Maya

The house is so quiet it's painful. Save for the few times my mom peeked in my room to ask me if I need anything, it's been like this all day. From the moment my alarm stirred me an hour later than it was supposed to, I knew I just...couldn't today.

That's become my least favorite feeling, actually. Can't. I don't do well in situations I have no power over, I've found. Call me a control freak but I need the knowledge that I can make a difference in any given situation (whether or not it's a positive one is a different story). But can't just...it hurts. It might actually be one of the most painful things I've felt, and in a way, I've found so much of the pain in my life is rooted in it. It hurts when someone leaves because you can't bring them back. It hurts to feel heartbreak or even physical pain because you can't just will it away. There's a lack of control over anything that hurts you.

And lately, I hurt me. Not in the physical sense, but it's as if my brain's come undone and is being run by whichever part of it doubts the rest of them. As much as I'll try to coordinate all of the functions and get myself out of bed and shower and get dressed and go to school and have friends and personal relationships and eat and sleep like a normal person, there's some sort of mental block keeping me from it. Everything reminds me of something else. Someone else. And how every move I make is broadcast somewhere, whether up on a pedestal or down in the slums of everyone's diluted opinions of me. Nothing I do ever goes unnoticed—at least, that's what my head's led me to believe. My own mind has turned against me and wants me to stop doing things. You know, the part of my body that coordinates all of the things that I do? It's telling me to stop doing them. And that hurts.

I've turned my phone off and stayed off of all social media sites to avoid anyone from school asking where I am. My mom called in and said I'm "not feeling well", which isn't a lie, but it's also not a good enough truth for most people, so I'm already predicting a storm of bystanders unsettled by my absence. As much as I want to be annoyed with the people who badger me over my days like this, who seem to feel entitled to my presence in order to maintain the balance in their daily lives regardless of any lack of balance I may be experiencing, I guess I can't blame them for worrying. It's not like I've been "myself" these days.

"Maya?" I hear the whir of my mom's electric wheelchair stop at the hall outside my door.

I don't know why I'm avoiding her, but I pretend to be asleep.

Surely the fact that I've been quiet for hours cues her in that this is no sleep of mine, at least not lately, so she turns down the hall to pause at the entrance to my room (which she insisted I keep open so she can "keep an eye on" me). "Maya?"

"Mhm?" The motivation to sound asleep is there, but the drive to pull it off just isn't.

"You want lunch or something? We have tomato soup. I can make grilled cheese."

I shake my head. "I'm not really hungry."

"Sweetie, it's almost four. You haven't eaten all day."

I curl up tighter to my comforter, feeling the indentation my face has made in my pillow from laying on it all day. "I know."

"Why don't you try and eat something?" Her voice is so sweet that it's sour in the pit of my empty stomach because I know she's trying so hard. "Do you want eggs? I could make French toast?"

Again, I shake my head. "I really don't feel good, Mom."

There's a momentary silence where I can practically hear her thinking. Eventually, she resurfaces with, "...At least come in and keep me company? Your dad's working late tonight. And you know nothing good's on TV at this hour."

With the amount she's put up with me over the last year, I owe her this much. "Okay." I can sense an air of relief about her as I shift to sit up, wrapping my fleece blanket around my shoulders and shifting my legs over the side of the bed. I'm sure she can tell I'm still in yesterday's school clothes, but she's not saying anything about it.

I take my phone with me and set it at my spot on the table. It's still off, but I just have to be sure no one's contacting me otherwise I'll just be thinking about it—not that anymore texts would coe through its black screen with it being in there than they would in here, but it's just...one of those things, I suppose.

"So are you sure you don't want anything?" She asks me as she wheels into the kitchen.

I shrug, "I suppose I'll have whatever you're having."

She glances at me as if to dispute this, but then nods. I'm sure she's already eaten but if having another meal will get one in me, she'll do it. I watch my middle-aged mother with multiple sclerosis shift herself from her wheelchair into forearm splints just so that she can get her perfectly-healthy fifteen-year-old daughter to feed herself. It's times like this that I think the only sick I am is sick of myself.

