I don't own Degrassi
Chapter 2
The apartment was dark as Maya walked in, tossing her keys onto the table by the door. She closed it behind her and just leaned her back against it for a moment. The day had been a long one, catering a party for a bunch of wealthy and drunk businessmen. She'd lost track of how many times she'd been pinched on the butt after the first round of cocktails.
With a sigh, she took off her coat and dropped it by the door. Slipping off her shoes, she walked into her small kitchen, heading for the refrigerator. As she turned on a light, she let her gaze fall on the apartment. It really wasn't anything special, particularly for Los Angeles. She'd never even bothered to give it a special touch or anything like that. It had been the first place she'd seen in her price range, and she'd signed the lease without a second thought. She just hadn't cared that much. It was one thing to be on the way to LA and have stars in your eyes, but as time had gone by, Maya had just lost all interest. At that point, with her dreams falling further behind her, it was just easier to stay in LA than go home to Canada and the sympathies and the whispers of "she's never recovered".
A few glasses of wine later, Maya lay down on her bed with a sigh. She'd certainly gone through her fair share of wine since coming to LA, usually sneaking whatever was left after each party until she was old enough to buy her own. On her worst nights, it was the only way to get any sleep. That night, she might've overdone it. Things were beginning to swim in front of her eyes and she closed them, putting a hand to her head.
"Maya," a distant and ghostly voice said, sounding almost like the wind that sometimes whistled through when she opened a window. Maya opened her eyes, sitting up a bit. "Maya."
"The hell?" Maya said, sitting up. She reached for the lamp next to her bed and accidently knocked over a set of magazines, sending them to the floor. "Damn it."
At that, she started to laugh foolishly, putting a hand over her mouth. She really had drunk too much. After a moment, still stifling her laughter, she turned on the lamp, looking down at the pile of magazines. Maya stopped laughing as she saw something poking out from one of them, something she couldn't remember having seen in years. Frowning, Maya picked up the photograph, looking at it. There, in all its sobering intensity, was the image of herself, fifteen and with mockingly high hopes for the future, with her arms around him as he gave her a piggyback ride. The happy smiles on both of their faces would be jarring to even a clear head at that moment. Maya's chest began to heave and she opened her nightstand drawer, tossing the photo in and slamming it shut. Her stomach rumbled at that moment as the wine threatened to make its reappearance. A hand over her mouth, Maya ran to the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind her.
When it was over, Maya took deep breaths as she sat on the floor, leaning against the bathtub. She drew her legs up to her body and pushed her hair from her face, looking sadly at the tiles. Instantly sobered, Maya heard the voice in her head that she heard almost daily for six years; the voice that she tried to ignore by never saying the name. But after six years, she was getting tired of ignoring the fact that it was there. The walls were beginning to break, and she could only think of one thing, over and over.
Cam