If there was one thing Maya was certain of, it was that her world was a compost heap for broken things: music boxes, fingernails, prized possessions of her parents, marriages, jewelry, teen hearts, the likes of what constantly shattered. Hell, her taste in people reflected this curse that had been bestowed upon her so long ago, that she had allowed it to manifest over all these years- only to crash down on her in the moment she needed it least. Because some men liked pretty girls, or sweet-smelling and romantic boys. Other women loved tall men, short men, short girls, average girls with a mutual liking for gourmet desserts. Not Maya. Her subconscious interests didn’t reflect the limits of one’s physical attributes- or the state of what made their mind tick and reel. It all relied on whether or not there was that one thing, that single thread, that if pulled or snapped, they’d follow suit. She had never before noticed this liking, this infatuation with whose mentality refused to bend- because what happened to things that don’t bend when twisted? But on that Wednesday night subsequent to Cam’s death, she was sitting on the lap of a boy who wore nothing but sleeves and the color purple to cover up the bruises his uncle gave him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And his crooked teeth were good for nothing but allowing smoke to cut through the gaps and on the occasion, awkwardly click against Maya’s straight ones. He didn’t say or do anything to give her this epiphany, she didn’t even know his first name, but the girl refrained from caring about what or who or when or why or where. Instead, she only focused on the flawless imperfection he ruthlessly draped himself in, battling and hiding his faults like he stole them and didn’t wish to be caught. It was beautiful, and her life, being as wrecked and hideous as it was, needed beauty more than ever. But it didn’t stop there- the thoughts unraveled, the clues she had unintentionally left in every single one of her (failed) friendships and relationships, the “questioning" that constantly appeared when they existed in regards to why they all even bothered to get along in the first place if they were so different made sense at last: their lives were horrendous too. There wasn’t a single demon at least one of her life’s occupants weren’t failing to defeat. This realization was hard-hitting, soon to become her only alibi for being the way she was. Maya was never the type of person who blamed her problems on other people, and in a way, she still wasn’t. In fact, that was probably one of the only traits she came into this world possessing and hadn’t yet lost over these rough few months. But their existence and constant partaking in her breathing moments was enough to convince Maya that she wasn’t at a bad enough point to require help- considering that aside from a dead boyfriend, she had always been “this way". Surrounded by the world’s tightrope walkers, stumbling their way behind or in front of her, trying hard to seem like everything is fine. So, if this is what she’s born to be and belong with, why can’t she just coexist with her fate? Why must she necessarily be labeled as “sick", “angry", “confused"? This is how she would have ended up, one way or another. Everyone around her was just so used to the faker, to the oblivious and foolish child that didn’t know the different between anybody or recognize any pattern, that the moment she phased and turned into this… giggly, quiet, cold-air breathing “mess", it like the change of the century. But like any change, it will change again, better or worse, and people will forget. Maya was just waiting for that moment to come.
