Pale face, with some mascara and lip gloss.

Still-damp blonde hair, twisted into a braid down the side of her neck.

The locket that her mother had given her for her 13th birthday.

Such was Maya.

She stared back at herself in the mirror. This is your life. Not someone else's. This is what's happening right now. In five minutes you're going to get in the car with the Friars and go to Katy's funeral. Not that many people are going to be there. That's going to hurt.

She fiddled nervously with the locket.

Someone knocked softly on the bathroom door. "Maya?" Lucas said. "Are you OK?"

"Yes."

She could hear his sigh through the door. "You think you're the only one who can tell when someone's lying? Are you dressed?"

"Yes."

He came in, dressed in a dark blue suit and gray tie. She was wearing a simple, black dress. He stood behind her, staring with her into the mirror. "You are not alone," he said. "Even though you may feel like you are."

She turned around to look at him, but she moved too quickly and one of her heels caught on the bathroom rug and she fell forward against Lucas's chest. He was frozen for half a second, then raised his arms to steady her, but she flung herself backwards against the sink, knocking a makeup brush onto the floor.

Lucas kneeled to pick it up for her, slowly. It was so obvious that she didn't want him to touch her. But why? She didn't look at him when he handed the brush to her, and she didn't look at him when he opened the door for her, because she felt guilty.

Sure, it hurt Lucas that she seemed to loathe being around him, but this day wasn't about his feelings getting hurt so what did it matter?

All of the waitresses from the diner came. The Friars were there. But that was it. Maya cried silently at the sight of the closed casket, while a preacher who hadn't known her mother at all talked about heaven. Maya and Lucas both believed in heaven, but heaven seemed very far away that day.

Lucas had to practically sit on his hands during the car ride to the cemetery, to keep himself from holding her. Maya leaned against the seat, facing the roof of the car. Silvery tear tracks crossed her face like rain on a window. None of this feels real, she thought. It was, though. She was sure it was. But what proof did she really have? She kept her eyes open, because every time she closed them she thought about the way she had found her mother.

As they sang a song at the graveside, she tried to think about the way her mother's body must look inside of the coffin. She hadn't wanted a viewing. But maybe it would have been better to have one? Then her last image of her mother wouldn't be the image she had of her in her room. She would have one of her mother dressed nicely, lying down in a peaceful albeit unrealistic position.

The guests began to disperse. Lucas brushed her elbow. "Do you want a moment alone before we go?" he asked.

"No." She walked quickly toward the car, her heels sinking into the grass. He kept up with her easily.

When they got back to the house, she went straight into her room and started throwing clothes into her bag. Don't cry. She unplugged her phone and computer charger and wound them up. Don't cry. Don't cry. It's over. It's done. You can move on. Crying isn't moving on.

Lucas knocked, but she didn't answer.

"Let me in," he said.

She didn't answer; she kept packing.

"Let me in Maya or so help me I will break down this door."

"I'm leaving, Lucas," she called out, closing her eyes. "You're not coming with me."

She took off her heels and put on flats instead. She put her flats in the bag, and zipped it up.

Lucas opened the door. "You didn't even lock it," he said in a low, serious voice.

She flung the bag over her shoulder.

"You're not thinking clearly," he said.

"Don't tell me how I am and am not thinking," Maya said, walking towards the door.

He closed the door and stood in front of it. "Stay," he said. He didn't say it like he was asking.

Maya gritted her teeth.

"What are you going to do, nugget?" he said. "Call for my parents? They're not here. Hit me? I can take that. You can throw punches at me all day if you want. Or, you could talk to me, which will be much less violent and much less strenuous for both of us."

She shook her head slightly, forcing herself to laugh. "This is illegal. You can't keep me here."

"Can't I?" he said evenly.

She glared at him, dropping her bag on the floor. She threw a punch, and he caught her wrist before her fist reached his face. He pulled her closer to him so that she had no choice but to look at his face. "What are you going to do, my dear?"

XXX Thank all of you for your reviews! Please keep reviewing. It really does make me want to write more/update sooner, because I love hearing what you guys think. :) XXX