I THINK I DID IT

CHAPTER 7

When I finally woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. The light streamed through the curtains, but the warmth of it didn't reach me. I lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, wondering if today would be any different. But deep down, I knew it wouldn't. Maya would still be in her own world, and I'd still be pretending that it didn't bother me.

I rolled out of bed and made my way to the kitchen. The house was still quiet. Maya wasn't up yet, or maybe she had left again without saying anything. Either way, I wasn't in the mood to go looking for her. I poured myself a cup of coffee, the bitter taste grounding me for a moment. I sipped it slowly, letting the warmth spread through me, hoping it would shake off the remnants of the night's restless sleep.

As I stood there, staring out the window, my mind wandered back to last night. To Maya coming home late, to the way things used to be. I wondered if we'd ever get back to that place where we could talk, really talk, without all the walls between us. But I didn't hold much hope for that. Things had changed too much.

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Maya shuffling into the kitchen, her hair still a mess, her face expressionless. She glanced at me, then quickly looked away, heading straight for the fridge.

We didn't say anything. I wasn't sure if I wanted to.

She grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, avoiding eye contact. The silence stretched out, heavy and uncomfortable.

I cleared my throat, trying to break the tension without fully engaging. "You're up early," I said, more out of habit than actual interest.

Maya shrugged, taking a long sip of water. "Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

There was a moment where I thought maybe, just maybe, we could have a conversation. A real one. But as soon as the words left her mouth, her expression hardened again, like she regretted saying anything at all.

"Right," I muttered, turning back to my coffee. The moment was gone.

After a few minutes, she mumbled something about going out again, grabbed her jacket, and left without another word. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving the house in the same empty silence.

I let out a long breath, feeling the weight of it all settle in my chest. There was no point in chasing her down, no point in trying to force something that wasn't there anymore. We were both living in our own little worlds, and the gap between us seemed to grow wider every day.

As I sat there, staring at the empty kitchen, I couldn't help but wonder how much longer we could keep pretending that everything was okay.

Hours passed, the sun making its slow arc across the sky, casting long shadows through the windows. I found myself sitting in the living room, absently flipping through a book without really reading the words. The quiet had become this constant companion, almost comforting in its consistency.

But the longer I sat there, the more I realized how trapped I felt—trapped in this house, in this strained relationship, in this endless cycle of pretending I didn't care.

Something had to change. But I wasn't sure if it was me, or her, or both of us.

I made my way upstairs, aimlessly wandering through the hall, unsure of where to go next. My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden buzz of my phone. I glanced at the screen and froze. It was an old friend—Krysten. We hadn't spoken since Jessie's funeral. After that, everyone understood I needed space, and I'd made sure to keep my distance. Seeing her name now, I hesitated. How had she even gotten my number?

For a moment, I just stared at the phone, lost in thought. Then, almost on autopilot, I answered.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Max?" Her voice carried that familiar Texan twang, gentle yet probing.