A/N: Seriously so mad I didn't call this fic Lost :(
Certain Things makes sense, in the long run of things, but you gotta think about it I guess. Eh, whatever.
So I didn't proof read this and I apologize if there are any errors. This was hard to write. And it's going to come to a close shortly (ish?), so leave some prompts/ideas in the reviews for a new fic? And it doesn't have to be GMW (I would honestly prefer it not to be). I really would like to write a The 100 fic in the future. Let me know what you think of this!
Maya's POV
Hesitantly approaching Lucas' door with his cap and gown dry cleaned, I stopped for a moment, taking into consideration what exactly I could be getting myself into. Lucas isn't lucky with the ladies usually, and with Riley, it was like striking gold, except now he's coming to the frank conclusion that gold wasn't really gold and just pyrite—at least for him.
They were both each other's first lovers. They both had never been kissed, never been embraced, held, felt so emotionally tethered to, and now that it was over, they're both suffering the same way, and feel so alone, like nobody understands what they're going through. And me, I'm stuck in the middle of all this mess, not even sure if I myself am at fault for this or if I'm expected to be some sort of "helping hand" to the two. Nonetheless, Lucas needed to get his ass up and graduate. He'll thank me later.
Knocking aggressively, because I knew he wouldn't get off the couch if I gave some mediocre knock, I tapped my foot against the cement, waiting in the excruciating heat for Lucas' apartment to provide me some relief.
He opened the door, and to no surprise he was wearing just his boxers and a muscle shirt. His eyes, per the usual, were dark, gloomy, and depressing. He hadn't used deodorant in at least a week, judging by the smell that hit me when the door opened. Walking past him quickly with one hand plugging my nose, I dropped his gown on the table and looked at him with a stern, not-here-for-the-bullshit look, but he wasn't giving in.
There were fifteen used coffee cups arrayed on his counter, a sink of dirty dishes and the curtains in every room of the apartment shut. I opened them, as I pushed the cups into the sink, and he shrieked, covering his body with a blanket as he'd already returned to the couch, resuming his episode of Family Guy.
"Graduation is tonight, Lucas. Tonight. Do you even have a suit picked out yet?"
He rolled his eyes. I took the remote from his hands (he's always had subpar reflexes) and turned off the television.
"I can't go. I-I can't see Riley yet, not yet, I'll-I'll just go pick it up over the summer over something."
"That's not how it works."
Picking him up from his spaghetti arms, using all of my upper body strength (which wasn't very much), I dragged him into his bedroom. And he could have stopped me, he definitely could have resisted, but he didn't, just letting his body drag as I pulled him away, because he knew deep down I was right. Or something.
Plopping him on his bed, I opened his closet and scanned his limited supply of white dress shirts. I pulled the one shirt I found without any stains on it over his head, as he sat, lifeless on his bed, and then picked a pair of black dress pants from his drawer.
"You're on your own for this part, kiddo-"
"I can't go, Maya. I'm serious. I'll just be too humiliated if I see her, especially with that Farkle kid there. I just can't go."
I raised an eyebrow, as my hand distinctively returned to my hip, and took a short breath.
"Look, I know you screwed up, and you made a mistake, which was really stupid and kind of made you look like an asshole-"
"-Maya."
"-But, the only thing that really matters is that I'm still here, even after that foolish thing you did, and I still love you. That's all that matters, right?"
He looked up at me, like he'd just experienced an epiphany, or had seen Jesus Christ himself, and opened his mouth, as his eyebrows furrowed together.
"So, you want to be together now?"
"No-I-no, of course not, just because I," I took a deep breath, recomposing myself, "Just because I say I love you doesn't mean it's romantic."
Awkwardly, I scoffed, flipping my hair, and from the corner of my eye I could see his lips creep into a smirk.
"Anyways, you gotta be stronger than that, man," I continued, as he regained self-control, "you can't let a woman get the best of you. Riley's going. She's not letting you get the best of her."
"She doesn't have anything to be ashamed of."
"And neither do you," I said, poking his chest playfully, "Go out there man. Get that diploma and be the boss I know you are."
"Please, never call me that again."
"I understand completely."
I stepped away for a moment, as he picked out a tie and put it on, and I ended my case with,
"Be at my place for 6:30 for pictures. I'll have Riley out by then, don't worry about anything."
Patting his back in an awkward, friendly way, I made my way out, cringing as I'd began my walk home.
