Courage

Chapter Eighteen

[Francesca]

Maya and I went to a frat party. The two of us pretty much split up when we got there. I stayed in the corner with this boy who kept offering to get me a drink. I think his name was Jack or Jon, something with a J.

Parties aren't my thing. I mean, yes, it's a great opportunity to show off my outfit, but that's probably the only reason I go to them. However, my party clothes are uncomfortable sometimes, but they're also cute.

"You sure you don't want another drink?" Jack or Jon tried again.

I directed my attention to the stairs of this frat house where Maya stumbled on a step and a boy without a shirt was trying to get her up the stairs. Maya looked like she was struggling to get away from him.

"I don't wanna go upstairs," I heard Maya say when I was close. The boy held onto her arm, Maya was tugging away from him.

"Enjoying the party?" the boy asked when he spotted me.

I ignored him and focused on Maya's body language. She was drunk. And the boy was patently aware of her inebriated state, trying to take advantage of the situation.

"Franny," Maya said, reaching out her arm to me.

"Come on, Maya." I held her hand.

"Hey, what are you doing?" the boy demanded.

"Taking my intoxicated girlfriend home," I spat at him. Girlfriend was the first thing that popped into my head. Plus, it's not like I could say she was my sister, for two obvious reason.

"I'm not toxic," Maya slurred sounding a bit hurt, and slammed into my chest. Luckily I held onto the railing and held both of us up.

"Not you, him," I assured her while rubbing her back. "He was going to take advantage of your state."

"Me, I—I would never," the boy stammered. "Damn, I didn't know she was your girlfriend, sorry."

Maya wrapped her legs around my waist, I carried her down and to my car.

Maya giggled. "You're my girlfriend."

I strapped her in the seatbelt. "No. I only said that so the boy would leave you alone."

"So I'm not your girlfriend?" she asked, sounding hurt again.

"You and I are just friends, Maya. Plus, aren't you straight?" I got in the car.

She chuckled. "Oh yeah. Well, no. I think."

I drove off. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think I'm all the way straight. Like, I'd go gay for you," she admitted with a laugh.

'I'd go gay for you,' something I hear straight people say often when they think someone of their sex is hot.

"You're drunk," I reminded her.

"And you're hot." See what I mean?

I chuckled once and shook my head. "Yeah, okay."

"No, I mean it. You're, like, really beautiful. Like, beyond beautiful. I mean, those long legs . . . green piercing eyes . . ." She snickered, "collarbone." I was having trouble focusing on the road. "When I look at you sometimes I'm pretty sure I blush. Good thing you can't see me do it."

"Seriously, I wouldn't mind dating you at all," she continued. "Yeah, your personality isn't the best sometime, but at least you know that and try to progress."

I carried Maya on my back up to the apartment and up to her room. I put her in shorts and a t-shirt, then wrapped her hair in scarf as she asked. I'd seen her do it plenty of time so it wasn't that hard.  After she threw up, I put her to bed.

I closed my bathroom door and locked it. I stared at my reflection. A tear left my eye.

I knew why I was crying. I was crying because I liked Maya, I want to be with her and live with her, and when we're much older, spoil her and give her everything she covets.

I was also crying because I knew I couldn't have her. Maya's a good person, I'm not. She's the type of person to give a homeless person on the street a dollar, whereas I don't acknowledge them. She's nurturing and caring, I'm . . . toxic.

That "opposites attract" nonsense is complete bullshit. Maya shouldn't waste her time with me even if she really does like me.

I love our friendship. However, friendship is not enough, I want more. Selfish of me, right?

What does she even like about me anyways beside my looks? She likes the idea of dating me, probably.

My silent crying didn't stop when I went to bed. The door creaked open and the shadowy figure was not hard to make out. It was Maya. She stumbled in and joined me. We were facing each other.

Her finger tips lightly touched my tear stained cheek. I figured she'd forget this in the morning, but, what extremely saddened me, was that she was going to forget her next move . . .

She pressed her lips against mine — opening her mouth against my closed lips — and then closing it, over and over again. I kept my lips closed because it wouldn't feel right to me, kissing her back when she was inebriated.

When she stopped, she buried her face in my chest and fell asleep.