I'm Not a Liar- I'm Not
Ch6
I snap awake as the bed sinks, and blink blurry eyes. The sun has shifted, now the orange gold of late afternoon, and I sit up as I process the face looking down at me.
"Mr. Mathews?" I ask uncertainly, glancing down at the body on the other side of me. Riley remains peacefully asleep, arm draped over my waist. I slide backward on the bed a bit to make more room for the man.
"Hey, Maya. How'd you sleep."
"Fine," I say, impatient but suddenly nervous. "What's going on?"
"I wanted to talk to you for a bit," he says, glancing briefly at his sleeping daughter before meeting my eyes again. It's strange how calm he's been through all of this. A lot of times he reminds me of Riley- all loud and goofy. I sometimes forget that he's actually an adult.
I sometimes forget that Riley can be more than naive and silly, too.
"I went to the diner to talk to your mom," he admits calmly, and places a hand on my shoulder as I immediately start to scramble from the bed in a panic. "Hey, everything is fine."
"Why would you do that? What'd you say? What'd she say?" My voice is too high, and Riley shifts, stirring into wakefulness.
"Maya? Dad?" Riley asks groggily, rubbing at her eyes. "What's going on?"
"Everything's fine," Mr. Mathers says again in that same calm voice. "Katie and I just talked about what's been going on with you, and how we wanted to handle this going forward."
"'We?"' I ask doubtfully.
"We decided that it would be best if you stayed here for a bit," he says, reaching across my legs to hold Riley's hand as well. She grips it tightly.
"Mom agreed with this? But who's going to take care of her?"
"She's the adult, Maya, and you're the kid. You shouldn't be the one taking care of her. Still, she's going to be getting some help. And while you're here, you're going to be seeing a therapist at least twice a week."
"No. I don't need a shrink," I scowl.
"Okay, well," he says, not even blinking. "Topanga and I are going to be paying for one twice a week, and you can decide if you want to go or not each week, or let the therapist get paid for two free hours."
My nails cut into the skin of my palm as I grit my teeth. Anger and frustration burn in my cheeks as the man thoroughly and shamelessly manipulates me into going.
This isn't right. They shouldn't be going to all these lengths for me- I'm not even their kid! It's all just too much. It makes my head spin and descend into self-ramification. Everything good in my life comes from them.
They give and give and give without a second thought while all I can do is think on it and drown.
And for weeks I simultaneously drown and am saved while living with the Mathews. It's the best weeks of my life, living with my best friend, sleeping next to her every night, having someone to do homework with (someone to help with it). It's shadowed by bad, though.
The bad comes when I'm left to my thoughts. It comes in the humiliation and shame each day when they ask me to roll up my sleeves to make sure I haven't made any new cuts. I have to revert back to the old methods, but I don't cut. I wouldn't be able to stand their disappointment in me- I might die.
And then I get an F.
Mr. Mathew's gives me an F.
And my head sinks below the waves.
I can't sleep. My thoughts are too loud, ruminating about the day. Obsessing over it. All I can think about is that the closest thing I have to a father thinks I'm a failure. And I know the material. I studied so hard for that test. All I wanted to do was show him that what he's doing isn't going to waste- that I can do something that he can be proud of.
I was stupid to try. Stupid to believe I can be smart, get good grades, make him proud.
I turn over to my other side. My skin feels tight. It feels like I might explode, or cry, or scream. My muscles burn, wanting to lash out, but there is nothing to lash out at except myself.
I pinch my thigh over and over, as hard as I can, but it's just not working- not enough. It's like a scream is building in the back of my throat. I roll out of bed, careful not to wake Riley who is sleeping soundly on the other side of it.
When I get to the bathroom, I just stand there a moment, feeling lost under the florescent lights and dark hall. I quietly close the bathroom door and climb into the tub where the razors are.
I shouldn't be doing this. Overwhelming guilt sours my chest as I disassemble a razer, palming one of the blades into my hand, but the guilty feeling only makes my skin itch more- the need burn more.
I hesitate, touching it to my wrist. They'd see it. They'd know. What does it matter anyway? I've already disappointed them.
My mind whirls and spins and aches. I shuck off my pants, kicking them down toward the drain, and look down at my legs. The sides of them are littered with small, purple, bruises.
My hand shakes. I shouldn't be doing this. I'm not good enough for them. I'm not good enough for anyone- especially the Mathews. Especially Riley.
Thigh's bleed more than wrists. A lot more. I stare transfixed at the red spilling out over the open cut. There is an immediate relief the moment I press down. My thoughts become shaper, more focused, present. I almost want to sob in relief when my thoughts turn away from my failures, my shortcoming, to just this stinging pain and the vision of red.
It almost hesitates as I break the skin, before suddenly realizing that it can make a break for freedom, leaving streaks down the curves of my thighs. The red on white provide stark contrasts of color, and it makes me want to drag a brush through and see if I can paint a picture with the color.
The blood in my ears is all that I can hear, the blood on my skin all I can see, the red, red, red all I can think about.
Until I become aware of the hands prying the blade from my fingers and tossing it near the drain of the tub (where my pajama pants are), the hands shaking my shoulders, the hands sliding up my neck to cage my face.
My head feels heavy, fuzzy and slow, and it takes me a moment to focus on the person who I'm pretty sure magically appeared in front of me.
My eyes widen at the sight of Riley, who had clambered into the tub with me and is now kneeling in a pool of red. My ears finally tune into her rambling voice.
