Patient 17
As always, click here for Master List of Fics.Title: Patient 17
Characters: Jules Bianchi, Max Chilton
Rating: Red Flag (for a few gross bits)
Summary: The instructions were clear: never open the sealed doors, never engage the patients. Unfortunately, Max has a habit of breaking the rules. (sort of zombie!AU)
Warning: Possible character deaths. Animal deaths (sorry, little lab rats).
Beta: Thank you so much to la_vie_chanson, who practically co-authored this fic. I couldn't have done it without you!
Disclaimer: Result of an active imagination, nothing more.
He never kidded himself thinking his thesis job would be glamorous. After all, it was science, and as far as science went, virology was certainly not the rock star. He didn’t, however, expect to be feeding lab rats to zombies, or patients as his mentor requested they be called. His job was simple enough: feed the patients as per the professor’s schedule, record any observations, and keep the place clean. Never open the sealed doors when he’s alone, never engage the patients. Not that he ever obeyed the latter; speaking to non-responsive patients was still more entertaining than speaking to himself.
Most of the patients at the lab were here before he arrived, all of them now in the late stages of the disease, reduced to nothing more than animals, slaves to their primal instincts. Even Patient 6, who looked like he had been a handsome man once, judging by the picture on his file, spent his days crawling on all fours and growling. But patients came and went, and today brought a new addition to the lab. He was the youngest patient so far, probably around his own age, still looking more human than zombie. He pulled the patient’s file from the holder.
“Hello there Patient 17,” Max said as he read the file. “Jules Bianchi. Nationality: French.” Max looked up from the file and through the transparent glass wall at the brunette. “France. I like France, beautiful countryside. I’m British, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Patient 17 didn’t acknowledge him, which wasn’t a surprise. Max sat down at his desk, bringing up the schedule for the day. As usual, the patients needed to be fed first thing in the morning. Max injected the latest cure into two rats and fed one each to Patients 6 and 14. The rest of the patients, including 17, got just the rats. The professor didn’t want to risk ill-effects of a non-proven cure on all his test subjects. While all of them gobbled up the little rodents, Patient 17 sat in a corner, chewing at his fingernails, or what he had left of them, pushing away the white rat with his feet anytime its curiosity brought him too close.
“You shouldn’t play with your food,” Max said as he wrote down his observations, peering around the lab to catch glimpses of all patients.
When Max left that evening, Patient 17 was still in his corner, and the rat was still squeaking, doing circuits around the edge of the cell. “You have to eat it, 17. You eat it or it eats you. It’ll get hungry too. It’s your choice, but I recommend you stay alive.” Max sighed, “Maybe you don’t get it. We’re trying to help, to cure you all. We can’t do that if you let yourself die.”
The next morning, when Max did his first round, he found 17 still curled up in his corner, a streak of red on the right side of his mouth, a failed attempt at wiping the blood from his face. Max smiled at the patient, noting his first meal in the log. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Max said, but when 17 looked up at him, Max saw the fluorescent lights glint off his red-rimmed eyes and wetness on his cheeks and he had to look away, swallowing away the guilt and reminding himself that all this was to do good, to cure people who still had a chance.
~*~
Patient 17 pressed his palm against the window pane, the cool glass fogging up around his hand. Still warm then, Max thought as he looked at him, the dark brown eyes sad and pleading, still so human despite the increasing redness around his pupils and the graying of his skin.
“What’s going on 17? Not hungry?” Max asked with a mouthful of his lunch as he entered the notes on his laptop. 17 had been quiet and obedient once he had fallen into the lab’s routine, but today he slapped on the window insistently, each slap harder than the last.
Max got up and stood in front of him. “What is it?” he asked, but of course 17 didn’t answer, only pressed his forehead on the window and fisted his hand, punching the glass in frustration. Max sighed. “You have your rat,” he pointed with the sandwich in his hand. “Eat,” he said before he took a bite of the sandwich as an example.
17 winced, his eyes tightly shut before he opened them again, begging, and let his gaze drop to Max’s hand, tapping on the glass with his finger, pointing at the sandwich.
“My sandwich?” Max said, bringing it up to eye level, thinking he understood. “You want some?” 17 nodded, his face brightening up considerably. Max looked over his shoulder and towards the door, ensuring he was still alone. “I’m not supposed to,” he whispered and the patient’ hands fisted again, clenched hard at his sides. “Oh what the hell,” Max said and opened the small feeding compartment, pushing the sandwich through.
