I'm Not a Liar- I'm Not

Ch7

My therapist says that I have an unhealthy dependence on Riley.

I don't like him very much.

I tell him that she is my whole world.

He says that my world can't just consist of me and her. So, I told him that the Mathews are in my world, too. He likes to talk about the Mathews a lot. He tries to talk about my mom and dad a lot, too, but they are harder to talk about. I don't even know what to say about them.

I don't like talking to my therapist, but Mr. Mathews won't stop paying for the sessions, so I go grudgingly, and I talk haltingly about whatever the shrink wants to talk about.

He asks about my self-harm, so I show him the frowny-faces I've scratched into the tops of my hands. He asks about Riley, so I tell him how she found me in the bathroom at 1am and helped patch me up. How she loves me and I don't understand why.

My therapist says that people never see ourselves properly, so we have to rely on the people around us to tell us. I point out that my dad left and my mom avoids me most of the time- and that seems pretty telling. He sighs and moves on. I take it as him conceding the point.

Riley comes with me to the diner after school. We don't stay long because it's usually busy, but she holds my hand the entire time, not even letting go when my mother pulls me into a fierce hug. She always whispers apologies in my ear, but this time, I can smell the familiar alcoholic scent clinging faintly to her clothes.

As soon as we get outside, I duck into a nearby alley and press my back up against the filthy wall. The brick bites into the back of my skull but I only push back harder, using it to center me.

"Riley," I whine desperately, making aborted movements of my arms, wanting more than anything to just rake my nails down them and rip the skin open.

She steps into me, untangling our linked hands to instead cradle my face. She simultaneously tugs me forward to press our foreheads together and pushes me back more firmly into the wall. Her body acts as something like a weighted blanket, and I find myself automatically calming, focusing on the points where we touch.

"Breathe, Peaches. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

How can anything to do with Riley be unhealthy for me? If anything, she saves me. She's always saving me. I'm not strong enough to save myself. Riley, the Mathews, they think I'm strong- but I'm not. They make me feel strong, though.

They make me feel precious.

I wrap my arms around Riley's waist and breathe deeply, letting her presence wash away all the bad thoughts and emotions until there is only peace and love and Riley.

"It's just…" I try to explain it, but words fail me.

"I know," she murmurs, tucking my hair behind my ear. "But she loves you and she's trying. It'll get better."

"Can we go home now?" I sigh. The Mathews' place has always felt like home.

"Let's go home," Riley nods, taking a step back and relinking our fingers. She squeezes. "I love you, Maya."

"I love you too," I whisper back. Sometimes it scares me how much. But most of the time, I can't fathom another way of existence.

My therapist says that I have abandonment issues along with an inferiority complex, and that's why I'm always expecting people to turn their back on me after I do anything wrong.

What a phony. I knew that already. I don't need some fancy words to describe my feelings, I just need it fixed so we can stop these stupid sessions that the Mathews are paying too much money for.

It's random, inane, moments that I start to spiral- on career day when my mom doesn't show up even though I asked her to come, when it's Riley that gets disappointed when she doesn't show up to the art show, after we hunt down Farkle's bully (the 'he said I'm nothing' still ringing in my head- how is Farkle still not agonizing over it, turning it over and over in his head?). Sometimes it hits when I'm trying to fall asleep, or just sitting in class on a random Friday as the teacher drones on about something inconsequential.

I try to keep my promise. Whenever the feeling hits, I look pleadingly towards my best friend, hand absently moving to scratch at my arm, and, somehow, she understands.

She maneuvers and talks and excuses our way away from people, and then she either talks me through it, or she holds me as I break down in gasping sobs (restraining my hands as they desperately rake at any skin they can dig into).

Christmas was fine because I was so distracted with fixing Shawn's relationship with Riley and the genuine joy of spending the whole day surrounded by people who love me almost as much as I love them. My birthday was harder. It was really hard. God. The only reason I didn't end up cutting was because Lucas tied me up. Maybe that was why Riley had him do it.

My therapist says I have depression and anxiety. I think Mr. Mathews telling him that I self-harm when he was hired is the thing that gave it away. He asks if I want medication to try mitigating it, but I refuse. The Mathews pay for enough. My mom wouldn't be able to afford the medication, and the insurance doesn't cover it, so it would be them that would be paying for it. And I know they would- they already offered- but I just can't. I can't ask anything of them after everything else they've already done.

We sit in the bay window, and my head rests in Riley's lap. It's 5:30 and there is a lazy, peaceful, feeling in my chest as I stare up at my best friend. She glows gold- a halo of light surrounding her head.

She has my arm in hers, the sleeve pushed up, and she traces the scars lightly with her finger. They are all healed by now. Several are still puckered, but they are no longer irritated and inflamed.

"I love you, you know," she says, stroking the inside of my elbow.

"I know," I say, watching her exploration.

"Do you?" she asks, and I look up to her. Riley's expression is serious, intense on my arm. "Do you believe me, now?"

