STRANGER ━ Jon Snow

EIGHTEEN

"Oh," Gilly sighed, lying back on the pillows of her bed, "I understand why you can't tell Jon this information now."

"I have told him some things before, but he was intoxicated so I guess it didn't count." Maia eyed a candle on her friend's bedside table. "I can't really tell him. I fear it'll crush him or he'll ... call me a liar. I care too much to hurt him, but I feel as if I'm living a lie."

The Wildling cocked a brow. "Are you still in love with your betrothed?"

"Truthfully?" Maia glanced up, seeing Gilly nod. "I don't know."

•••

Amusing Gilly with the trials of the real world was Maia's only diversion from thinking about Jon. She had the same recurring dream about the events of Hardhome the entire time he was gone. She couldn't dare to think about while she was sitting in the comfort of Castle Black, Jon was out in the harsh winter and losing half of his men. She didn't know what she would do when he returned.

Speaking of returning, when did she plan to do just that? When was she to finally return to her own time? Maia didn't exactly know. She always a planner, but in this world, she was doing the exact opposite. For once, she wanted to stay here – even if that meant battling the threat of the cold and army of White Walkers on the way.

What Maia felt for Jon was something different: she felt passion. She experienced it in the beginning with Derek, of course, but after being with him for so long, the flame tastefully dwindled. She was caught up in the fantasy of it all, but the moment she realized her feelings for Jon – a man she had only heard stories about from her own fiancé – she realized what she'd been missing, and it terrified her.

The worst part of it all? She wasn't scared for Derek's sake, but for the fact that she would never return to him.

•••

"We're sorry to inform you, Mr. Swanson, but we have yet to find your fiancé in Washington. I must advise you that we will call you when we find out any other information."

He had heard the statement too many times. Derek was finished – ultimately finished. He knew he couldn't keep on calling the Washington police department, but he did it anyways. He didn't care about anything except Maia's disappearance, and if he were being honest, thoughts of suicide might've passed his mind a couple of times. The negativity was addictive.

He sought out help from a therapist, the only person who he thought could actually help him at this point. He expected Mrs. Adams to say the same as the Washington police, or worse: that he was depressed. Derek wasn't depressed – per say – he was just unapologetically sad, and could you blame him?

"The police haven't found anything at all?" Mrs. Adams asked in disbelief.

Derek nodded, leaning back in the chair she'd given him. Her office was full of different designs meant to calm the eye, but it only made him anxious at the amount of colors he had to stare at. For the past months, all he had looked at was a TV screen, so seeing anything else was astonishing. The scent of incenses filled his nostrils.

"What have you been thinking lately?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Sometimes I think that it should have been me who went missing. Sometimes I wonder if I should just kill myself, but then I remember my parents and that they'd murder me all over again if I went to heaven."

The therapist casually wrote down a couple words in her notes. "What else?"

"I miss her." He stared at the ceiling. "If I ever get really sad, I pull out some of her old shirts and –"

"Mr. Swanson, you and I both know that's not healthy." She interrupted, realizing she needed to word her response better. "I think you need to be put on some form of medication."

Derek furrowed his brow. "What for? I'm fine."

Mrs. Adams aged face was unmovable. "You sound severely depressed. I'm going to set you an appointment with your doctor to have you examined."

He sat up, staring at the elder woman in shock. "Excuse me, but I thought being sad about your possibly dead fiancé was normal."

"Being sad, yes, is normal," she nodded, "but having thoughts to kill yourself over your issue requires medical attention. Suicide is no joke."

Derek looked away with a sigh. He wasn't meaning for it to be joke; he wasn't being funny. He did think about it on the daily, but he never believed himself to actually go through with it. He wasn't that sad, but it was only a matter of time before they confirmed Maia's death. He wondered why the Washington police didn't just tell him already.

"Listen, Derek," Mrs. Adams leaned forward in her seat, taking his hands in hers, "I've talked to many adults with depression, and I know everything's going to be okay. You can get through this."

She sounded confident in her words – so confident that she thought she could convince him. But she didn't. No one could.