17 dropped to his knees, pouncing on the sandwich face first, devouring it faster than Max thought possible.
“Guess I’ll be bringing lunch for two from now on,” Max said as 17 gave him what could only be a smile, the first time he ever saw one on a patient.
~*~
During the afternoon, Max would sometimes sit back in his chair, feet on the desk, and check his twitter and Facebook accounts or watch some videos on YouTube. Today, he was watching the highlights from the latest Formula One race.
“Zoom.”
Max looked up from his phone and looked around him, but the voice had stopped, so he went back to his video, slightly confused.
“Zoooom.”
Max stopped the video and listened at the zooming sound, low and quiet, barely more than a hum. He got up from his desk to take a look at the cells. Patient 17 was leaning against the glass wall, his eyes cast to the floor.
“Zoooooom,” he continued saying, imitating the sound of the cars best he could.
“You like cars?” Max asked, but 17 didn’t answer, simply kept repeating the sound like it was therapeutic, his pitch changing like he was imagining a car accelerating and decelerating, revving up and down at random intervals.
Max turned up the volume and turned the phone’s screen towards 17. “You like this, the cars?”
17’s face lit up and he pressed both hands to the glass, staring at the phone with wide eyes. “Cars,” 17 said in a strangled tone, the frustration evident on his face as he forced his mouth to form a word. “My car. Me. My car,” he said as he slid to his knees. “My car.Gone. No more car.”
Max watched in disbelief as patient 17 spluttered words, which was incredible because he had never heard a patient speak before. As far as he knew, they couldn’t speak. Sure, they howled and growled, but none of them spoke. They weren’t human anymore, they shouldn’t have words. He pulled 17’s charts again, flipping through the information he had never bothered reading past the first page. He skipped through to the patient’s background. Racing driver. Max went to the computer and searched for 17 based on the information he had, finding out that Jules Bianchi had won the GP2 championship and had signed a contract with a Formula One team just weeks before he caught the disease and the contract was cancelled.
~*~
It was another lunch time spent with his back pressed against the glass of 17’s cell, eating his roast beef sandwich. Inside, 17, no, Jules, sat mirroring his posture as though finding comfort in the contact even though they were separated by the toughened glass. Max understood Jules’ content because, strangely, he felt it too, that peace of mind, that emotional satisfaction that filled him when he was near Jules. He had quickly learned 17’s food preferences. He had made the mistake once of giving him a vegetarian sandwich. Jules had opened it up, searching for meat, and then had smeared the two halves on the glass before pouting in his corner. Max now always made sure to put extra meat on Jules’ sandwich.
“I’ve got something for you 17,” Max said as he reached in a little box next to him once he had finished his food before turning to face Jules. He held the item behind his back. “You have to hide it when other people are around though, or they’ll take it away. You understand?”
Jules looked at him with a confused expression, head cocked to the side, showing no sign of comprehension. “Okay then, I guess we’ll just hope for the best,” Max said as he showed him a small toy F1 car. “I thought maybe you’d like that, a reminder of what’s waiting for you once you get better.”
Jules stared at him, a low grunt escaping his lips that Max didn’t know how to interpret. “It’s fine if you don’t want it,” Max said, closing his hand around the toy, suddenly feeling foolish for offering and for spending all that time on eBay looking for the right one to buy.
“Car,” Jules said, kneeling in front of the receiving door and scrabbling at it. “My car.For me.”
Max smiled brightly and promptly pushed the car through. “That’s right Jules, it’s your car now. It’s for you.”
He felt his heart warm at the sight of Jules holding the toy car in his hands, looking at it like it was the most precious thing on earth. “Car. My car,” Jules hummed over and over again before he looked up at Max. “Merci.”
Max sat back on the floor in front of Jules, placing his palm on the glass. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you the real thing, but we’ll get you out of here, Jules. We nearly have a vaccine now, and a cure is the next step.”
Jules mirrored Max, their hands separated only by the glass. “Max.”
“Yeah Jules. I’m here.”
“Merci.”
