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Please notify me of any mistakes so that I can fix them!
I put a quote at the top because I felt like it somewhat suited this chapter, maybe even Maya?? Idek I just felt like it :)) it's a lyric from the song Clay by Grace Vanderwaal
ALSO IM SO HAPPY WE HIT 300 READS LAST NIGHT AAAAHH THANK YOU ALL I LOVE YOU XOXO
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> Chapter Fifteen <
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Maya Todd
People take a lot of things for granted.
And it's not like taking something for granted is hard; it's actually, like, a two step process.
You just forget the worth of something and then you - basically - abuse it. You continue doing whatever it is you want with it, whatever the purpose, and you don't stop even once to consider the value of said thing.
That doesn't even sound hard, does it?
I can practically hear all the do-gooders screaming no as an answer, because they all think that it's something they'd never do. To be brutally honest, some people do it without intentions. That doesn't count as an excuse, if you think about it, but it still happens.
Being taken for granted is a whole different story. Not that I'd know, I guess, but sometimes that's just how I feel. I think I know what it feels like.
Considering sometimes I think that, maybe- just maybe, Blaine is trying to start dating me so that I'll help out her, or something along those lines.
But I don't want to discuss that.
I imagine that taking something for granted is the same thing as a hangover. You absolutely love alcohol; it tastes good, and your brain is emptied of all stress. You forget what you want to forget. And then the next morning, when you wake up, you're dead-tired, you feel sick, and your head is pounding. It's like a slap to the face. They say love hurts, but you don't expect it to be true.
She stared at me from across the room, sitting in a criss-cross-apple-sauce position on the bed. The picture of the wolf behind her was framed nicely, hung on the wall as though they left a perfectionist in charge.
I stared back from my spot own my own bed, unsure of how else to react. She was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of old jeans with rips in the knees. Her tanned skin seemed to ignite the dimly lit room. The television news anchor rambled on and on beside us.
"So... how are we paying for this?" I dared to ask.
She shrugged. "We don't."
"Wait- what?" I tensed, my body starting to develop a cold sweat as my hands trembled. "Georgia, we can't just leave!"
"Actually, it isn't hard." Her eyes were lit with excitement as she talked. I watched the way her lips moved. "Why do you think I picked a room on the first floor?"
"They have our ID's." I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Exactly," she did the same. "They know how old we are. If they find out we had alcohol, we're screwed." Our little seventeen year old selves hadn't imagined how to get out of this- at least I hadn't.
"Who would care?" I snapped, my heart seeming to beat all too slow for this moment. I stood up from the bed, glaring at her for the first time, resentment and regret aflame in the pit of my stomach. "My father can't lose his reputation, he'd kill me. As for my mother, she would be ashamed. And as for your mother-" I paused briefly and let my glare flicker up and down her body, indescribable emotions roaring at me from my chest. "-she'd be proud."
Georgia's eyes flashed wider and she flinched, her face seeming to go pale. I glared at her still, not moving from between the two beds.
"Maya..."
I shook my head, stalking away and into the bathroom. I felt her eyes following me as I passed the foot of her bed before slamming the door shut behind me.
And then I was alone.
.:----:.
"Maya, you hardly touched your hot chocolate," my mother observes me from the kitchen table as I pour the brown liquid down the sink. More than half of the mug, to be exact, slips down the drain with ease. Glancing briefly at the remaining glasses from half an hour ago on the drying rack, I set the mug down and nod.
"I wasn't in the mood." I shrug briefly and she eyes me with slight concern. "Mom, seriously, stop staring at me like that."
She frowns. "Sorry," her eyes lower to the tile floor, her hands folding together over her thighs. "I just... I'm worried about you, love."
"Why." I don't even need to ask. I know exactly why she's worried. I look down at my bare feet, my eyes narrowed.
"You've been a little off lately," Mom's eyes seem to burn into my lowered face. It's like she's trying to see into my soul. Good luck getting through the walls. "Has Ge--"
I shut my eyes tightly, clenching them shut and looking further down. She takes that as a sign to stop, and thankfully, she does.
"I'm just worried." She continues carefully. "You stopped talking about it after almost a year of non-stop chatter, and now, around the same time of year, you're not yourself."
She says 'it' like there is no Georgia. As if she never existed and she was merely some sort of toy for me to play with. As if she was one of those insanely annoying ones that parents secretly get rid of before convincing the child that they lost it.
She acts like she understands. Acts like she knows me. She doesn't, clearly, because I've been 'not myself' for a long time now. Not just this week, or this month, but since that string of lonely, confused nights.
Mom's hand on my shoulder makes me jump, my head snapping up to look at her. My eyes land on hers, and she blinks softly, slowly.
"Mom, I don't need help, so don't ask." I say weakly. Her eyes darken and I shake my head, because I know she'll ask anyway.
"Love, I want what's best--"
"You can't want something if you don't know what it is, Mom."
Without another word, I quickly walk out of the kitchen and down the hallway to my room, turning around as I step through the door and turning the knob, silently and slowly pushing the door shut before releasing it without a sound.
