Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has continued to follow, favorite, and review on this story! It is so appreciated, and your patience is gratefully received!
I apologize extensively for my lack of posting, but again, inspiration has not been my friend. I won't go on and on like I usually do, but I appreciate all of you still reading my story and enjoying it!
Please don't forget to review, it truly does help me write faster, even if it takes longer than you may like. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Girl Meets World, just the story!
Chapter Thirty-Seven: After the Storm There is More to Be Learned
Maya stood outside the door, taking in the scratched, dented numbers and the brass doorknob that dully reflected her somber expression. It was a simple action, a simple task, and yet her hand refused to budge from its position on her suitcase handle; gripping it like a vice without intention of relinquishing its hold. She wondered just how long she had been truly standing outside the door, gazing at its surface without truly seeing it, her demanding thoughts too muddy to see anything else clearly.
Approaching footsteps, muffled by the dirty, floral carpet adorned with years of stains in a variety of colors, caused her body to tense and she whipped her head towards the sound. A bobbing head of flaming ginger whistled an off-key version of 'The Star Spangled Banner' as he twirled his key on a finger before jamming it into the lock and striding into his apartment.
Maya stared after the space where the intruder was, not because she knew him or was particularly drawn to his former presence, but because the man had so disturbed her silent mentation that she wasn't sure what to do next. Whether it was best to trail back to the beginning of her thoughts, to start completely over and over-analyze them in a typically Riley fashion, or to simply trample her tracks and rush headlong into the situation she was dreading she couldn't decide.
Maya set down her bag, its thin but rough strap digging into her skin and leaving a harsh, scarlet flush on her shoulder. One hand now liberated, she determined to set the other free, but it seemed almost glued to its position stubbornly; almost as if it sensed her reluctance to enter. Perhaps she should listen to it.
But, then a voice that seemed to hold all the being of a person who had been restrained for far too long and was just now being released spoke, and it resonated strongly throughout her being. It echoed and sang, and all of her had to listen. And so she grabbed her bag, lifted the suitcase, and turned the doorknob.
When she entered, it was eerily silent in the house. Maya slid her bag off her shoulder again, glancing about the living room and kitchen with trepidation and with a caution normally attributed to visitors. But then a rustling from the couch caught her attention, and she suddenly found that she could let go of the suitcase handle.
Her mother stood up eagerly, but did not approach; scrutinizing her daughter in the same fashion Maya was regarding her. No verbal exchange was made, but when the elder woman dug her way easily into the younger's eyes, arms were opened and neither hesitated to envelop the other in a fashion that hadn't been as warm in months.
Maya wasn't the first to pull away, but when her mother grasped her hands instead of her arms, she smiled heartily and laughed. "I've only been gone a week and a half, mom."
"But, doesn't it seem so much longer?" She returned the laughter and let go of one of her hands to brush an unobserved tear from her cheek.
Maya swallowed, all mirth suddenly departed with the statement she must make next. Regarding her mother, she could now see the crinkles in between brows and sunken eyes that were still in the nascent stages of being re-lit. They were things she should have seen and hadn't.
"Mom," she began, taking her hand from mother's and sitting on the couch slowly, somehow drawing her mother down with her. "I didn't see."
A puzzlement came upon the latter's eyebrows, and she folded her now absent fingers together. "Didn't see what?"
Maya bit her cheek. "I'm sorry."
An expression of understanding now alighted upon her mother's face, and she tugged Maya towards her, something that surprised the younger ever so slightly. It was distance she expected, not closeness.
"I'm sorry, too," she said softly, once more bewildering her daughter, who tucked her feet underneath her legs. "I didn't make enough effort to help you—and I should have. I tried," she added hurriedly after seeing Maya's stern disapproval. "But, I could have tried harder."
"Mom—"
The elder Hart halted her speech with a quick nudge of her fingers tapping lightly against the other's cheek. "Did you figure something out, Babygirl?"
She quieted her desire for disagreement on her mother's admittance. "Yes," Maya replied quietly, recalling a night full to the brim with sparkling stars and close embraces over disclosures with hot chocolate. "I did."
"I can tell," Katy smiled, clucking her under the chin fondly. "Your eyes are bright, again."
Maya beamed tenderly. "Yours, too."
"Good." was all that was said, but it sent the ocean-blue irises twinkling again, and both pairs seemed to capture the golden light of a setting sun, too picturesque to be quite real.
But it was. And everything appeared oddly perfect, but Maya didn't expect it to disappear this time, because she was going to hold onto it too tightly for it to fade away.
"...police are determined to capture whoever is committing these random acts of vandalism, however each art museum they hit is unpredictable and scattered all over New York, making it difficult for authorities to intercept the teenagers. In recent events, the Museum of Modern Art in downtown Chicago was infiltrated just last night; police are still unsure if this development is connected..."
