Room 221 || Lucaya

What Is Left of Her

MAYA'S POV:

It has been one month since Riley had moved out of Room 221. One month since we had exchanged conversation. One month since we had done more than glance at each other on campus.

Trust me when I say that the world I am living in now is ten times worse without Riley by my side.

Riley lives in another dorm across campus, far away from me. Whether or not she chose that dorm purposely to avoid me, or it was the only room available, the only time I run into her now is on actual class days on campus. And when I do run into her, there is no talking, only awkward stares.

"Maya, you dropped a pill on the floor," Darby, my new roommate, points out.

With Riley moving out of my dorm room, a vacant spot was left in Room 221. The vacant spot was quickly filled by Darby Walker, a quirky, spunky blonde college freshman as myself. She resembles me in so many ways, it's crazy.

Well, the old me.

"Oh," I whisper in acknowledgement as I painfully bend over the bed to reach for the tiny white pill that slipped out of the pile of the others.

After the incident that night, something in my mind turned off like a light switch. The rebellion, the sassy attitude, the quirky personality—all dissipated into thin air, never to be seen again. The Maya everyone once knew is now just a faint memory, one that is difficult to grasp. His action was like a continuous knife that scraped out every inch of life left in my soul, leaving me with a hollow shell of nothing.

"I'm going out," Darby states confidently, picking up her purse and wallet. "Are you sure you don't wanna come? I think it'll be good for you."

I find it adorable that people think they know what's good for me when I don't even know what's good for myself.

"I'm fine."

I place the pills right in the back of my throat, then take a big chug of room temperature water from my glass. Darby gently takes the glass out of my hand when I am finished swallowing the pills and places it back on the nightstand.

"Maya, I'm not doing this again. This time, you are coming," she states firmly as if she is not looking for a response.

Darby's platinum blonde hair glistens under the reflection of the sun rays peeking out of the window. Her oversized, light washed jean jacket with red rose accents complimented her high waisted dark skinny jeans with tall black boots.

Her style, her walk, her confidence. She excelled at being herself.

Something I have failed to do now.

"I want to stay home... And ca–catch up on my studying," I croak, my voice cracking at the white lie I just told.

The hesitance in Darby's eyes settles for a few moments as she contemplates whether or not to force me, or let me be. The same look in Riley's eyes would stare down at me when she wanted me to go get breakfast or coffee; I missed those eyes.

"Maya, you've got to let him go," she whispers.

Darby doesn't know the whole story. Quite frankly, she doesn't need to know. All she knows is that a guy named Charlie Gardner broke my heart, and I am struggling to move past the broken pieces.

In a way, I am not wrong.

I just left out the most significant parts of the story.

Charlie Gardner did break my heart. Not only the heart, but the soul. The brain. The boy used my vulnerability as his strength; my capacity for love as a weapon; and my soul as a prize. He stole something from me that I can never get back again—my happiness.

But the most dangerous aspect of him is his constant thirst to claim me as his own.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and unfortunately, I know exactly who it is. I dangerously leap across the bed, pushing Darby aside, and snatch my phone before her eyes read too quickly.

"Maya babe I CANT stop thinking about you and your hot little bod. I know what'll help get up off my mind, meet me at 9?? You know where to find me darling," the text reads.

A tear begins to form in my eye as I throw the phone down beside me. My lips purse together in attempt to stop myself from crying.

Darby looks at me impatiently, waiting for an explanation. "Is it him?"

"No," I croak, flashing a forced smile through my chapped lips. "My mom."

"Okay," Darby thinks out loud with furrowed brows, not fully buying the cover-up. "I'm gonna go now. Text me if you change your mind."

I give another fake smile in response. She walks out of the room slowly. The second she is out of the door, I screech in pain as I clench my rib cage.

"Holy shit..." I whisper in tears, pealing the baggy gray sweatshirt off my stomach. Scars and deep colored bruises hid behind lies and baggy garments.

After an entire month, the wounds have yet to completely heal. The cut on my forehead has turned into a huge and noticeable scar—the only way to conceal it is to cover it with my hair. My rib cage and hip bones are still suffering from long term tissue damage. A feather could touch my stomach, and I would cringe in pain. My entire body hurts.

The physical wounds are not the worst effects of that night; it's the emotional wounds. I slide my sweatshirt back down my stomach, and hesitantly pull back my sleeves.

This is what is left of me.