Lucas POV
Popping a mint into my mouth, trying to eliminate the "reek" of alcohol which lingered on my body, I parked my car and let my head fall back on my seat. I closed my eyes, trying to calmly resolve any problems that I could possibly come across in my mind. And I was blank. Riley was going to be there, sure, but we knew damn well she didn't have the guts to talk to me, or she would have stayed at Maya's house when I arrived. Riley was always nothing but a pushover. A soft, weak, pushover.
I blinked and sat up. What the hell was I saying? I was in love with Riley. They say you don't know what you have until it's gone, and hell, are "they" right. I missed Riley. Every part of me, every part of my body, my mind, it ached for Riley, to come back to me, to accept me again, to forgive me, for whatever it was I'd done. And the scariest part was when the daunting idea that Riley could have been the one came to mind, leaving my stomach in knots and my mind racing.
Maya, I'd thought, was the love of my life growing up. She was everything I wanted. And when I revealed that to her, letting myself be vulnerable in front of her, she couldn't take it, and clearly didn't feel the same way about me. Riley, though, Riley loved me back. And with Riley, I felt safe, like, if I ever needed something, anything, she would help me with that. Riley could have been the one. She would have been the one, and it broke my heart. I didn't know how I'd face her tonight, I really didn't.
Before getting out, I'd looked in my rear view mirror, quickly, casually, and innocently, expecting anything other than what I'd seen.
Riley, in Farkle's passenger seat, had been giggling as she struggled to delicately move the tassel on the top of his cap. As her fingers softly touched his cheeks, Farkle blushed, looking down at his shoes and biting his fingernail to distract himself. After successfully adjusting his hat and tassel so it wasn't in his face, the two rejoiced in a high five, laughing as they got out of his car and walked in together.
A pang of jealousy ran up my spine. Trying my best to not clench my fists, I quickly pushed my mirror out of my way, slamming the car door and walking in.
As the advisors directed me towards the ceremony, some quickly throwing in comments like, "How handsome you look tonight!" I found Maya, sitting on the bleachers and looking down at her phone. Looking up, she found me, a smile immediately appearing on her face, and she took a deep breath.
"Graduation, huh? Feels like just yesterday-"
"-Yeah, feels like just yesterday we were starting elementary school. I've heard that at least 50 times this week," I blurted out, scanning the perimeter for Riley and Farkle. Maya, clearly disrespected, sat up, pushing herself off the bleachers with her arms, and stood next to me, nonchalantly saying under her breath,
"I was going to say it felt like yesterday I sat next to you at lunch, and, you know, saved your social life from complete and utter destruction, but, you know, that too."
As guilt and humiliation surged through my body, I saw Riley, sitting with Farkle and looking around aimlessly. She looked bored, as Farkle made small talk with the school administrators and the head of the National Honor Society. Suddenly, her eyes met mine, and I panicked: I turned to Maya, nudging her a little too fast for it to look believable, and told her I needed her to fix my tassel. Immediately.
It wasn't necessarily the smartest way to make Riley jealous, considering, you know, I could have moved the tassel myself, and, you know, it wasn't absolutely urgent for a girl 6 inches shorter than me to try and do it. Awkwardly crouching down, Maya, after I directed my eyes towards Riley, agreed, pushing the tassel to my left quickly and returning her glance back up, with an expression of confusion and embarrassment plastered on her face.
Maya's POV
Mr. Mulligan, with a water bottle that I assumed was full of vodka, spoke sluggishly into the microphone on the stage. Repeating the same phrase for fifteen minutes, his voice grew more monotonous and robotic by the second, making it even more unbearable to stand.
"Please find your seats, arranged by alphabetical order, I repeat please find you designated seats, arranged by alphabetical order..."
His voice began to trail off, as his eyes began to flitter away and his posture weakened. As Mrs. Consolas rushed to the stage to escort him away, I found my seat, and kicked the back of Lucas'.
He sat diagonally across from me, sobered-up but not enough, and had a long face, with sunken eyes and weary composure.
He turned, in a torpid manner, and managed to give a half smile. As I furrowed my eyebrows at him, searching his eyes for answers, he jolted up, stifling the neckline of his shirt and intensely watching someone or something in the distance.
I turned. Riley and Farkle had been seated together. It was only inevitable, considering their last names, but Lucas looked sick to his stomach, like he'd been betrayed, beaten, defeated.
I placed my hand on his shoulder, as his eyes were glued to Riley, sitting down with her legs crossed and hands folded in the classiest fashion.
