Maia

30

Word Count: 1570

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MAIA'S POV

I step into my room, my heart racing slightly. Rawiri stands at the edge of my desk, his hands gently placing the picture down with care. He turns to face me fully, his expression shifting from concentration to something more vulnerable.

"Maia," he calls out, his voice a soft blend of tenderness and uncertainty, each syllable falling from his lips in a hesitant manner. The air between us feels charged with an unspoken tension as I brace myself for what he might say next.

"You've been crying," he says awkwardly, taking a hesitant step toward me. His voice is soft, but I can hear the concern behind his words. I feel a tremor of fear and instinctively take a step back, my heart racing as I look up at him.

I don't respond, swallowing hard, feeling the weight of his gaze on me. What could I possibly say when my mind is swirling with confusion and anxiety? All I can think is: Why is he here? The questions flood my mind, but the fear of what he might say or do keeps me silent.

"Can we talk?" he asks, his voice a bit shaky as he swallows hard, trying to push down the lump forming in his throat. He takes a few cautious steps back, creating space between us, and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, his body language betraying his discomfort.

My gaze immediately zeroes in on the deep red bruised marks on his knuckles, and suddenly my breath feels trapped in my throat. A wave of fear washes over me, and my eyes widen in shock. For a brief moment, he seems puzzled by my reaction, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Then, following my gaze, he realizes what I'm looking at. "Oh, don't worry," he reassures me, his tone attempting to convey calmness. "I didn't hit anyone. I was just hitting the bag; I was working out," he explains, a hint of urgency in his voice as he tries to dispel my worries and regain my trust. The issue is that he never had it in the first place. I didn't know whether to believe him or not.

As I cautiously step into the room, I make a conscious effort to maintain a safe distance from him. The atmosphere feels tense, and I am acutely aware that if he truly wanted to, he could close the gap between us in an instant. My heart races as I consider the possibility of his swift movements, making me even more determined to stay just out of reach. Each careful stride is a reminder of the precarious situation I'm in, and I can't shake the feeling that danger lurks just beneath the surface.

"I just want to, umm... apologize," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down at the ground, avoiding my gaze. "For how I reacted on the beach and for the way I've treated you ever since you, well, arrived." His words came out in a hesitant rush, revealing the struggle he was having with admitting his faults. I could see the tension in his shoulders, a clear sign that he was not accustomed to expressing vulnerability. It was clear to me that this moment was difficult for him, and I appreciated his effort to make things right. But I was still scared.

"I didn't mean any of the things I've said to you..." He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he met my gaze. His eyes were filled with regret. "I was jealous," he mumbled. I stared at him in shock, my mind racing. Jealous? Of me? I tried to wrap my head around his admission. What could he possibly feel envious of?

"Why?" I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Because you had Mama." His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion. He took slow, deliberate steps toward the bed and sank onto the edge, as if the weight of his thoughts was pulling him down. "Before you both left... Mom and I were... very close. And when you two left..." His voice trailed off, and I could see a profound hurt etched across his face.

Seeing him like this made my heart ache. I hadn't fully grasped how painful it had been for Papa and my brothers. They hadn't just lost their sister; they had also lost their mother. It struck me then just how deep their grief must run, and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me.

I cautiously approached him, my heart racing with uncertainty as I took a seat on the bed. I made sure to leave a little space between us, as if the distance could shield me. The room felt heavy with unspoken words, and I struggled to find the right ones. "Mama was good... until she wasn't," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. I could still picture her warm smile and gentle laugh, but those memories were now shadowed by the moments when everything changed.

He nodded slowly, a look of understanding crossing his face as he processed the weight of what had transpired back home with Mama and Jacob. "Can I ask what happened?" he inquired, his voice soft and cautious, as if afraid of breaking the fragile silence that surrounded us.

I felt a knot form in my stomach, my heart racing as I struggled to find the words. Memories of the chaos and fear flooded my mind, and I froze up once more, caught off guard by the intensity of the question. The room felt heavier, and for a moment, I could only stare at him, grappling with the decision to share my burden or not.

A small tear cascaded down my cheek, glistening in the dim light of the room. I had only just managed to stop crying, and now, I felt the familiar heaviness in my chest as the tears began to flow again. It seemed as though crying had become my constant companion in recent days, a shadow that followed me everywhere I went.

I noticed the bed dip beside me as Rawiri shifted his weight, closing the distance between us. He hesitated for a moment before awkwardly placing his hand on my back, patting it in a gentle, yet unsure, manner. I could feel the warmth of his touch, but it did little to soothe the storm inside me. Wiping my tears away with the sleeve of my shirt, I forced out a whisper, "My stepfather used to hit me."

The confession hung in the air heavily, and I could see the realization wash over Rawiri's face. Though I suspected he already knew some of the truth, hearing it spoken aloud seemed to ignite a fire of anger within him. His hand fell away from my back, and I watched as his fingers curled into fists at his sides, tension radiating from him. I could sense the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface, a reflection of my own pain.

"Are you going to kick me out?" I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. I felt like damaged goods, a relic of what was once whole—no one truly wants broken things cluttering their lives. They discard them and toss them out onto the street without a second thought. The thought of leaving filled me with dread, yet I had to admit that, for the first time in a long while, I felt an undeniable sense of safety here, within these walls. This house had wrapped around me like a cocoon, providing warmth and a refuge from the chaos outside—a stark contrast to the turmoil I had grown so accustomed to.

The question caught him off guard, pulling him abruptly from his swirling thoughts. He turned to me, a look of genuine surprise in his eyes. "Why would I do that?" he asked, a frown forming on his brow. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my words as I confessed, "Because I'm a burden."

He immediately shook his head, his expression firm yet compassionate. "You're not a burden, principessa," he insisted, his voice low and reassuring. "You're a blessing." His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, challenging the doubts that lingered in my mind.

I nod slowly, the sound of silence hanging heavily in the air around us. It feels strange and almost surreal as I ponder whether confessing what Jacob did was the right choice.

"You should tell the others," he urged gently, his voice soft but insistent. I turned to look at him, my heart racing with anxiety. "I... I can't... What if they kick me out or hate me or..." My words trailed off as the fear of rejection washed over me.

Before I could finish, he interrupted, his tone firm yet compassionate. "Or they could help you through it and continue to love you unconditionally," he reassured me, his eyes filled with sincerity. "And I'll be by your side the whole time," he added, his voice a comforting murmur. I could sense his unease; it was clear he wasn't used to providing comfort or guidance to others.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to ease the tension in my shoulders. The warmth of his support offered a flicker of hope amidst my worries. "Okay," I whispered softly, my voice barely audible, but the determination began to grow within me.

A/N - Hi guys, thanks for all the likes and comments on the previous chapters! I can't believe we're on chapter 30 already! Woohoo 🥳