thirteen years ☓ rilaya au [COMPLETED]

nineteen ⇝ you really need a purple cat

"loneliness is a sign you are in desperate need of yourself"

-rupi kaur (do you notice the obsession?)

Everybody Knows, by Holly Figueroa O'Reilly
"Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed..."

(i suggest playing the song when it says too for the best experience...)

❁❁❁

maya duhgal, 32

you took a deep breath and held farkles hand.

zay and lucas placed their hands on your shoulder and a single tear fell from your eyes, landing on your jeans.

"was the motel the last you heard from her?" tasha asked.

you nodded. "it was the last time we looked for her. it was when i realized 'maybe she doesn't want to be found."

"but the receptionist mentioned she looked like a prostitute, and zay recalled busting a trafficking house and seeing a girl that resembled her there. that didn't make you want to look?"

"no." you shook your head. "she's riley. and she's stubborn. she might have gotten in some hard places and done things she shouldn't have, but she won't stop till she gets where she wants to be."

she turned her gaze to lucas. "did you have any experiences?"

"no ma'am. but i do remember for community service after a simple battery charge i went around to houses all over new york and gave out her missing persons posters."

"do you feel the same as maya?"

"absolutely." he answered. "she did was was best for herself. she was always a good leader."

tashas notebook was left on the ground now long forgotten, questions coming fresh from her brain and not from sticky notes people suggested.

"maya, how did it feel when you stopped looking?"

you remember her face started fading away on missing person posters. you would walk past them as they stuck to store windows or laid around on sidewalks gathering dirt. the news wasn't packed with stories of her (most of them untrue) or potential "suspects" (also untrue).

as the color on the posters became washed out and dull- the images in your mind of her did the same.

her voice was the first to fade.
you couldn't grasp her pitched voice or the sound of her laughing.
you remembered the things she said, just not how she said it.

you found yourself going through your camera roll and saved snapchat videos, and listening to her voice. like your favorite old song that never comes on the radio, but when it does it fills you with joy (or depending on the day- sadness)

her smell started to loose its intensity on your pillows. her sweet honey smell turning into the sickly floral scent of cheap smell of laundry detergent.

the seems on her maroon knit sweater came undone. you wore it every night to bed, because you couldn't be wrapped up in her arms being wrapped up in her sweater would be enough. you slept in the sweater till you were pregnant with your third child, and your bump finally stretched the string enough to where you folded it on a top shelf in your closet.