Maya (Book #3)

Chapter 40

It looked the same as it always had, which surprised me. I had changed so much since I had been here last that I guess I assumed my house had, too. But the walls were the same tired beige, the furniture the same leathery brown. There were no pictures on the walls because he kept them all with him. I assumed his camera and computer would be wherever he was, but I would check to see if they were hidden here.

I pulled off my shoes and flicked them by the door on instinct, and then wrinkled my forehead. Where should I go first?

 I took a step towards the stairs and then reversed course and walked towards the living room. I knew this was a reconnaissance mission, but I couldn't help but treat it like a field trip. Despite feeling like he would walk through the door at any moment, I was calm knowing that I was with my family. They would protect me.

As I slowly entered the living room, I heard my family following behind me timidly.

"What're we looking for again?" Caleb asked Brooks in a low voice. I heard him ram into one of our barstools and catch it before it could clatter on the floor.

"Anything that could help her find clues about herself or her uncle's identity," Brooks whispered back, helping him heave the chair back to its feet.

"Maya," Charlotte said loudly from just behind me. I spun around and flinched in place and then relaxed my body, embarrassed. My brothers looked at me with a mix of pity and anger. I knew the anger wasn't for me.

"Yes?" I asked, looking at the ground.

"Do you want us to wait for you to look around? Or should we just go ahead and see what we can find?" she asked tenderly, giving me the strength to meet her eyes again.

"You guys can look around here and all, but can I check upstairs alone?" I asked, hoping they would offer me this. I knew we needed as many eyes as possible, but I didn't want them to see my bedroom. I knew the memories I had wouldn't be painted on the walls, but I worried they would be able to feel what had happened in there. I didn't want them to suffer from that kind of pain.

 Charlotte nodded and wandered towards the kitchen slowly, looking around as she went. The boys weren't as subtle, thundering towards different areas of the living room and digging between cushions and wrenching open drawers for any information.

I walked out of the room and towards the stairs, reminding myself that the Anders were still here. The farther I got from the sound of their voices and footsteps, the more alone I felt. When I reached the top of the stairs, it was silent. I walked towards my bedroom first.

 It felt like my body was waging an internal battle against itself. My stomach writhed with fear and my brain was wrought with confusion. There was a fog filling my mind that made deciding to move seem impossible. The desire to see inside won out over the fear to go back to where I had been hurt. I whispered the word aloud to myself.

"Courage," I said softly to myself. "You are very courageous, Maya."

The door was uncharacteristically open, and I swayed when I recognized the scent of my uncle's aftershave present in the hallway. I grabbed onto the wall for support and waited until the feeling passed. I breathed in once more and the scent was gone.

I reached out a shaky hand to twist the handle and then took a step inside, looking around. Memories stormed rampantly through my mind, but I stayed present by squeezing my socked toes on the carpet and brushing my fingers along the top of the dresser by my door. 

It looked the same as it always had.

There was the same bed in the middle of the room, my dresser beside the door, and my reflective closet on the right. I opened it timidly and saw my old clothes; the shirts that were scratchy and tight, and the dresses that haunted my memories. I liked dresses, but these were his. My clothes were never my own in this house.

I flipped through my closet for information that I knew wasn't there. There were no pictures standing in frames on my table because there were no memories to romanticize. There were no papers kept in my dresser because I wasn't allowed to know things, as evident by my lack of birth certificate and adequate schooling.

 I dug through my belongings regardless but gave up quickly. As much as I had dreamed about coming back here, it didn't hold the same significance I imagined it would. It wasn't my room anymore. And the demons that I mentally tied to this bedroom were non-existent. They resided in my uncle and his presence. They weren't here.

I was surprised by the disappointment I felt. It appeared that there was a small part of me waiting for the pain. I wanted to see conclusive proof of abuse, as horrifying as it was so that I had a valid reason for hating my uncle. I wanted evidence so damning that I could rationalize all of my pain. Charlotte would argue that my memories were valid, but so many of them were indistinct and distant. I wasn't sure she was right. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into tears and let the pain remind me of my mission. I had work to do, and I wasn't giving up yet.