Maia

11

Word Count: 1113

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WIREMU'S POV

Maia had been holed up in her room for the entire day. Despite my attempts to coax her downstairs for a snack, the only response was an eerie silence. I gently knocked on her door several times, but there was still no answer. Knowing that she was already dealing with the difficult loss of her mother, I hesitated to intrude further. I didn't want to add any more stress to her already heavy burden.

I delve into my pocket, sensing the vibrations of my phone. I pull it to find Al's name flashing on the screen. "Wiremu, I need you in my office now," he declared.

"Okay, I'll be there in 5," I swiftly replied before ending the call.

I quickly walk down the hallway to his office and confidently knock on his door. "Come in, brother," I hear in return. I turn the handle and step inside, making my way to the chair positioned directly across from him. He pauses, shutting his laptop screen, and then places his hands on the desk, intertwining his fingers.

"I want to discuss Maia with you," he said with a serious expression. I gazed at him, intrigued by his sudden interest in the topic. "What about of Maia would you like to talk about?" I asked, eager to delve into the conversation.

"Getting her therapy," he remarks with a concerned expression, pausing for a moment as if contemplating the weight of his words.

Acknowledging his statement, I respond with a gentle smile and a nod to convey my agreement. "I think that's a good idea," I say softly, understanding the significance of seeking professional help. "With the loss of her mama and the overwhelming experience of moving here, it must be incredibly challenging for her."

As the conversation continued, Alessandro nodded in agreement and expressed his concern, "That, and I also believe she's not eating enough. Have you noticed how small she is compared to others her age?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

I had never seen Al so worried before, aside from the day Maia was taken. It's such a strange and unfamiliar concept to witness him in such a state of distress. His usual composed demeanour had given way to genuine concern, and it was quite unsettling to observe him like this. However, in a matter of moments, he swiftly regained his usual stern expression, masking his earlier display of concern.

I'd be happy to help. Here's a more detailed rewrite of the text:His voice was steady as he cleared his throat before speaking, "I don't think we need to say or act on anything just yet. Let's observe her for now. However, I will arrange for the best therapist to help her with the loss of her mama."

I responded with a nod of agreement, "Do you need any help with that?"

As he shakes his head, he reassures me saying, "I've got it all covered. I just want you to keep an eye on Maia and let me know if anything happens."

He opens his laptop, indicating that our conversation has come to an end. "You are dismissed," he calmly states while his attention is fixed on the screen before him.

I quickly adjusted my shirt and made sure it was neat before walking out and gently closing the door behind me.

I didn't realise how Maia was eating and I wish I had paid more attention like Alessandro did. Tonight, I'm going to observe her closely and make sure she's doing okay.

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MAIA'S POV

As I slowly rose from the floor, my muscles aching, I carefully walked towards the bed and settled on the corner. With a heavy sigh, I found my gaze drawn to the jumbled pile of clothes, holding memories from before.

I saw the same skirt from before, the one that brought back unpleasant memories. Unable to bear its sight any longer, I stood up and grabbed it. With a hesitating stride, I made my way into the bathroom connecting to my room. As I held the skirt in my hand, I hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to keep it or not. Finally, with a deep breath, I tossed it into the waste bin, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.

I begin to undress slowly, feeling the weight of each piece of clothing as I discard them to the side. I stand in front of the mirror and gaze at my bruise, its intricate shades of purple and blue captivating my attention for what feels like an eternity. As I touch it gently, I wince, feeling the tenderness of my ribs and the persistent ache in my bruised back from spending the restless day on the unforgiving floor.

As I reached for the hair tie on my wrist, the worn fabric felt rough against my skin. I gathered my hair and twisted it into a messy bun, a few strands escaping around my face. With deliberate movements, I made my way to the shower, the cool tiles under my feet providing a welcome contrast to the warmth of my room. As the cold water cascaded over me, I recalled the words of Mama and Jacob, their voices echoing in my mind. "It's what I deserve," they had said. With my eyes closed, I cry.

I reached for the bar of soap and scrubbed my body hard. Looking down, I couldn't help but notice the hair growing on my legs and under my arms. As I ran my fingers over my legs, I frowned. It seemed like all the other girls my age had smooth, hairless skin, and I couldn't help but wish that I could be just like them.

My hair was a tangled mess, with large knots that were difficult to remove. It looked matted and unappealing. Comparing it to other girls my age, whose hair was shiny and silky, made me wish for the same.

As the cold water washes away the soap, I reach out to turn off the faucet. I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a soft, white towel. With gentle care, I pat myself dry.

I walk to the wardrobe and reach for the new hoodie and sweatpants. As I carefully slip them on, I can feel the fabric brush against my bruises, causing a sharp jolt of pain to shoot through me when I raise my hands just a little.

I quickly and gently put my arms down, biting my lower lip to stop a howling sound from escaping my lips. I place the towel in the bathroom and chuck my old, dirty clothes in the hamper. I step back into my room, deciding that I need to finish putting away the clothes and shoes the boys have brought me.