Courage

Chapter Four

[Maya]

I woke up at three a.m. in cold sweat. My forehead, shirt and cleavage was damp. Guess I gotta wake up early to take a shower now. I set an alarm on my phone to eight-thirty, removed the covers off of me and went downstairs.

I rubbed my eyes when I walked into the kitchen, and when I opened them I saw Francesca at the counter,  wearing a purple silk camisole and shorts, her hair was held up into a bun by a velvet scrunchie, and there was a bottle of alcohol in her hand. She looked exhausted, but still beautiful.

"What?" she demanded.

"Oh, I just came down here for a drink," I said and walked to the fridge. There were fancy champagne bottles in there. Francesca, Camila and I are the same age.

"Um, how old are you?" I asked.

"Nineteen." She looked me up and down in a way that would make me feel insecure.

"Wait. So—So who are the other bottles in the fridge for?"

"Me and sister . . . And you, if you want." She shrugged one shoulder.

"Oh. Are you okay? Camila told me about what happened between you and your girlfriend."

"I'm fine," she said abruptly. "I don't need a girlfriend, or boyfriend to be happy."

"Love the independent mentality," I muttered and took a sip of the water.

"You know, it's Delilah's loss. I'm hot, smart, I'm an amazing artist. Plus, I have confidence, something you lack," she muttered the last part.

I sighed. "That's not very nice."

"Well, it is the truth. You are a doormat." She was right, but the way she worded it was rude. But it's not like there was any nice way to say it.

"You didn't have call me a doormat, though. Didn't your mom or dad ever tell you that if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all?" I quickly regretted what I said. Genevieve Russo, Francesca's mom, had died years ago. And Salvatore Russo, Francesca's dad, was murdered months ago. "Please forget what I said, I'm so sorry."

"Don't sweat it, my mother died years ago. And my father, well . . . Some people simply deserve to die."

"Um, oh-kay."

I drank my water, looking around like a confused baby. I winced at the sound of Francesca setting another alcohol bottle on the counter. She had put the previous bottle back in the fridge and now she's opening a new one.

"I hate Merlot anyways," she grumbled and opened the new bottle.

"Maybe you shouldn't be drinking at this time of night, your head will hurt in the morning."

She sighed, put a hand on her hip, and smiled. "I'm nineteen, Maya. Nineteen. How old did I say I was?"

"Nineteen," I answered.

"Exactly, which means I'm grown. Therefore, I can drink whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want. If I want to down a bottle of Rémy Martin, I'm going to do so." Her voice broke on her last sentence. She was clearly hurting, and probably heartbroken, but she shouldn't drink to make herself feel better, that's how alcoholics are usually born.

"Wanna hug?" I offered.

She opened her mouth only to close it slowly and nodded twice. I slowly walked to her and put my arms out awkwardly. The next thing I felt was my cheek against her chest. I honestly felt really comfortable like this. She had a warm body temperature.

She pulled back. "Your body's moist." She then took the bottle and went upstairs. I finished my water and went upstairs. I drifted off to sleep quickly.

For the whole week Francesca and I pretty much ignored each other. Camila was nice, though. Camila would argue with Francesca about not having any cooking utensils, and Francesca would tell her she wants the cooking utensils to match the apartment's "aesthetic."

"Just come with me," Francesca urged. She and Camila walked into the kitchen together.

"I can't, I have class in thirty minutes," Camila replied.

"Skip it," Francesca ordered.

"No," Camila objected. "I'll see you two later."

Francesca sighed as the door closed behind her sister. She put her chin in her hands, a sad expression on her face, more like she wanted someone to pity her.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She deliberated for a moment. "Will you come to the mall with me?"

"I'm not really in the mood to go shopping," I chuckled.

"You don't have to buy anything, just keep me company."

"Well, okay," I shrugged.