I hum, turning my hand over to catch her fingers and she looks down to meet my eyes. Despite the topic, the peaceful air doesn't leave. "I believe you. I always have," I squeeze her fingers, "I just don't really understand why."

"You're amazing Maya and you're my best friend. You are also the bravest person I know."

"I'm not brave."

"You are. And you are kind, and loyal, and beautiful, and you've done so much for me. You are my favorite person in the world, and I'd be lost without you. I wouldn't be me without you."

"You're my favorite person in the world, too," I admit, lips twitching into a reluctant, inevitable, smile.

Also inevitably, we break down into a pile of giggles and grins.

"Ladies."

"Farkle," we respond together, automatically, to the greeting. I carefully tug my sleeve back down over my hands as I look over toward the skinny boy.

My therapist says that I test and poke at people, pushing their buttons, because I have trust issues. I don't know if that's true or not. I do trust Riley, so I don't know why I find myself testing her.

I just know that, when Farkle takes us out on a date to decide who to 'choose,' I find myself poking. I watch as she gets all soft and mushy (because of course she does- Farkle is being all Farkle and sentimental), and I find myself mimicking the melting (it's not very hard because Farkle really is the sweetest person I know after Riley). And when she proclaims that she wants to be Farkle's date to the stupid Buggie awards, I proclaim that I want to, too.

I watch intently as she pushes back. She doesn't fluster and back down, she doesn't act like I'm something delicate that might break. So, I prod even harder, press even harder to be picked, and she matches me effort for effort (and okay, maybe it hurt a little when she tried to lock me out of our bay window, but it's all in the name of competition).

And I realize it's because she trusts me. Trusts me not to break over a small conflict- if we fight- if we argue. Trusts me to keep my promise.

So, maybe I didn't trust her about this. I didn't trust that she would treat me as she always has - that she doesn't really think I'm strong. Ergo the small test. Do I have trust issues?

My therapist says that I have an attachment disorder. I wonder if that's why I can't seem to invest myself in our friends the way Riley does. I care for them, I swear I do, but not to the extent Riley does. Not to the extent I feel for Riley or her family- that overwhelming fear that they'll wake up one day and see me for who I truly am, or I'll do something so completely horrible, and they'll want nothing to do with me anymore. Honestly, the only reason I'm friends with any of them is because Riley is.

Lucas and Riley's not-really-existing relationship hasn't progressed any farther since their date than it has all year. It's in a perpetual state of frozen, getting frostier by the day.

There is no falling out, no awkwardness- it's just that nothing seems to be happening. We spend time together during school, we go to the café after school, and the boys randomly show up on the fire escape outside the bay window.

Life continues on as it always has, except now I live with the Mathews, I go to therapy twice a week, and Riley look towards me more and more. She's always looked toward me with everything- it's what we've always done- but now it's almost as obsessive as I've always looked toward her (like she just has to double check to make sure that I'm still there).

Life is…good, for the most part. It feels like I've grasped onto a life raft and I can finally breathe.

And then Farkle gets tested for Asperger's.

It's shocking, and confusing, and it doesn't change anything. Farkle is still Farkle, and our friends are still our friends, and nothing changes. And then it turns out that he doesn't have it, and it's still okay.

"Farkle," I blurt before he can disappear out the window after Smackle. My blood pulses anxiously through my veins, but all I can think about is how he came to us, trusted us, with something like this. It was his first thought- for us to know. It's my first though to hide, hide, hide.

He turns, half in, half out the window with a patient tilt of his head. "Yeah?"

I feel Riley's stare on the side of my head. "I, um… I have depression and anxiety. And an attachment disorder? At least that's what my shrink says. So. Yeah."

He slowly shifts until he's sitting back on the bench. "Really?" he asks.

I look down at my hands, and then up at the ceiling. "Uh huh. Oh, also my mom is an alcoholic and I've been living with Riley the past few months."

"I had no idea," he says. "I'm sorry."

I shrug awkwardly. "I'm dealing with it."

"Is there anything I can do?"

I shrug again, wishing he'd just go now. Riley squeezes my hand in support. "Not really. It's just that… after all this, I wanted to tell you. So, that's all. You can go now."

Farkle stands and crosses to the bed. He hugs me, bending down to do it. "Thank you for telling me. I know it must have been hard. If you ever want to talk, I'm here."

I bite my lip, resisting the burn in my eyes and the urge to reach out and clutch him closer to me. I have to clear my throat as he finally pulls back.

"Whatever. Now get out of here you little weirdo."

My therapist says that I'm not broken. He says that I can get better. He says that I'm already mending.

END

A/N: This fic is COMPLETE! I will be writing more in kind of a sequel which is probably more of a continuation but it's going to be Rilaya. I was not intending to do any romance for this, but now I am, which is why I'm ending it here so if you don't want to read that, you have the option to just stick with this ending. However, if you do, the first chapter of the next one will be up next week.

Please let me know what you guys think (without being mean or hateful- if you don't want RileyxMaya just don't read the sequel)!

~Silver~