~*~
It had been about an hour since Max had fed the patients and he was dealing with the mess Patient 14 had made with his last temper tantrum. 14 had been transferred to another cell overnight so this one could be cleaned, and Max was on his knees scrubbing the tiles when he heard the sickening sound of a patient puking their guts out.
“Fantastic. Just great,” he said out loud, thinking about the mess he’d have to clean. He left the cell, throwing his mask and gloves aside and went looking for the sick patient. What he didn’t expect to find was Jules hunched over the small plastic garbage can, hugging it like he was clinging to life itself.
Max quickly entered the override to the door lock and rushed to Jules’ side, forgetting all safety precautions in the process.
He kneeled by Jules’, rubbing his back while he continued to throw up. It had been weeks since Jules received a cure dosage, and Max thought this strain of it had much reduced side effects, but he was apparently wrong. He fetched his drinking bottle, filled with fresh water, and brought it to Jules.
“Here, drink some water,” Max said, putting the straw to Jules’ lips, but Jules snapped his head away, lips sealed shut. Max took a long sip from the straw. “It’s okay, just water, see?” And when he presented the bottle to Jules again, Jules parted his lips, letting Max slide the straw slowly in his mouth.
“That’s good. It’ll help,” Max said as Jules drank the water in long sips. “I’m sorry,” he said, guilt clawing at him, “I’m so sorry.” But Jules just looked at him with sad eyes, the corners of his mouth turned down. Jules pushed the bottle away when he had enough, returning his attention to the garbage can.
“Hurts,” Jules moaned as drool dripped from his trembling lips. Max fetched a pail of water and a sponge; he couldn’t let Jules stay in his own filth.
“I know it hurts,” Max said as he wiped Jules’ mouth, then coaxed him to lift his arms to remove his now filthy shirt. “But you’re strong, you’ll be okay, just be strong.”
He dipped the sponge in the pail, wringing out most of the water before cleaning up Jules’ face with small strokes, noticing how perfectly his lips met at the corner of his mouth when he wiped the area just begging to be kissed. He had never looked at Jules so closely before, never noticed the thin lines around his mouth, carved by thousands of smiles that Jules had probably forgotten. Maybe he should have stopped once Jules’ face was clean, but Max kept going, wiping away at Jules’ chest, still toned even after all this time in a cell. Jules must have been an Adonis before the disease stole his life, because even now, as a lesser version of himself, Jules would still be the envy of most men. Jules moaned when the cool water dripped down his body and Max had to bite his lip to keep his focus, to ignore the goosebumps and hard nipples that under different circumstances, he’d happily press his lips to. But for now, he just pressed his lips together and breathed, washing Jules’ back and drying him before he helped him put a clean shirt back on.
“See, you’re okay, you're strong,” Max said to Jules once he was done.
Max’s heart sank when Jules suddenly leaned against him, head against his chest and looked at him with teary eyes. “Not strong. So tired.Hurts.”
Max hugged him, brushing a few damp hairs from Jules’ forehead, feeling the heat of his fever. “Be strong Jules. Be strong for me, I know you can.”
Max spent the next hour rocking Jules to sleep, and the rest of the day tending to Jules’ fever. Not until he was lying in his bed alone in the middle of the night did it occur to him that being in such close contact with Jules might have been dangerous. And even then, when he recalled Jules’ arms wrapped weakly around him, he knew he’d do it all over again.
~*~
The following month, the vaccine was ready for human trials, so Max volunteered, despite the professor’s protests. It wasn’t a cure, but at least it was a step forward. Mostly though, it meant Max snuck into Jules’ cell every day during lunch time to watch racing videos while they ate. Some days, Jules pressed in close to his side to peer at the tiny screen, completely captivated by the action. Some days, he fell asleep that way, his breath slowing as he rested his head on Max's shoulder. And if some days Max brushed the dark hair back from Jules’ face when he slept, then no one but him had to know.
He had to keep giving dosage of trial cures to Jules of course, but he now always waited after another patient tested it first, to see the side-effects. He knew it was biased, unethical maybe, but if it meant Jules would avoid unnecessary pain, he didn’t care. He’d always tell Jules too, when he was giving him a dosage, like today.
