[IsabellaRose & WritesNaughtyStories] Emily and Maya, a yuri romance

[WritesNaughtyStories]

The day after the accident, Maya walked home in a strange, hopeful cloud. She swung between heartbreak that Emily hadn't come and terror that she couldn't. At the same time the strange comfort of knowing that it was a woman who had spoken to her heart terrified her for what it meant.

About halfway to her apartment, she started trying out ways to tell her mother. Every one sounded terrible and caused the conservatively raised woman to judge herself. Unable to find either the words or the courage to confess to her mother, Maya slunk to her room, heartbroken and ashamed. Ashamed partly at what she now knew about herself and her cowardice in the face of it.

As she ragdolled onto her bed, on the verge of tears, Maya regretted not keeping the book. She wanted desperately to feel it in her hands. It had become a physical talisman of Maya's awakening and her connection to Emily. In her most secret heart, Maya knew it was far more about it being connected to Emily than any philosophical truth she lied to herself about.

In its absence, Maya fell over the edge of tears and tumbled down the rocky cliff of rejection, doubt, guilt and shame. She buried her face in her pillow, least her mother hear and come to help. The young woman sobbed until the exhaustion of wasted excitement, shattered hope, guilt and shame dragged her into dreamless sleep 

She awoke to her mother knocking on the door, calling her to dinner. Momentarily confused, Maya sat up, rubbed her eyes and reconstructed why she was asleep before dinner. At the realization, fear gripped her. She forced herself to answer her mother and reassure her she'd be there in a moment.

Tidying her bed and smoothing her clothes, Maya gave Mama a moment to return to the kitchen and when she heard the clatter of plates, hurried to the bathroom. Maya pretended to use the toilet and dabbed at her eyes, fixed her hair quickly and then turned on the water to wash her hands.

Moments later she emerged, far less disheveled and feigning normalcy well enough.

At dinner Mama asked if Maya had heard about the horrible crash in the neighborhood. As her mother recounted the details she remembered from the articles and on-line news,  two things that struckMaya: a girl about Maya's age had survived and, "...this is why you should stay home."

Mama slid her phone across the table, pointing at a photo, "Whole family, just gone. It's terrible." Maya gasped at the photo.

Emily!

Her fork clattered to the table as the young woman grabbed the phone with both hands. Her heart froze. The air abandoned her lungs, and the tears welled up as fast as the guilt.

Maya could never remember leaving the table or her mother calling after her as Maya flex to her room, struggling to breathe against the horror of her selfishness having caused this.

Maya crashed into her bed with the mindless inevitably of the crash. God was punishing her. Punishing Emily. Guilt, fear and shame tore at her a new, reducing her to a quivering, whimpering ball of tears while her mother assured it was the loss of her father and grandmother visiting the girl at last.

Somewhere, at the bottom of the cliff of guilt, heartbreak and doubt, Maya found the truth. She could not have caused this. It has happened before she'd had the idea something bad had happened. The only way that was possible would be if God was such a an asshole that he'd preemptively murder a woman's whole family, but not her, who had tempted Maya. Nevermind the original sin of wanting to marry Jenny.

No. None of that made any sense. Sometimes, bad things happened.

Slowly, Maya found her breath, stopped crying and wiped her eyes. Pulling herself to sit on the edge of the bed, the young woman looked at herself in the mirror and found the version of herself that had walked into Shiraz Delight earlier that day.

She found a smile and tried it on hesitantly. The woman who smiled back at her looked like she might survive after all. Eyes still red and puffy, Maya walked back out to the kitchen and found it dark. Mama had cleaned up and gone to bed. Looking at the green digital clock on the oven, Maya discovered it was after midnight. She collapsed into bed not long later.

In the morning she showered, dressed and left, offering her mother assurances that she was okay and kissing her cheek affectionately as she departed.

The news has said what hospital Emily was at and Maya made her way there. When she arrived she was told that only family was allowed to visit but she could send cards or flowers.

An enterprising florist has sent up shop nearby only days after the hospital had been built, and now a third generation ran the profitable shop where Maya stopped. She stood for half an hour trying to pick flowers only to face a blank card when she'd chosen an arrangement. After buying three cards only to scratch out what she'd written and throwing them away, Maya ended up skipping the card. Tomorrow sh'd send one.

Monday had brought work, and Maya had ordered flowers from her phone at lunch. For a week she'd done that, never quite bringing herself to sign a card. Then, one day, Maya came home to the flowers she'd ordered waiting for her at her house. It only took a phone call to find out that Emily was no longer there and the hospital would give her no information beyond that.

For another week Maya ground through her life in a funk but the work of living eventually took over. At least until she passed Shiraz, the crash site, the hospital or and add for flowers popped up on her phone.

It took more than a month and her mother trying to set up an introduction to an older man for Maya to find the courage to confess to her mother. And it did feel like a confession at first because Maya had never found the words she wanted, but as the coversation became and argument, it wasn't a confession. It was a declaration.

Mama had not thrown her out, which actually made it feel like betraying her when Maya began to plan to move out.

A year later and Maya has saved up signed a lease and started making art on the side. Mother had never really accepted Maya's sexuality but at least took, "No." when she suggested some man without a fight. It wasn't exactly progress, but a workable stalemate.

This weekend she'd move into the little flat above the little studio. Maya knew she'd have to keep her job and sacrifice sleep to be able to live and work on her own projects, but the production manager and designer were both impressed by some of the fabric designs she'd been creating to bridge the designer's vision into affordable mass production. 

Maya kept her old phone number, just in case and made occasional trips to Shiraz Delight to read and stopped by the florist to buy an inexpensive bouquet for her office.

Edited May 28 by WritesNaughtyStories