ft. plot twist
✦ * · ˚ 003. with maverick → @flightsrsk .
date: december 24th, 8:30 p.m.
location: the braxton’s annual holiday party .
donatella didn’t know what she was doing at the braxton’s mansion. perhaps it was the false sense of security her last encounter with her ex had gave her, perhaps it was the masochist in her that made her show up, but for the first time in two years she stood there. as she looked up to its grandiose stature, the brunette realized that the last time she had been to their annual holiday party, she had been maverick’s girlfriend - she had been welcomed. now, she was probably persona non grata by the whole family. she hoped that none of the braxton siblings decided to do something rash, like kick her out - that would be humiliating.
taking a deep breath, she walked in, high heels clicking on the foyer. the familiarity of the event, even after not attending for the last two years, was HAUNTING. she remembered how maverick had hated having to take part in it, how he dreaded the event for months before. it occurred to her that maybe that was the reason why she was really there - the last time she had talked to maverick, it had been… interesting. for a while, it had felt like they were back together and that everything would be fine. but their encounter had also left her worried about his well being - something about his expression that day and the begs under his eyes had spooked her.
she had convinced herself that she wouldn’t actually talk to him at the party, just make sure he was alright and leave. well, maybe drink a few glasses of champagne and then leave. so when she noticed him, mere minutes of entering the ballroom, she didn’t really know what to do. maybe she should just assess his appearance and ignore him for the rest of the time she was there. yes, good plan.
it turned out to be a BAD plan, she realized as soon as she locked eyes with her ex. his eyes weren’t as empty as they were when she went to his apartment and the bags on his eyes weren’t visible from the distance, but there was no disguising his unwelcoming expression. donnie looked away after what seemed like centuries, an anxious feeling forming on the pit of her stomach. this is not good at all. snatching a champagne flute from the waiter that was passing by and turning around. she needs privacy. it took her a while to remember where the closest bathroom was, but she couldn’t help her sigh of relief when she finally found the door. drinking the remains of the drink in her hand, she entered the room - only to be surprised that she wasn’t alone. ❝ oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t know there wa- maverick ? what are you doing ? ❞
THE BRAXTON FAMILY HOLIDAY PARTY is quite possibly the worst night of maverick’s year –– each year he tries to convince himself that it’ll get easier, that he’ll become more sure of himself, that he’ll finally be okay mentioning to the whole entire fucking world that he’s not interested in theatre anymore, that he’s pursuing philosophy now. that he has other dreams other than the ones his father planned for him. every year, he tries to muster up the confidence ( with the help of some liquid courage, as of recently ) to say something, but each time, he hits a wall. like the cold realization that lying his way through one more night is less of a task than destroying his family legacy.
it’s hard –– fibbing about the classes he’s taking, the roles he’s preparing for, the playwrights he admires. he can’t even resort to more destructive tactics to keep himself afloat: it’s far too risky, the way he might spill his change of heart, if under the influence of something a little stronger than champagne. add on top of that, the looming question of melanie’s death –– the only thing maverick thinks is EASY to admit is that he’s hating every moment of this, his bowtie feels tighter and tighter around his neck every minute.
and of course, locking eyes with his ex from across the room doesn’t do him any favors. in fact, it makes his heart sink. what’s she doing here ? his mind starts running, just as it always does –– doesn’t she know that this is the worst fucking night of my years ? doesn’t she know that the last time she was here, we were together ? doesn’t she know that i’m already confused out of my GODDAMNED mind ? he doesn’t find the courage to walk toward her, either, his feet tugging him the exact opposite way, in fact. that’s it, he tells himself. seeing her is the sign he needs to excuse himself from his social obligations –– i’ve done enough chatting for the night.
he excuses himself from the latest conversation ( something boring and dull, like inheritance taxes ), feeling absolutely sick to his stomach. he runs for a nearby bathroom; he’s choked up –– he doesn’t know what to say, his palms are sweating profusely, his chest hitching with every breath. it’s certainly EMBARRASSING that someone has the power to push him over the edge, to feel immediately out of control of his own emotions. their last conversation had left him confused as ever –- that they were able to go from yelling matches to comforting conversations in a blink of an eye. he had replayed her words in his head a dozen times: the way she seemed like she flirted with him, the way she complimented him, the way she encouraged him –– but also the way she dismissed him, the way she frustrated him, the way she berated him for being stubborn. it INFURIATES him, how much he’s let her dictate his wellbeing, even now, years after they had presumedly severed ties.
he needs to feel in CONTROL, needs something to get him through the night. he’s cursed himself for making his own terrible habits so accessible for himself –– and reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to procure a small bag of fine white powder, and begins to create alluring lines with his credit card. he’s halfway through inhaling one when the door swings open, the chatter of the party streaming into the room –– along with one donatella navarro. “fuck.” he locks eyes with hers again, the second time that evening, and for a moment, he’s stunned.
but a split second later, maverick jumps from his hunched over position, immediately rushing to shut the door she had just opened. “you didn’t see anything,” he almost shouts as he slams the door and makes sure it’s locked this time. it’s as if she had just opened pandora’s box –– his secret habits nearly revealed to anyone who just happened to pass by. he supposes it could be worse –– she could have been his father, his mother, or any of the other guests at the party whose allegiance was with his parents, not him. he’d hoped, at least, that donnie wouldn’t say anything to them. if she still cared, she wouldn’t.
his back and his palms lies flat against the door, like the weight of his body add another layer of protection against donnie re-entering the room. eyes flicker to the other white line, and he looks at it as if it’s the only thing that will bring him salvation now. and so he submits –– just as he’s not strong enough to stand up for himself, he’s not strong enough to admit he can persevere, especially not with talking to donnie, without a little help.


















