Chapter 2: Packing & Crying

Maya

The rain was coming down in heavy, gray sheets by the time I pushed through the glass doors of the apartment building and stepped onto the street. I didn't have an umbrella, and I didn't care. Within two minutes, my jacket, shirt, and jeans were completely soaked, clinging ice-cold to my skin.

I dragged my feet down the sidewalk for three blocks, my sneakers squelching with water, until I reached a bus stop with a small glass shelter.

I sat down on the cold metal bench, pulling my wet knees up to my chest to stop myself from shivering. The chill outside was nothing compared to the hollow, frozen feeling in the center of my chest.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out with cold, clumsy fingers. The screen lit up with a text from Trevor:

Please come back. We can talk about this. I made a massive mistake, Maya. I love you.

A second later, a second notification popped up right beneath his. It was a text from Colette:

You are being childish running off into the rain. You have nowhere else to go and no money. Come home right now and stop making a scene.

I stared at the messages until the screen dimmed and went black. I didn't reply. I held the power button down until the screen displayed the shutdown logo, then shoved the cold phone deep into my wet coat pocket.

I didn't cry while waiting for the bus. I didn't cry when the driver opened the folding doors, or when I paid my fare with three wet dollar bills.

I only started crying when I reached the very back corner seat of the bus. I leaned my head against the cold, vibrating window, staring out at the blurry red taillights of the traffic while silent, scalding tears ran down my cheeks.

Two whole years. I had given Trevor two years of my life. I had taken extra shifts at the diner until my ankles swelled. I had stopped attending ballet auditions because he said my late-night rehearsals made him feel lonely. I had bought his clothes, managed his schedule, and believed every single word he said about our future. And in return, he had slept with my mother on the sheets I bought with my own hard-earned money.

When the bus finally reached Kiki's stop, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. I stumbled off the high bus step onto the cracked sidewalk and walked the final block to her building.

Kiki lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of an old brick building that always smelled faintly of roasted coffee and old radiator pipes. I walked up the creaking wooden stairs, reached her door, and knocked three times.

A few seconds passed before I heard deadbolts sliding back. The door pulled open, and Kiki stood there wearing a gray oversized t-shirt and athletic shorts, holding a wooden cooking spoon in her right hand.

Her eyes went wide as saucers the second she saw me standing in the hallway—soaked to the bone, shivering, with black mascara smeared down my cheeks.

"Maya?" Kiki dropped the wooden spoon onto the small entryway table and reached out, grabbing my arms to pull me inside. "What happened? Were you hit by a car? Did someone jump you?"

"Trevor," I choked out. The moment I said his name, my throat closed up completely.

"What did that idiot do now?" Kiki asked, kicking the door shut and locking both deadbolts. She ran into her small bathroom and came back a second later with a big, dry yellow bath towel, wrapping it firmly around my shoulders. "Talk to me, Maya."

"I came home early," I said, sitting down heavily on her worn fabric sofa. My wet jeans left a dark stain on the cushion, but Kiki didn't even look at it. "I bought him food. And when I walked in... he was in bed with Colette."

Kiki froze in the middle of rubbing the towel over my damp hair. She blinked once, then twice, her mouth staying slightly open as if she were waiting for me to laugh and tell her it was a joke.

"With who?" Kiki asked, her voice dropping an octave.

"My mother," I whispered, staring down at my knees.

"Your... Colette?" Kiki's face twisted into an expression of intense disgust and horror. "Are you serious? In your apartment? On your bed?"

I nodded once. "She told me I was neglecting him. She said I was distant. And Trevor said he was drunk."

"That disgusting, pathetic, useless excuse for a human being!" Kiki exploded, throwing her hands up in the air and pacing furiously across her small rug. "I knew he was garbage! I told you six months ago he was too vain to be trusted! He spent more time styling his hair in the bathroom mirror than looking for a real job!"

"I hit him," I said quietly, looking at my red, stiff palm.

"Good!" Kiki stomped her foot against the floorboards. "You should have broken his nose! And your mother? She is a villain! How could a mother do that to her own child?"

"She's hated me since I turned eighteen," I said, resting the back of my head against the sofa cushions. "Every time a guy looked at me, she acted like I was taking something from her."

Kiki sat down beside me, pulling the towel tighter around my shoulders and wrapping her arm around me. "You are staying here. For as long as you need. We'll put sheets on this couch, and you never have to go back to that place again."

"I don't have any money, Kiki," I said, staring at the small light fixture on her ceiling as fresh tears brimmed in my eyes. "I spent my last fifty dollars on his stupid dinner."

"Forget about the money," Kiki said firmly, shaking her head. "We'll figure it out together. You're done with him, Maya. You're completely done."

I buried my face in the dry cotton of the towel, letting out a ragged sob as the realization finally settled into my chest. I was broke, exhausted, and homeless, but as I lay on Kiki's couch that night staring at the dark walls, I knew she was right. I was never going back.