Meanwhile, she’d bask in the glory of desiring nothing but a quick fix and the company of troubled membranes. And looking at Imogen, the jagged piece that was far too roughed up along the edges to fit in any puzzle, never had she ever felt as if somebody belonged with her so much. And then there it was, that hesitance that crossed every person’s face- experienced or not- before they kissed her. In Maya’s mind, this didn’t qualify for any person more than it did for herself. Because believe it or not, the student body had managed to put themselves under the delusion that she was somebody you’d have to take caution with if you wanted to do anything of the physical sort with them. Even if it was just mere conversation. Over the time she’d spent doing whatever, whoever and wherever, Maya had inadvertently gained herself some ironic “holy grail" status. Every boy she’d ever kissed or more, any girl she’d ever share a room, drink, or a few meager words with, had flashed her the face Imogen was granting her right now. And no matter how sweet and savory the promise of the moment was, it made the young girl sick to her stomach. Because she knew that they thought they knew better than she did- at least for a few moments, before they fucked it all away and went for it anyhow. Even Harry and Talia hesitated seconds before granting her something; perhaps it was due to the fact that everybody else was doing it too.And by now, Maya hoped that all of this would be over. But maybe everybody was thinking the same thing about her. No avail on either ends. However, the point was this: the look meant something. It represented what would follow. So all Maya really could do (besides stop it, but come on) was sit there and wait for her to lean in. And surely enough, she did. Surely enough, Imogen Moreno was about to kiss her; surely enough, she went through with it; and surely enough, it was fucking glorious. It was guilty, half-hearted, somewhat unwanted, but done all the same, like any mistake you’d wake up thinking about, regretting it the moment the picture cleared out in the movie screen that was your brain. Perfect. There wasn’t anything Maya loved more than being the source of second thoughts, because it meant that the “sick girl" was now making you unwell. She didn’t want to be ill, but she certainly wanted to be the illness. Although, as Imogen’s soft and comforting lips moved against hers, she felt no judgement. She felt no accusation for being gross or fucked up, she felt nothing but all those years of pent up emotion and pain falling from Imogen’s liquor-ridden tongue onto her own; and that was a tad less poetic than being the source of pain. But it made Maya feel something just the same. And that something was great apology for how she may stain the girl’s thoughts during tomorrow morning’s aching sobriety.
It was dark. Too dark. Had the night reversed itself, followed by the stars being swallowed up whole, and the moon then fading away in its lonely wake? No. No, that wasn’t the case. There would be utter chaos if it was. Oh yeah, she was closing her eyes. For the first time in forever, it felt incredible to be blinded by the euphoria only this kind of affection could bring. Never selfish, never giving, but always genuine. And Maya, being the girl who everybody constantly lied to, needed the truth like air. Which is why the absence of those soft lips was like another napkin to the mouth. With her eyelids still covering her blue irises, too exhausted to muster the motivation to bring themselves up to stare at the morning warmth as well as the chill now dawning on the areas of her exposed skin, Maya elicited a soft giggle. She was right- nobody should like anybody, really. Interest only brought curiosity, curiosity brought discovery, discovery brought pain. Pain was necessary. Some people deserved it, yes. Most people, actually. And “most people" knew this- which is why they choose to let themselves fall in love with the little things others do. Imogen wasn’t one of those people. And Maya didn’t say this often, but it was true- she didn’t deserve to feel hurt like this. But the obvious regret for just living on its own tainting her voice was enough to let the small teen know that it existed. It was there. And as bad as she felt for the pig-tailed, smudgy-ish makeup clad, drunken stupor residing Senior, it was difficult to hold back the mild chuckle that escaped her. “There should be a setting in the human system that shuts down all ability to have sex with somebody you harvest unrequited love for." Maya sighed, “Or just someone you love in general, unrequited thing aside. Sex, as pointless as it is, manages to complicate things if the wrong emotions are involved enough." Odds are she sounded like a total inspiration wannabe, but with one of her five senses shut down (the refusal to open her eyes still remained- her mind had now decided that the world had grown far too ugly to stare at, now that it was illuminated), the mouth could now blindly speak up. “He probably does love you, or like you, at least. This right here is the thing about cheaters: if you’re ‘with’ somebody, but you end up running off to someone else, it’s best for you to pick your second choice. Because if he slept with you, it only meant that he wasn’t in love enough with his current girlfriend to stay. So don’t worry about her either." Maya huffed, giving Imogen a limp ‘brush it off’ motion of the hand before lazily dropping it back down. “If you’re a psycho…" she trailed off, feeling the fog of the world finally surround her. “then…" exhaustion was the feeling she couldn’t shake off; it was coming for her, “I don’t want to be sane." Giving a light sigh and relaxing her body into the flexible floor beneath her, Maya piped up one last time, Imogen’s statement inaudible and washed out enough to go unheard; “That’s nice…. just know that if you want to kiss me again, you’re gonna have to be quick- I took too many of those pills to stay up much longer… sorry…" allowing her head to turn and cheek to hit the surface dully, Maya grumbled a light, “I’m happy I met you." Before allowing the world to consume her and bring her into the deep slumber.
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