“This one looks promising,” Max said as he handed Jules his food. “Patient 3 didn’t have any side effects, looked like some of his symptoms eased up too.” Jules nodded and took a large bite of the sandwich, trusting Max entirely. Max could only hope that they’d find a cure early enough. Jules’ disease was still progressing, his skin drying up and cracking, bouts of aggression surging up with no warning. Max took Jules’ hand in his own, inspecting the deterioration of it, flexing every finger, testing the joints.
“I’m ok,” Jules said, pulling his hand away shyly and facing Max.
“I know,” Max said with a smile and gently stroked Jules’ cheek. Jules was still handsome despite the disease, worn and tattered, but handsome nonetheless. Sometimes Max wondered if under different circumstances, there could have been more between them, more than sitting on a cold tile floor in a basement lab.
Jules leaned into his touch, turning just enough to press his pink lips against Max’s fingers, almost a kiss. Max sighed and pulled away, tilting his head back against the wall. He couldn’t go down that path; Jules was already more than a patient, and he couldn’t let him become more than a friend.
~*~
They had good days, but they had bad days as well, and lately Max felt like the bad outnumbered the good. He had cut himself this morning, an annoying paper cut that wouldn’t stop bleeding and reopened whenever he bent his finger. When he tried to open the cell door to have lunch with Jules, Jules sat with his back against the door, refusing to move.
“Come on Jules, move over, it’s time to eat,” Max said impatiently. He was starving; his morning coffee had been a poor substitute for breakfast.
“Blood,” Jules simply said with his back still to Max.
It took Max a moment to remember the cut. “It’s nothing, barely broke the skin, come on I’m hungry.”
Jules shook his head. “No.”
“Fine,” Max said, returning to his desk. “Let me know when you’re hungry and ready to let me in.”
But Jules kept quiet for the rest of the day, playing with his toy car.
The next day Max tried again to enter Jules’ cell, but Jules still refused to let him in. Max pushed the sandwich through; Jules needed to eat even if he wasn’t allowed in the cell.
Jules watched him, but pushed the sandwich back immediately. “Rat.”
Max looked at Jules. “What did you say?”
“Rat,” Jules said, enunciating as clearly as he could, his expression firm and demanding.
Max pushed the sandwich in again. “Jules, I’m not giving you a rat. Bloody hell, this lab doesn’t even have rats for feeding anymore, remember?”
“Rat,” Jules repeated, arms crossed.
Max sat on the floor, leaning against the glass. “Please Jules, eat the sandwich. Don’t be like that,” he said calmly, his tone softening, and he felt defeated. He wanted his friend back, not Patient 17.
Jules resumed eating that night, but it was another two days until he let Max in the cell again. It became like a game of roulette, whether Jules would let him in or not, and more often than he cared to admit, Max would spend hours begging him to open the door. Jules was slowly shutting him out and Max had no idea how to fix it. It kept him up at night, wondering what he was doing wrong.
~*~
Max was furious when he came in to work that day, the professor’s words from yesterday’s phone call echoed in his head.
- Our funding was pulled now we have a vaccine.
- What about the patients? What about the cure?
- They’ll be relocated to another lab; it’s outside our control now.
- But what if they’re not treated well?
- It’s not for you to worry, Max. I’ve arranged for transport with a security team. They’ll be here tomorrow. You can start packing things up until I get back in town.
Max paced around the lab, the pencil in his hand bearing numerous teeth marks from his nervous chewing. Most patients were so far gone with the disease that Max didn’t think they’d even notice the change of location; they were barely aware of their own existence if his observations were anything to go by. But Jules, Jules wasn’t most patients. He couldn’t recall the exact moment when Jules stopped being just a number to him, but somewhere along the way, somewhere between sharing sandwiches and watching racing videos, Patient 17 became Jules, and Jules became a friend. And now, now he needed to be there for his friend. He needed to get Jules out. Out to where, he didn’t know. Jules’ anger attacks were more frequent, more intense, and Max couldn’t simply free him. He knew he would need a plan, but security was on their way, so the plan had to wait until they were out of here.
Max unlocked the door to the cell where Jules was quietly playing with his toy car.
“I’m getting you out of here. Com on Jules,” Max said as Jules recoiled in the corner and put the toy back in his pocket. “Don’t be afraid.”
Jules tucked himself, knees against his chest, shaking his head at Max. “No, no…” Max walked closer waving him up. “Max, no…” Jules insisted, fear flooding his features.
