I was sitting on the couch with a warm, fluffy blanket wrapped around me. Other than my head and hands, which held the warm hot chocolate in my favourite mug, I was completely covered. Images of what happened today at school flashed through my mind, giving me a severe headache. It was annoying. Time went back five to six hours, when I went home during lunch at school. I left my backpack, I left my guitar, I just stormed past the cafeteria, out of school and walked home with misty eyes.
Sofia, Lucas, Cyrus and whoever cared tried to apologize for everything and help me calm down but I wasn't ready to listen to anybody. I just had to go home, rest in peace. Thankfully, Lucas didn't follow me home so I changed, took a warm bath, and slept in the family room. Lucas came home at around 5:30 p.m, and I didn't ask why he came home so late.
All I know is that he brought my backpack and guitar and all my winter stuff home. It's been exactly fourteen minutes since he made me some hot chocolate and brought me a blanket. Through the fumes escaping from the mug, I looked at the black screen of the T.V. I didn't know what to think about, and I had no one to talk to since Lucas was taking a shower upstairs.
I let out a loud sigh, my heart feeling heavy and sad. I saw those eyes. Those eyes that followed me as I ran out of school this afternoon. They were filled with hatred, disgust, and disbelief. They all hated me now. Almost everyone in school saw me as a slutty whore wanna be. I knew this wasn't the end of it because on Monday, they will respect me and treat me as the dirt under their shoes. I have pondered on forgetting everything. Thinking everything will be okay and I can go backto school all normal. Go back to school as the old Maya whom no one even knew‐ obviously except my bullies. Sometimes, I wonder if everything would've been the same if my parents haven't left for that world tour. And sometimes, I'm glad they did because of what I'm left with now. I was definitely in a confused bundle of feelings.
"How's the hot chocolate?" a voice said as footsteps neared the couch.
"Am I supposed to say 'good'?" I replied.
"No." Silence. "You're supposed to say 'awesome'," he corrected. My smile fought it's way out as Lucas appeared in front of me. He bent down and cupped my cheeks, startling me. "Are you okay?" he inquired, his voice pensive.
"Yes," I barely whispered, taken aback from his solicitude. He lifted an eyebrow. "I'm amazed you didn't tell me to stop touching you." And then he had to ruin it.
"Stop touching me," I muttered flatly. He chuckled and flopped on the couch next to me. We didn't say anything for a while.
"You know when I was younger, my mom used to tell me writing can make you feel better or help anyone feel better," I said quietly, looking at my drink. "But I feel like those words betrayed me after what happened."
Lucas shifted in his position so he was facing me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking as he nibbled the inside of his lip. "Did she also tell you that writing can fix everything?"
I cocked my head to the side. "Yes. How'd you know?" I asked him. He brushed through his hair and slightly grinned at the ceiling.
"Because my mom used to say the same thing," he said. "But I think I have an idea."
"What idea?" He gave me a teasing smile. "You've done your part, Maya," he said and continued before I could jump in. "There is something I can do to put everything to justice. You'll have to wait and see."
"Justice?" I snorted mockingly. "Big words."
"You have to get used to it," Lucas said, flicking my nose. He sat back with a much more serious face. "You didn't know what happened after school, which got me late to come home."
