. It was like all of his reactions were being categorized and filed away in Max’s lizard brain. At that moment, he realized that Max would do it and send Eddie away if he asked him again. But if Crane did that, he would be responsible for… responsible for what? He blinked, trying to hide his unease from the young man sitting across from him.

In a flash, Max’s face split into the friendly smile that seemed to be his default expression, and he pulled himself to his feet. There was a pulse of fear in Crane’s gut at the sudden proximity—tiny, but it was there.

Time’s up! said Max cheerfully.

Sure enough, with a glance to his watch, Crane saw it was three thirty. He rose out of his chair, towering over his dark-haired patient. He was more flustered and tense than after any of his other consults.

See you next week, Crane managed, and Max made a double clicking noise with one side of his mouth, like he was chastising Crane for being unnerved.

It was also the same noise that Crane had heard people use to call their dogs. A seed of anger took root inside him, but he kept a calm smile on his face even though Max gave a little nod, like he could see right through his pretense.

Reaching for the doorknob, Max threw a look over his shoulder. I’ll do them all in reverse next week, just for fun, he said with a wink. Then he was gone.

Crane looked down at the page where he’d been keeping track of Max’s tics. He slowly tore it out of his notebook, crumpled it up, and threw it in the garbage. Looking out at the bright sun, he was struck with the urge to cancel his next appointment and bike home, simply to see Mary’s smile.

TWO

COMMON GROUND

MONDAY, JUNE 20 TH

Crane smiled as Max sat down across from him. They were supposed to be in the same therapy room as their first session, but he had found Debra, the receptionist, having lunch in it when Max arrived. Crane shifted a little in his seat and chided himself for not simply telling her he had booked the office instead of abdicating and taking the empty one at the back of the clinic—this one was cramped and musty smelling, and the chairs uncomfortable. No wonder it was always free.

Grow a backbone. Five weeks working at the clinic and he had yet to find his stride—he felt like the bumbling newcomer, still wet behind the ears.

Max crossed his legs and leaned back. Steepling his fingers, he returned Crane’s smile.

Are you going somewhere after this? asked Crane as he opened his notebook on his lap.

Max’s brown curls were tamed, and he was wearing a black button-down with a tie, black pants, and polished square-toed dress shoes. He looked down at himself and frowned. When he met Crane’s eye again, his expression was one of amusement.

Nah.

The tone was friendly, but Crane felt the same strange tension as the previous week. He was being made to feel stupid for asking, even though it was a valid question—the last time he had seen Max, he had been dressed in old jeans and jackboots. Crane gritted his teeth and stared down at the blank page for a moment.

So… How was your week? he finally asked, smoothing out his expression as he glanced back up.

Max’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he contemplated the question. Oh… It was okay. Didn’t get up to much.

Crane nodded and jotted down the date. And your level of stress?

This time Max’s brows pinched above his nose, and Crane wondered if the uncertainty he saw in his face was sincere.

I… don’t know, said Max. That’s the problem. By the time I’m able to recognize that I’m stressed, it’s pretty bad.

What are you feeling now?

Nothing.

Nothing?

Max’s face split into a wide grin, and he let out a laugh. Crane found it a little startling the way his expressions changed suddenly.

"Nothing is a simplification of what I’m feeling at this exact moment. Yes, I feel something. No, I don’t know what it is."

Can you describe it?

Max’s expression went pensive. My heart is beating faster than it normally does. My shoulders hurt, which I’m going to attribute to tension. Sometimes, I feel like I need to take an extra breath. He sounded a bit terse.

Crane leaned forward and Max averted his eyes. "You’re just telling me what you’re feeling physically. What about mentally? How are you feeling?"

Max grimaced as he looked out the window. One shoulder came up in a small shrug. Somewhere between amused and annoyed. Like usual.

What do you mean ‘like usual’?

The way Max’s eyes swivelled back to Crane’s gave him the impression that his mood had slipped somewhat in the direction of annoyed.

Max sized him up for a moment. Those are my two basic moods. The only other ones I can identify reliably are anger and arousal… But I do, on occasion, get them mixed up.

Crane stared into Max’s dark eyes and felt his heart beat faster, but he forced himself to smile. Never show fear. Wasn’t that advice for dealing with aggressive