“I’m trying to help you,” Max said, falling to his knees to be at Jules’ level, but Jules crossed his arms, tucking his hands under his arms. “No, I hurt you. Go Max.” And that’s when Max understood, Jules wasn’t afraid of him, he was afraid of hurting him.
“Don’t be silly Jules, I’m vaccinated, remember? It’s okay, I can’t get sick. Come with me.” Max knew Jules was afraid of physically hurting him and not of the contagion, but he hoped it’d be enough to convince him. And thankfully, Jules seemed to understand.
“With Max?”
Max put a hand on Jules’ knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Yes Jules, with me. Let me help you, get you out of there.”
Jules gave in, putting an arm around Max’s neck and letting himself be helped up. Max supported him by the waist, encouraging him along, out of the cell and almost out of the lab. But he was too slow. The security team was blocking the door, and there was no point in running anywhere, not with Jules in tow. This wasn’t an action movie and he was no action hero. The three men eyed him from behind their bulletproof vests and full face masks.
“Sir, we have to take the patient. Step away please.”
Max shook his head. “Not this one, this one’s staying,” he said, stepping in front of Jules, shielding him from view.
“We’ve got order: all patients, no exceptions. It’s non-negotiable,” one of the men said, placing his hand on the taser gun hooked to his belt.
“I go Max. I go,” Jules’ soft voice sounded from behind him, but Max extended his arms out, preventing Jules from getting around him. He turned his head to Jules and frowned at him, mouthing a no.
“Take all the others, Jules isn’t a patient. He stays,” Max tried, chest and chin up with all the confidence he could muster.
“Come on blondie, last chance. Out of the way,” the man said as he walked towards him, the other two men following closely behind. It was futile and he knew that; the one man alone was twice his size. But Jules was behind him, about to be shipped off to some unknown location to be poked and probed and left to rot in a cell somewhere. Max knew it was hypocritical of him to think this way, but he liked to think that Jules had opened his eyes to the flaws of this lab, of how they treated their patients. If it hadn’t been for Jules, he wouldn’t have convinced the professor to go from feeding the patients live rats to feeding them steaks instead. Because of that, of what Jules represented and how human he still was, and maybe, because of how he personally felt for Jules, Max couldn’t let him go without a fight.
Not that there was a fight. The electric shock hit him at once, his body no longer under his control, collapsing to the floor. Jules launched himself at the men, hitting and punching at them, yelling at the top of his lungs, but the thump of his unconscious body collapsing next to Max came soon after, and silence fell over the room. The last thing Max saw before his mind went dark was a lifeless Jules being dragged out of the lab by his feet.
~*~
It was days before Max left the confine of his apartment and ventured back into the world, and weeks before he went back to the university to finish writing his thesis, which had been through its last revisions already. It had been a formality, one that allowed him to hand over his resignation once it was done. The professor accepted it, assuring him that there would be no record of what happened on his last day in the lab.
He spent months wandering though France, driving his Fiat through the safe zones, trying not to think of the reason he came here for. He visited some acquaintances he had met through conferences, asking to see their labs, to learn from them, he’d say, walking from cell to cell. But every time it was the same and he left more disappointed than when he arrived.
One day the road led him to Nice where he stopped in a small bistro for something to eat. He walked around the place while he was waiting for his order, stopping in front of a display full of supporting memorabilia: flowers and photos, teddy bears and hand-written notes. Amongst all that, a framed newspaper clipping caught his eye. Local boy to enter Formula One. And there, smiling out from the frame was Jules. Not the Jules he knew, but a younger Jules. A young, alive Jules, smiling. Someone had taped a small lavender ribbon to the frame, a sign that the person had been taken by the infection. His eyes watered at the memory of Jules being dragged away from him. Not a day went by without him wishing he could have, wishing he had, done more.
The realisation dawned on him while he was eating his meal, watching the locals drop by the display, lighting candles and saying prayers for their loved ones, hoping for a cure. Max hadn’t been able to save Jules, but he could still save others. He drove back to England the next day.
~*~
He found a new job as a lead researcher and worked with a renewed determination to find a cure, running his lab with the highest ethical standards, the small profile picture from Jules’ old patient file taped to the main message board on the wall as a constant reminder of why he worked so hard. The first three years were spent on private tests, collaborating with a few other labs where he’d send the formula to be tested. Some days he swore he could feel Jules’ presence, watching over him, spurring him on when he felt like his research was at a dead end.
