Chapter Text
The judge's gavel slammed down with more force than necessary. The judge was a woman in her mid-forties, who was staring Max down with the intensity of an eagle eying its prey. Brown eyes pierced into dark blue ones. Max swallowed ever so lightly, trying to seem less intimidated than he felt. A small smile appeared on the woman's lips, curving the usual straight line they formed on her face. Cruel. Deserved, perhaps, Max thought to himself.
"Max Emilian will be sentenced to at least a year in the Blackwood Rehabilitation Centre for Troubled Youth. After that, a reassessment of his capabilities will be possible." The judge said calmly, her eyes never leaving Max's, as if she was trying to understand how such a 'promising young man', as his lawyer had called him, could possibly get onto such a wrong track. Max kept his head down as he walked out, his lawyer's hand pressing heavily onto his shoulder. This was it, this would become his last day of freedom for a long time.
His father was already waiting outside, next to the black Porsche 11 they had owned ever since Max could remember. Before the divorce even, before his life had turned into a living hell. His father didn't speak, but his blue eyes pierced into Max's own, as if trying to see the son he used to love instead of... whatever they had now. He hadn't even bothered with coming into the courtroom, only mumbling something about Max being an embarrassment to the family name. When Max eventually reached him, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his head lifted to hide the anxiety that was already forming in his chest like a thundercloud, making it hard to breathe, he could smell the faint scent of alcohol, a mix of beer and whiskey. Before he could dwell on his father's drinking habits for too long, however, the man slapped him across his face. Harshly. In a swift motion, but still harshly. The passing pedestrians around them pretended not to see. It was always the same anyway, Max thought to himself. He was a teenage boy. He sure did look like a troublemaker, didn't he? People automatically assumed he deserved the violence, the punishment. And maybe he did. He wasn't so sure about that himself anymore.
He got into the car as his father wordlessly opened the back door. He wanted to ask where they're going, what would happen now, but Max was smart enough to know that that would be a rookie mistake. He knew better than that, or at least he thought he did. As Max stared at the front seat, which his father now got into, his memories flashed with the police car he had sat in not too long ago. He closed his eyes, trying to erase the memories entirely. Stupid, getting caught like that. Stupid, stupid. A hand, his father's, he knew without opening his eyes, crossed his cheek again. "Look at me when I am talking to you, boy." Max hadn't even realised his father had started speaking, too caught up in his own thoughts. Stupid, really stupid. The police officer had been nice at least. He had given him a plastic bag when Max started gagging in the back of the police car. He opened his eyes. His father was still staring at him with that same, never-dulling intensity. "What did the judge say, Max?" "Juvie, or something like that", Max answered thoughtlessly. "Talk properly!" His father looked angry again. "I'm sorry, Father." "Yeah, that's the only thing you can do, huh? Making excuses, always making excuses. Are they coming to pick you up tomorrow, or do I need to drive you?" Max racked his brain. He faintly remembered the judge saying something about the police picking him up in the morning to drive him to the facility. "I'm being picked up." "Good for you", his father snarled, "Because otherwise you would be walking."
The next morning arrived with heavy drops of rain splashing against the thin windows of the house, Max could barely call his home now. The evening hadn't been nice, not that he expected it to be. His father had taken his anger out on him once again and then left to go to the local pub. As always, since the divorce. Since life had changed for Max, since he didn't know what to feel anymore. He hadn't gotten dinner either, not that he expected that. The fridge had been empty every time Max had been home during the last few months. He was already standing on the porch, his backpack slung over one shoulder, when the police car pulled up at 9 am sharp. Max didn't look back when the officer opened the back door for him and put his backpack into the trunk of the car. His father hadn't come home, so there was nobody to say goodbye to. Not that Max would miss his father. Or maybe he would, he didn't really know. He was the only one he had left, after all, but somehow Max suspected that that wouldn't make him miss the man more. The only thing Max knew for sure when he got into the car was that his life was about to change drastically.
It took an hour or so to drive to Blackwood Rehabilitation Centre for Troubled Youth. But truth to be told, Max lost track of time while he sat in the car. Had this been any other day, then he would have tried to map escape routes, to follow where they were going. But the night had drained him, and where would he run to anyway? There was no home to come back to for Max. The two police officers in the front didn't try to make conversation either. They had probably read his file, and probably already knew what kind of person he was. Or maybe they hadn't, it didn't matter either way. Eventually, the car came to a halt. The building in front of them looked nice enough with its light stone walls. It looked more like a castle than a facility for teens who were too good for juvie but too difficult to stay at home. Too difficult to be wanted by anyone, in his case.. Max's perception, however, was quickly corrected when he stepped inside, crammed in between the two police officers. It was an uncomfortable position, but he didn't dare complain; he didn't want to worsen his situation even more after all. That, too, was a lesson Max had learned the hard way in the past. The two officers walked, or more like dragged, him to the reception, where a stern-looking lady with glasses was already waiting for them.
"You must be Max then," she smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. It never did in places like these. The officers handed him over. "Your caregiver will be here in just a second," she continued. One of the officers eyed her critically: "And who would that be?" The woman's friendly expression didn't waver as she responded. "We've put him into a dorm of 4, together with Lewis. Given Max's, well ..., situation, Lewis will temporarily move in with the boys, just to make sure all goes well."
The police officers seemed satisfied enough for now. Or at least that was what Max thought when they left him alone with the woman, without a word of goodbye or another glance back, just a case file being handed over. The receptionist was named Miss Claire, as he read on her name tag as they waited for Lewis to arrive, her smile never waning. Lewis. Whoever that would turn out to be.