Two disasters learning how to be less disastrous together.
Two survivors figuring out that surviving isn’t the same as living, but maybe, just maybe they can learn to do both.
“I have therapy in an hour,” I say when we break apart.
“Want me to walk you?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
We stand, gather our things, start across the quad hand in hand. Carter sees us from across the lawn and waves. He’s with Lennox, Marcus, Isla, and a bunch of other people from the friend group that’s somehow formed around us. They’re all coupled up now. Carter and Lennox, Isla and Sebastian, Ivy and Ethan, Lilah and Marcus. The Thornhill romance collection, Lennox jokingly calls it.
And now us. Ryder and Maya. The broken ones who are slowly becoming less broken.
“You want to get dinner after therapy?” Ryder asks. “The team’s having a thing, but I’d rather just hang out with you.”
“You should go to the team thing. You need to stay connected with them.”
“I’ll see them all summer at training. I’d rather see you.”
“Ryder—”
“Maya, I’m choosing you. Not because I have to, not because you need me to, but because I want to. Because spending time with you is the best part of my day. Because you’re more important than team bonding.”
My eyes fill with tears. Happy tears. The kind Dr. Williams says I’m allowed to have.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Dinner after therapy sounds perfect.”
“Good. I know this Thai place off campus that has the best pad thai you’ve ever had.”
“You realize I’m going to cry through most of therapy now, right? You can’t drop the whole ‘choosing you’ thing right before my session.”
“Want me to text Dr. Williams and warn her?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love me anyway.”
“Yeah,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I really do.”
We part ways at the psychology building, him heading back to his apartment to rest his shoulder, me heading into the building where Dr. Williams’s office is located. Before I go inside, I turn back, find him still watching me from the sidewalk.
He waves. I wave back.
And something in my chest, something that’s been tight and painful for eighteen months loosens just a little bit.
I’m not healed. I’m not fixed. I’m not the girl I was before I tried to die, and I’ll never be her again.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the girl I am now scarred, damaged, trying is enough. Maybe she’s even better than the girl who was so afraid of imperfection that she chose death over failure.
Maybe recovery isn’t about becoming who you were. Maybe it’s about becoming who you are.
I walk into the building, ready to tell Dr. Williams about the good week I’ve had. About the photo competition. About falling in love. About hope.
About actually wanting to be alive.
Maya - One Year Later
I’m photographing the women’s hockey team for the campus newspaper, a favor for Lennox, who says my sports photography is better than anyone else on staff. I don’t know if that’s true or if she’s just being nice because I’m dating her boyfriend’s best friend.