I listen to her start conversations she thinks I can participate in as I stare at my blank phone, knowing that it's off and that I don't want to deal with anyone's concern, anyway, but still unable to shake the thought of wow, you've been gone all day and absolutely no one has noticed. I'm perfectly aware that I've cut myself off from all contact so I wouldn't even know if anyone's tried to reach out to me. But that doesn't mean my unraveled brain is letting me get away with that peace of mind. The clock in the kitchen says that school's dismissed, meaning that all of the normal kids who completed their normal days have earned their free time by now. They're relieved from their classrooms and free to go ignore their homework and hang out with their friends while I get the unearned sense of relief knowing that I technically don't need to be anywhere else at the moment. The unearned part feels more obvious than the relief, though. It was easier last year, when it was harder. The grief was thicker, but it at least felt justified. It wasn't just "in my head". It was all over the school. And the news. And the obituaries. The constant reminder didn't help at all but it certainly gave my brain betrayal some validity. Now I just feel stuck in a sore that should have been healed by now.

The plate my mother sets in front of me breaks me from my trance. "Huh?" I look up at her, hearing the tail-end of a sentence I didn't quite catch.

She nods to the dish. "I asked if you wanted to take these to the couch so we can watch something."

I furrow my brows. "I thought you said nothing good was one?"

She gives a small shrug. "Maybe we can get a pay-per-view movie. I think they just added one of Johnny Depp's newer ones. I know you like him."

Offering a smile, I nod. My guess is she's noticed I've become conversationally inadequate but still wants to keep me around. Looking down at my plate, I see what seem to be crepes wrapped around stacks of sliced peaches like bouquets, complete with a dusting of sugar and a dollop of whipped cream. "You've been on Pinterest lately, haven't you?" I chuckle, looking up at her.

There's a falter to her smile but she doesn't act on it. "Yeah, actually! That's where I got this recipe. I have a whole breakfast board." There's a guilty feeling I get from the waver in her voice that makes me guess she told me this earlier when I wasn't computing.

I relocate our plates to the coffee table and curl up into my blanket as my mom flips through the movie options, waiting for me to give a response that isn't vague or open-ended. Before we can settle on something, the front door opens and Zig steps inside, his eyes finding us with a mild concern that he tries to dissolve once there's eye contact. "Hey, guys!"

I smile, "Hey Zig."

My mom waves at him. "You're just in time. We're looking for a movie to watch."

"Yeah? Like something Nicholas Sparks or something Quentin Tarantino."

I roll my eyes teasingly. "Mom was looking for something Johnny Depp, specifically."

"Oh yeah?" He chuckles, slinging the strap of his bag around one of the kitchen chairs. "Character Johnny Depp or serious Johnny Depp?"

She shakes her head, "Well, I was looking for that Transcendence movie but it doesn't look like they've added it yet. They have Into The Woods?"

"Oh, God." Zig half-laughs, half-groans.

I grin, "Yup, that's it. That's what we're watching then."

"You're so mean to me. Joke's on you because Anna Kendrick is hot," He points to me as he approaches the couches, nodding to the plates on the coffee table. "That looks good. What is it?"

"Peaches and cream crepes," My mom responds proudly as she starts the movie.

"They look awesome."

"Did you eat today?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, I wasn't hungry."

I gesture to my dish, "You want mine?"

But Mom instantly intercepts, "No, she hasn't eaten anything, either. Take mine, Zig, I'm not all that hungry."

"You sure?" He raises his eyebrows, but she nods, so he stretches to take her plate and bring it into his lap.

Mom nudges me with her elbow, "Eat."

I nod, "I'm gonna, I just...like waiting until the plot actually starts to start eating."

"It's not popcorn at a theatre, Maya, you can always pause it and go get something else if you want," Zig chuckles, popping a forkful of peach into his mouth.

I eye my plate but my stomach is still too full of guilt and sour to have room for anything else. "...I like waiting until the plot starts."

He shrugs, "Suit yourself."

We go through the movie with occasional commentary. Once Zig sets his empty plate next to my full one I can feel the attention go to my consumption so I take my plate to at least pick at the crepes. I get maybe one and a half down and push the rest around so that they smear the whipped cream enough to make it look like I tried. My appetite is lost on self-pity and the phone on the table that I'm still worried will alert me even though it's still off.

