just a breath removed from going to waste

on the verge of almost bleeding out

Andy

It's been a few hours since I encountered a disheveled Maya in her bedroom. I've been sitting on our couch, mindlessly watching television as my brain goes to a far off place worried about my best friend. 

Maya hasn't been okay lately. 

I know that. I think all of us at nineteen innately know that. 

But why haven't we done anything about it?

Why should Maya have to struggle alone?

If only she wouldn't be so stubborn. Then we could help her.

Why won't she let us help her?

I sigh in a frustrated manner and forcefully run my hands through my hair. Gilmore Girls drones on in the background-- I've clearly lost interest. I just wish I knew a way to get to Maya.

I'm brought out of my worried daze when I hear the door to Maya's bedroom creak ever so slightly. Maya stands in the doorway, long blonde hair a complete mess as it flows down her shoulders, clad in a navy blue tank top and light purple sleep shorts. She looks pale. So very pale.

"Hey Mai," I say, hoping to get some sort of response out of the previously stubborn girl.

I sit up straighter on the couch and look at her with a hopeful glint in my eyes. She's staring at me, eyes clouded and as if they are trying to pierce through my skull.  

"Maya, why don't you come sit on the couch with me?" I prod. 

I get no response, but I can see tears welling up in her eyes.  Suddenly, and certainly not warranted, Maya bursts into tears and begins to sob.

I'm taken aback. She's gasping for air as strangled noises come from her throat, tears streaming down her face profusely. 

What am I supposed to do? She wasn't exactly willing to be comforted earlier. 

"Maya, come here..." I say, smiling sadly as I pat the cushion next to me.

She obliges, much to my surprise, and drags her somewhat limp body towards the couch. She collapses in a heap as soon as her body meets the cushion and I grab hold of her, my arms encircling her shaking body. I hold her tightly, her sobbing figure nestled into my body like it was her source of oxygen. 

I'm acutely aware of how good her skin feels on mine--how good it feels to have her in my arms, despite her troubled state. This irks me a bit, and I swiftly remind myself that she is just my best friend. Nothing more. She will never be anything more. 

I hold her like this for almost ten minutes before she stops crying. She stays limp in my arms, not bothering to make a move to leave my grasp. I stroke her ratty hair that desperately needs to be washed and she sinks further into my embrace. We stay like this, in silence, as Maya repositions herself, curled up in my lap, head buried in the crook of my neck. She wraps her arms around my neck and I lean down to rest my head against hers. As we both drift off into sleep, TV still droning, my brain can only focus on one thing and one thing only-- that Maya is definitively not okay and that I need to help her as much as I possibly can.