MAYA, a girl who goes through life with an unwavering smile-around other people that is. While juggling four jobs to support her father and a side hobby of modelling, Maya is rarely at home-to her content. Even through the mental and physical turmoi...
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I DONT KNOW why the voice only comes out when bad things happen to me but I hate it. It's always the same. I make dad angry, he punishes me, they show up and remind me that I'm crazy for hearing them (which is true), the hang around for a couple of hours, then they disappear and leave me all alone again. In the silence.
"Please." I beg Killian. I Trail out the 'ease' to emphasize just how much I need it, but hearing it out loud makes me cringe.
You sound like a child. No wonder he thinks you're annoying.
He sighs. Just like he has every time I've asked. "No." We've been going at the for half an hour. I refuse to tell him why i need the whiskey and he refuses to give it to me. The sun is rising, it's almost seven in the morning now, but the club doesn't open for another fifteen hours. It's the only shift I have today so I'll get a chance to get some sleep. Although I haven't yet and I'm exhausted.
The fatigue is weighing down on me. My eyelids and limbs feel heavy. My dizziness has calmed down but it's not completely gone. My spirits are down, and there rarely down in front of other people. I'm done arguing about this. "Fine, whatever." I mutter. I look back to the group of people and wave goodbye to Micah as I exit the club.
I don't even bother going to a bar or liquor store because I would stand out to much. Fist off, I'm about 5'3 and I have a baby face so I already look younger than I am. No way am I passing for twenty one without an ID. Secondly, it's seven in the morning. Even if they were open and I could pass for my own age, someone who might not have cared before would definitely grow aware and suspicious. It's better to wait till tonight. Instead, my make my way to my car for some sleep. I decide against parking somewhere else because this is the perfect spot. The whole lot is empty because the club is closed, and I'll be right here for my shift. I do move my car to behind the building so that Micah won't see me and feel bad.
It's not his fault. He's just doing his job.
I sit in the front seat of my car, trying to decide if I should sleep in the back seat or recline the seat im in, when the reality of the situation dawns on me. I'm not going home. I'm homeless until I can get whiskey and the only person that would sell it to me won't anymore.
And that's when I can't hold it together anymore. The tears pour uncontrollably from my eyes, and I feel like I'm drowning in my own sorrow. My hands instinctively clutch my stomach as my body trembles with each sob. The dizziness intensifies, and frustration engulfs me. Why can't I just let myself cry without feeling like I'm going to collapse?
Why are you crying anyway? Stefan says you're so much prettier when you smile.
Seeking a semblance of composure, I reach for the sun visor and face the mirror. The reflection staring back at me is a tear-streaked mess, and I try to wipe away the evidence of my vulnerability. I attempt to put on a brave face, to smile despite the feelings raging inside, but it's impossible. The smile falters, turning into a quivering lip, giving way to more tears that flow relentlessly down my cheeks. That only adds to my frustration.
