Love In Destin ✔

49 - back to you

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𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒂

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MY HEAD FEELS like drums are banging on the inside. All my thoughts were a raging mess last night, stopping me from sleeping a wink, and now my head is thanking me for it. A grilled cheese sandwich calls my name so I make myself one before swallowing down aspirin. Then, I put together a batch of chocolate chip cookies and get them in the oven before remembering that I must take out the trash.

The house is quiet; the only noises coming from me. Aunt Abby and Mom went out to run a couple of errands. On reaching the door, I spot an envelope that's been slid underneath. When I pick it up, the handwriting is instantly recognizable, with the statement, "For Maya." The letter fuels my rage, and I'm ready to tear it up but quickly decide against it.  Instead, I leave it on the island before striding out.

Once I've thrown out the trash, a black Jeep park on the curb and out of it comes Damon. My brows contort into a look, leading him to give me an abashed smile, "Maya, hi,"

"Hi, Damon," The jeep does not go unnoticed. "What brings you to my door on this pleasant day?"

"I know, we've never really talked much, and you only know me through Dawn," He's fidgeting with the sunglasses in one hand while the other hand rubs the nape of his neck. "I thought... I should talk to you,"

My lips tighten, "If you're here to tell me how good Rick is, I'm not listening,"

"I'm not here to lecture you. I only want you to know that... I'm deeply disappointed that Rick didn't tell you the truth. But something that I can't deny is that he's completely changed. Or at least he's more himself now. He's not the Rick he was at the beginning of this year. Heck, he didn't want to do the dare. He just wanted—"

"Damon," I say with a warning tone.

"Basically, what I'm saying is, if he says he loves you, then he means it. He would never lie about that kind of thing. He could lie about a million things, but not the fact that he loves you. I don't expect you to forgive him. I just thought you should know,"

Then, he's back in his jeep and drives off. When I'm back inside,  the letter sticks out like a sore thumb but  I ignore it like it's the plague. Instead, I pop in my headphones and start to clean, only to discover how many songs talk about forbidden love or kissing someone. Gosh, it's tiresome having to skip every song on my playlist. Giving up, I put on some lofi music, certain that it won't spark any unrelated memories.

After a consuming cleaning venture, I grab the cookies from the cooling rack and a pint of Ben and Jerry's vanilla ice cream and settle myself on a stool. As I engorge myself with ice cream and cookies, which are supposed to make me feel better, a sudden melancholy feeling overcomes my system. The letter with his stupid handwriting doesn't help either, staring at me like some bulging pimple. I can no longer help it at some point, and I snag the envelope, tearing it off to read the letter inside.

Despite my best efforts, tears run down my face, and snot forms. "That maniac," I cry, mouth full of cold ice cream. "He really thinks he can write me an apology and thinks that will make things better?"

Just then, the doorbell rings, and quickly, I gather myself, wiping my face dry of tears and snot. When I open the door, my breath is knocked out of me, and momentarily, my feet are as heavy as lead, and I can't move.

"Dad?"

"Maya?"

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