She was too entranced by the flickering screen to be aware of her surroundings, hands pressed tightly together in a white fist and lips pursed in an anxious pout, demonstrating to anyone about her that her entire body was engaged in whatever emotion took hold. Which was why it took her longer than four seconds to flip the blanket off of her lap and slam the glass of juice she had been drinking onto the scratched coffee table when Lucas snatched the remote from her limp fingers.
Before Maya could even attempt to get up from the couch and grab it from him, he pressed the power button nonchalantly, but all in one steady, calm—irritating—motion.
"Hey!" she protested, finally bolting from her seat to snatch it from his hands (now dangling far out of her reach) as his arm stretched to its full length. "Not fair," she accused, as the remote swung tauntingly three or four feet above her head, oblivious to her intense glare she was directing towards it.
"Well," he retorted snootily, no smile creeping up onto his face as it would have normally. "I don't want to listen to it anymore."
Maya huffed, narrowing her eyes at Lucas. "Then leave," she responded in exasperation, jumping one more time for the remote with no avail. "You won't hear it from your house." Leaving all dignity behind, she grumbled about as she suddenly turned from Lucas and hunted about for a stool, shoving things out the way irritably. He watched her with disinterest, clearly someone quite used to such a display as he slapped the remote against his palm without attention. "That's true," Lucas acknowledged, raising eyebrows as Maya scowled behind the wall, knocking over a book with a heavy thud. "Can you hear me?"
The blonde stuck her head over the corner, all red cheeks and sarcastic smiles. "Yes, Huckleberry. Shut up."
"Wonderful," he ignored characteristically, tired of holding the remote and so setting it down on the top of the couch as Maya continued her search for a stool. "So, I'm not leaving. You invited me over here."
"I know!" She shouted from her bedroom, muttered curses floating towards him as she stepped on every art tool known to man laying on her carpet. "I welcomed you to my home, and all you do is steal my property and withhold it from me."
Lucas chuckled, finally less cold and irritated than he was before. "I haven't stolen anything."
"Close...enough," Maya puffed, sounding as if she was moving something rather heavy across the floor. Suddenly, silence filled the apartment and he heard her scowl. "Can you just give me back the remote?"
"Give up?"
Maya emerged from her room, stalking down the hallway with arms folded across her chest. "Stop smiling," she demanded.
Lucas shrugged, grinning, but it widened into an expanse of loud laughter as Maya spotted the remote on the couch, sprang for it, and lost it as he grabbed the device, raising it high once more.
"Lucas!" she screeched, scrambling up on the cushions and springing for his back. "Just give it to me." He shook his head solemnly. "Is this some sort of joke to you?" she demanded, surveying his demeanor with boiling anger as she sank back into the couch. Maya expected to find irritation, but what she perceived didn't shock her or give her any clues as to why he was taunting her. It was odd: usually his emotions were written in stone, chiseled letters that read clear and extensive.
Instead, Lucas was positioned as if frozen in marble, features etched into a cold frown, almost deep enough to be actually icy to the touch. A curiosity to see if this was true sprang up in her like a probing flower bursting through soil, but she shoved it back down, still determined to be quiet and figure out his reasons on her own. Maya was turning over a new leaf; she was going to be silent, watchful, and patient. Or at least that's what she had told herself last night before Lucas had irritated her.
And as she scanned his form, it suddenly dawned upon her as she re-evaluated the situation. She had been watching a police report, something that connected to Jazz and their previous mishaps that seemed to bother Lucas extremely.
"You already know I'm going to see her," Maya blurted out, not quite patient enough to remain tranquil and refuse to make ripples with her blunt statement, ever remaining the rock thrown onto the surface of the pond.
His face darkened as expected, so she was also prepared for the sort of thing he would say next. "No, you're not."
"You're not in charge of me, Ranger Rick," the blonde reminded gently, appealing to his positive approval of "kind words turn away anger" or something along those lines.
Lucas's face did soften, still frustrated, but too pleased at her attempt to suppress his silent commendation. "Someone has to be," he reminded.
"Yes, and that would be my mother."
"But, as friends, we are accountable to one another." Lucas seemed almost too insist on this point, and it was here that Maya realized that she needed to probe farther on the subject he would never talk about or allow her to do herself (hence the removal of the remote from her hand).
She peeled herself from the couch and took a seat on one of the stools adjacent to the kitchen counter. He turned towards her, expression still guarded and hand still clenched about the remote. Any other time, she might have left it alone or waited until he hinted at being approachable, but the new Maya was adopting a formerly irritating Riley characteristic. Nosiness and pushing.
"Why does this bother you so much, Huckleberry?" she queried, making her tone light and soft; an interesting way to break his defenses, but after all it was the golden rays of sun that melted the sparkling, white snow in the spring.
Lucas looked down at his hands, calloused and strong—nothing interesting or unfamiliar, just a common excuse for not meeting her eyes. "Why doesn't it bother you?"