"It's not up to Riley, it's just her last name. If she-she had the choice, I promise you she'd be sitting with us."
He didn't answer. He already knew. He was just upset, humiliated with everything, and slowly turned away, returning his glance to the stage as Mr. Mulligan had returned to the microphone.
He began speaking of his time in high school, which, I'd presume was a pretty long time ago, before electricity and all, and how he'd met some of the best people in his life, but they'd gotten away. Despite the obnoxious sweat stains, stench of alcohol and overall mediocre appearance for a high school graduation, Mr. Mulligan was real in everything he said. The crowd was in awe, listening to how he strung together his words so effortlessly, so effectively. I think more than anything, we were surprised that he wasn't lying about his college degree, after all these years.
"I met the love of my life in high school," Mr. Mulligan said, his voice breaking and tears welling in his eyes, "and you all may be thinking, why, where is she now, then? She got away. And that's why I'm telling you all this, be careful to keep the close ones close, no matter where you end up going in your life. You'll regret it if you don't, I tell ya."
He paused, biting his lip and managing to give a meek smile to the crowd.
"Let's begin honoring our graduates."
As he began to read the names of the list, Lucas groaned, rubbing his eyes and sitting back, taking deep breaths.
"Hey," I whispered, patting his shoulder assuredly, "The break up was for the best. It was the right thing. Don't let this get you down."
He didn't answer, again.
I was conflicted as to whether Lucas was morally upset about his life or just angry. Either-or, it wasn't a good thing.
When Lucas was angry as a kid, it was scary. Real scary.
Sitting in the playground, picking the grass out of the lawn was Lucas, his face red, his teeth clenched, his eyes burning, trying to hold back the tears. He'd just been in the sandbox, waiting for me to finish my lunch inside, when two boys, big and chubby, with tight clothes on approached him. Scooting over innocently and offering a bucket and pail to the boys, he stared up at them, waiting for them to sit. Instead, the boys started shouting, words that, at the time, Lucas couldn't make out, as his heart fluttered and his body trembled. They kicked sand in his eyes, some he swallowed by accident, too, and pushed him away, laughing and whooping and confusing the hell out of 9 year old Lucas.
I had to go to the bathroom to help him clean up after that, since the teacher assistants simply offered him a couple of kleenex and a bottle of water to help him out. He cried, saying his eyes burned, they burned bad. And he coughed up sand, despite his throat being dry and it causing him pain, so much pain. It burned. It burned for hours.
And when I brought him back to the playground, for the last few minutes of recess we had left, the boys laughed. Laughed. And Lucas couldn't take it. He didn't know what the hell he was doing, but he approached them, his eyes red, swollen, and wet, and sucker-punched the first one, causing the second of run off. The boy screamed as his body hit the hard pavement, and Lucas just stared, in shock or whatnot, until the teacher assistants broke up the situation.
And after that, while Lucas was picking apart the grass, and I rocked back and forth, with my knees pressed to my chest, all he whispered was,
"Don't let that happen again."
"Lucas Friar," Mr. Mulligan announced, the crowd once again erupting into an applause. Hollering was heard from the back- I'd guess it was Lucas' parents- and Lucas accepted his diploma, using all of his might to keep a smile from creeping onto his face. I'd hope.
It was a little too serious, a little too dry for a kid who just graduated high school. He sat down, just placing in on the grass, and all I could mutter out was, "Lucas."
He turned and just smiled at me. He knew what I wanted to see.
Names were called following that, mine included.
And when Riley had finally been called, the crowd was particularly loud. Turning around, Farkle had been standing up, clapping, shouting, smiling, laughing- and Lucas' face burned. He bit his lip, clenched his jaw, cracked his knuckles. This was not good.
My heart started to pound through my chest. I was nervous, for Riley and Farkle, but more particularly for his plastic surgeon.
"Lucas," I repeated again, trying to look cool, but his eyes were glued to Farkle, and Farkle was plain oblivious to the situation at hands. As I went to put my hand out on his shoulder, he was up, walking towards Farkle steadily, but with clear intentions. And Riley, Riley was just frozen on the steps of the stage, as she watched her ex-boyfriend knock her current-or whatever the hell they were- to the floor, cold, hard, and ruthlessly. Farkle was out, the ceremony was silent, shocked, scared- and Lucas, Lucas just cracked his knuckles again, looked down at Farkle on the grass, and walked away: coolly, calmly, and collected- but this time, without a purpose or intention.
Lucas was lost. Lucas Friar was a lost boy.