It took another three years, but Max’s lab eventually perfected a cure strong enough to reverse all but the very late stages of the disease, and it was approved for public use. The success of it won him several prizes, the latest of which he was being awarded today. He made his way to the podium on the stage, giving a quick wave to the crowd before retrieving the folded speech in his pocket. He unfolded it and began reading from it, thanking friends and family, sponsors and collaborators. He forced himself to look up and into the crowd as he spoke, his eyes automatically searching for a familiar face. It was conscious at first, after Jules was taken away. He would scan the crowds, in the streets, at the supermarket, wherever he was. He would search for Jules’ face in the sea of people. He had stopped expecting to find him years ago, but the habit had stuck, and his eyes would always linger longer on the brunettes in the crowd. There would often be a face that would make him look twice, thinking he saw the dark eyes or turned down mouth he still sometimes dreamt of at night.
Today was no exception as he caught, or thought he caught, a glimpse of a man that looked like Jules while he was reading his speech, but when he looked again, the face was gone. It was a few more speeches by other scientists before Max could go outside, finally getting some fresh air to clear his head. He wondered if it would ever end, if he’d ever stop thinking about Jules, stop seeing his face on total strangers.
But this stranger, the one that was approaching him right now, Max could swear it was Jules. But it couldn’t be, the man was healthy. Healthy and alive, and walking towards him with the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly. It couldn’t be, but it was.
“Jules, is that really you?” he asked when the man stood directly in front of him.
If Max had any doubt, it vanished when the man smiled at him. “Bonjour Max. Congratulations on the prize.”
“The prize?” Max asked, vaguely remembering why he was here today. “Oh, thanks. How? I never thought you made it. How did you survive? They told me…”
Jules pulled out the small toy car from his jacket, opening his palm to show Max. “I had something to hang on to.”
Max reached out to touch Jules’ face, stopping just short, noticing how young and healthy it looked. “Are you?”
Jules reached for Max’s hand and guided it to his face. “Cured? Yes, thanks to you. You are magnifique Max.”
“Oh Jules,” Max said, throwing his arms around Jules’ neck and hugging him. “I thought I’d lost you, all this time.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Jules said, returning the embrace. “My Max.”
“Why now? Why come see me now?” Max asked as he pulled away so he could look at Jules.
Jules looked down at his feet, nibbling at his bottom lip like he used to do, and shrugged. “I was kept as a patient for a long time. I thought about coming to see you, a hundred times at least, while I was getting treated. But I didn’t feel like me yet, and I wanted you to see me whole, not like the animal I was back then. And after, when I felt whole again, you had work to finish. I did not want to distract you.”
“You wouldn’t have been a distraction Jules, and you never were an animal. You were the reason for all this. The cure, it was always for you, even when I thought you were gone. Jules, I…”
“Hi,” a blonde woman said as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said, smiling at Jules.
“This is Jules,” Max said to the woman, struggling to force the next words out of his mouth. “A good friend from when I started working at the university. Jules, this is my girlfriend, Chloe.” Chloe, his research assistant, blonde, petite and nothing like the dark haired man who haunted his dreams.
“Enchanté,” Jules said with a smile, but Max saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, noticed it because his heart flinched at the sight of it, at the missed chances and the lost time, at the things that could have been but never were.
“We should go,” Chloe said, looking apologetically at Jules, “they’re waiting for Max for the group photo.”
“Of course,” Jules said, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder as Chloe left them to their goodbyes.
Max’s eyes locked with Jules’, expressing as much as they could without the words neither could find. Then Jules looked away, remembering something and he pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket.
“Tickets, for Silverstone.If you can make it.”
Max smiled as he looked at the Formula 1 tickets in his hand. He hadn’t watched a race since Jules had gone from his life, the reminder was too painful. “Are you…are you racing again?” he asked.
“Oui. I hope I will see you there.” Jules gave him one last smile then turned and walked away, leaving Max to clutch to the VIP tickets in his hands. The world around him turned onwards, but for him time stood still as he watched Jules disappear in the crowd. This time, he wouldn’t let Jules go so easily.
.