Maya sighed, taking in a deep breath and tapping her fingers on the granite counters to the melody she had learned on the guitar yesterday. "I never said it didn't," she began reluctantly, even more so when it peaked her friend's interest. "But more so now than it did last week." Lucas nodded, but she knew that was the only form of communication she was going to get for now, so she continued reluctantly. "However, I need to address it and move on. I want to fix what we did, and I want to confront the person who hurt me."
"I get it," he interjected hurriedly, eager now that he had a convincing point. "But that's not always the best idea. Sometimes it helps, but other times you'll just dig yourself a deeper hole, and you and I have the same problem."
"Yes," Maya admitted, flicking her gaze from her fingers to his eyes almost shyly. She wondered briefly if he could tell she was unsure of how to convince him or could see the anger in her eyes that she was trying to hide. "But, I'm different now, remember?"
Lucas smiled in an almost melancholy fashion; lips quirked half-way, not reaching his eyes. "You can't change that quickly, Maya."
A slight irritation sprung to the surface and she let it, hurt that he didn't believe she was trying or succeeding in her attempt at becoming better. Because she truly was this time, and it wasn't easy. So maybe she needed validation, which could be regarded as petty or selfish, but she was struggling for something she wanted. And she needed people to recognize it.
"Not with everything, but some things. And if I don't try at all, then I'm never going to completely overcome it, am I?" she asked, slightly harsher than she meant to, but clearly adamant and firm.
Lucas was obviously surprised at her stern reproval of his words, but all the more intrigued by the idea that she actually meant to change and shift what was once negative into something positive. And it was this that gave him the incentive to release what he had been disclosing for the last couple of months.
"No," he agreed. "Look, it's not just me trying to protect you from seeing Jazz or affiliating yourself with her, though be aware it is a huge portion of it." Lucas paused, hunting for the right words in the jumbled mess he was sifting through. "I'm supposed to be 'Mr. Perfect' to you. To all of us, to Riley and Farkle and Zay. I tried to leave behind who I was in Texas, not just because of one big mistake I made that affected my life in a huge way, but because of everything else that I was."
Maya tilted her head, lips parted as she watched him visibly struggle to continue, realizing that what he was saying was something he had never spoken aloud before and it silenced any words that wanted to combat with his. "What do you mean?" was all she allowed herself to utter, and even that she was loathe to add.
"I was angry, I was—" Lucas hesitated, eyes fading into a distant haze that suggested at thoughts spinning about in a dizzy carousel of memories. "I was lost in an idea that I clung to because I thought it was true and right, even though it wasn't. I think you understand that." His eyes were still cloudy, so she didn't acknowledge the address. "But it affected my life so much, that when I came to New York I tried to completely throw it away to become better, someone who could never have been connected to the person I was before."
Lucas finally saw her again, clouds drifting from a stormy, green sea that twirled with fragments of things he wanted her to know. "And that's why I feel like because I did what I did, even though I did it to protect you, I somehow broke that wall I've built and let that person come back. And if I don't seal the connection, all of him will seep through and I won't be able to push him back out again."
Maya sat back, lost in a twister of sudden information and words she should say in response to it. Her friend sat in the midst of the storm, guilty eyes and slumped shoulders, watching her as if she could calm the tornado for him. And she would, or at least try, because it was he did every time she or one of their friends was stuck in their own maelstrom.
"That's why you want to sever the ties between Jazz and me too, isn't it?" He nodded slightly, verbally unsure and unstable. "Lucas," she leaned forward and looked deeply into his eyes, feeling odd and bold with the sudden reversal of familiar roles. "You're not whoever you were back in Texas, and you won't be again. You're too involved with all of us for that to happen," she chuckled in the pause. "And besides, whatever you've learned from the last couple of years isn't going to leave you all of a sudden. You know how I know that? Because how in the world would I be here, after a whole six months of awful, terrible mistakes, and still have you as my friend? I wouldn't," Maya confirmed. "And neither would you."
It was silent for a moment, but the lull produced what she had hoped: Lucas's worries drifting away like a forgotten balloon, and his confidence returning both visibly and inwardly.
"Thanks," he finally replied softly, eyes never leaving her face. "I don't suppose that I can still convince you not to go?"
Maya laughed, silence and seriousness now broken, releasing the eye contact. "No, because if you don't take what you know and learn from it, then you're never going to be the better person. You'll just stay rooted in the same spot forever." Her eyes drifted to the remote, but she didn't reach for it. "Because that's where I was; stuck in the same pattern for months. All because I didn't try."
She looked up and discovered that Lucas's eyes hadn't left her face. "All that's left to do is ask if you're going to come with me."
"You know I was going to anyway."
"Yes," Maya affirmed, smile fading slightly as more thoughts assuaged her conscious. "But how am I going to handle the whole situation is still a mystery."
Lucas smirked. "You mean how are you not going to kill your cousin?"
She sighed, finally grabbing the remote triumphantly before he could slide it farther away. "Yes, that."
"Easy," he answered causally. "I kill her for you."