When it's over, Zig goes to take the dishes to the sink but Mom insists he stays back and fills me in on what I missed. He waits for her to be out of earshot before shifting to claim the spot on the couch next to me. "So is everything alright?"

I nod, "Yeah, why?"

His lips press together. "I don't know. You weren't in school."

I shrug, "Woke up late."

His brows furrow. "...So you missed the whole day because you woke up late?'

I nod again. "What did I miss?"

"Like you're sure you don't feel sick—"

"I'm fine."

He hesitates, his mouth falling open a bit for words but not knowing what they were.

"...What."

"I just want to know if you're feeling okay—"

"I am."

"...I mean, because you're not eating or anything—"

"I'm not hungry."

"...Is it like a weight thing? Because if anything, you're under—"

"It's not a weight thing, Zig, I'm not hungry. You weren't hungry so you didn't eat. I'm not hungry so I didn't eat. I'm not hungry. I just don't feel well. I'm fine."

He forehead creases. "...You're fine but you don't feel well—"

"Yes, now what did I miss?"

He eyes me carefully. I make sure annoyance is clear on my face so that it can mask the obvious burning in my cheeks. Eventually, he just nods. "...Fine. Okay, uh..." He gets up from the couch and crosses to retrieve his backpack. "Not that much, really. I went to your classes and the only ones that really had homework were Math and English, but I think the English one is just that essay you got last week...oh, yeah, uh...and we have another rubber room project."

I cock an eyebrow. "What kind of project."

He sifts through his backpack as he returns to the couch, pulling out a slightly wrinkled paper and handing it to me. "This stupid shit."

Taking the sheet, I read it over, nodding. "So we're presenting stories to little kids. Okay, that's pretty cute. Definitely works with that whole 'humanizing the rubber room' thing Grell's been trying to do."

"Yeah, just wait and see what our story is." He gestures to the other side of the paper.

I turn it over. "...The red string of fate." My gaze tops my glasses to point right back at him.

He holds his hands up. "I swear, this wasn't my doing."

"You totally planned this."

"No, they were given out at random, I...think..."

"You think?"

"I was kind of asleep when she gave the assignment."

"And I'm the one worth worrying about," I tease, "So Grell totally planned it."

"No, originally we got something else but Tiny and Grace had this one—"

"So Tiny and Grace planned this—"

"No one planned anything, they just really didn't want to deal with it because it's sappy and chick-flick-y and ours was about a girl with no arms and they figured you'd like this one."

"And who's to say I wouldn't like the one with the girl with no arms?" I raise my eyebrows.

"No one, but they made a very valid point about how having the two of them tell a bunch of kids about soulmates would ruin their little outlooks on love forever so we should do it for the kids."

Pinching my up-curved lips, I nod. "Fine. I'll take it. So what's our presentation gonna be?"

"I...didn't plan that far ahead yet."

"Oh, so your plan just went to 'work with Maya on a soulmates project'—"

"I told you it wasn't me—!"

"I'm kidding, Zig," I chuckle, sitting back on the couch and pulling my hair up, trying not to cringe at the grit of the tangles I feel as my fingers sweep it up into a low-hanging ponytail. Before I can realize I don't have a hairband, Zig pulls one off of his wrist and hands it to me. "...Thanks."

He smiles. "I can brush it later, if you'd like."

"Is that part of your plan?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, Maya. I'm going to brush your hair and tie it up with a red string of fate that pulls you to me so I can keep you forever."

"That's not even how the story works, doofus."

"See, you know more about it than I do."

"Yes, I planned this all the way from the comfort of my home."

"Hey, I don't know your life."

"On the contrary, Zig," I laugh gently, shaking my head, "I think you know my life even more than I do these days."


Sorry it took me so long to revisit this story! I never planned on abandoning it, I have a whole future in mind for it that I couldn't just let go stagnant. Hopefully there are still some readers out there and hopefully you enjoy the update! Thank you to everyone who's been supporting my writing, it means so much. 3

-Kina