"Maya, Maya, come back, oh god, Maya, please come back, oh god- you- oh god-"
I gasp, suddenly registering what's happening, looking down at the mess of my legs with panic. Dozens of cuts litter both legs, more than I've ever done at once before, and there is so much blood. So much more than my wrists ever bled.
"Crap," I hiss, reaching for the roll of toilet paper Riley is already unraveling and pressing against my thighs. I help her with the plaster, feeling the anxiety crawl right back up my spine, as present and demanding as it's always been.
"Just-" Riley's voice breaks and she stands, trying to scramble out of the tub. "Hang on, let me get my parents-"
"No!" I gasp, reaching out. I catch her wrist in a bloody grip, and Riley looks at me with wide, terrified, eyes. "Please don't tell them! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- please don't tell them!"
"Maya, you just-"
"It was an accident, I swear! I didn't mean to do it that much. Please," I beg. "Please, Riley, please don't tell them."
Riley hesitates a few more seconds before her head gives a jerky nod and she's climbing back into the tub and helping put pressure on the cuts. It's a horrific sight. Her pajamas are soaked in blood, and all I can think about is how we're going to be able to hide it.
What have I done? I'm doing it again. I'm pulling Riley into my darkness again.
"Maya," Riley says, and the way she says it makes me think it wasn't the first time she's called my name. I blink, dazed, and wonder if it's from the blood loss or the situation. The situation might be blood loss. (The cuts are artificial- they look worse than they actually are). "Maya, I really think we should get my parents."
"We can't," I insist, pressing more toilet paper into my self-inflicted wounds. "They'll hate me."
"Is that really what you think?" Riley asks, resting her hand over mine. It looks so very wrong smudged with red. "Maya, they could never hate you. They love you. I love you. Nothing you ever do will make us love you any less. Do you hear me? There is nothing you can do that will make us love you any less."
My heart aches. I can't breathe. It's hard to hold her gaze when she's looking at me like this, but it's impossible to look away. And even though I don't understand it, I can almost believe it. I didn't mean to believe in something.
Still, one Mathews' compassionate eyes is enough to rip me apart- I couldn't handle the two other people, right now, that I look up to most in the world.
"Please," I whisper.
Riley sighs sadly and slowly straightens up before climbing out of the tub. I can only watch, frozen, as she crosses the bathroom. Then, she crouches down in front of the sink, and I stuff my fist into my mouth to muffle a sob of relief.
It takes a while to clean me up. It takes a while for the bleeding to stop. The Mathews don't have rolls and rolls of gauze like I do, but they have enough in their first aid kit to make two plasters and tape to hold them down. I've never seen Riley so quiet as she goes about cleaning up the supplies and turning on the shower briefly to rinse out the blood. She tosses the blade I used and the entire razor (I have to resist pulling it back out of the trash when she'd not looking). I'm wearing my pajama bottoms again, and all I can do is watch as my best friend cleans up my crimes. Watch as she stands in her underwear, trying to scrub out my blood from the knees of her pants with trembling hands. Silent tears streak down her cheek.
"I'm-" my breathe hitches, twisting my sleeves in my fingers, "I'm sorry."
"I know," Riley says, turning away from the sink. She reaches out, catching one of my sleeves, and tugs me into her body.
I burrow against it, taking comfort from her familiar scent, familiar shape, familiar warmth. Warm like the sun as her heat catches in my chest and grows and calms something in there. She is the reason that I exist, the reason I try, the reason I get up in the morning.
I'd be lost without her.
She flips off the light switch and tugs me from the bathroom.
"Come on, Peaches. Let's go back to bed."
We lay in the dark a long time. I know she doesn't sleep. Her hand keeps running up and down my arm, tangling in my hair before sliding back down again. My thighs sting, and the tape holding the plaster itches, but my thoughts are calm now.
"Why did you do this?" Riley asks after a while, sounding no closer to sleep.
"My brain wouldn't shut off," I answer just as softly. "Sometimes, my thoughts just… Sometimes all the bad thoughts are just right there, and they're so loud. The only way to shut them out is to… do this."
Her hand slides forward, making a grasping gesture on my back. "I was so sacred, Maya," she says tearfully, pressing her cheek against my neck. I can feel the dampness.
"I'm sorry," I sigh shakily. "I didn't mean to do that many."
"And what happens if this happens again, only I'm not there to stop you? Were you going to stop? Maya, do you want to die?"
"No, no, of course not," I deny, holding her tighter as she sniffles. "I just wanted to stop the thoughts; I didn't mean to!"
"Promise me," Riley begs. "Promise me that the next time you want to- to- hurt yourself, you'll tell me?"
"I promise," I say immediately. Always. Anything she wants.
"Even if I'm asleep. If I'm asleep, you wake me, okay?"
"Okay," I say, less readily.
"Promise me."
"I promise, Riley," I dutifully tell her.
"Good," she says with a heavy, tired, wet, sigh. "Because I can't exist in any world without you, Maya."
All the air in my lungs is sucked out. Because it sounds a whole like she needs me just as much as I need her. And that's impossible. What could I possibly have to offer?
A/N: I can't believe I've gotten so sucked into this again. You guys can go ahead and expect a new update every week until it's finished- I'm almost done with it. I'm obsessed. I wish I can get this way with my other stories that need finishing.
Anyway, please review! They make me happy. Most of the time.
~Silver~