"I don't know." The honest answer, the only one I have.
I should go after her, should check that she's okay, but she asked me not to touch her, and I can't ignore that boundary, can't make this worse by pushing when she needs space.
So I go downstairs to my room and sit on the edge of my bed, my right hand throbbing where my knuckles split open against Tyler's face. The pain is grounding, real, and better than the alternative of feeling helpless.
I replay the moment over and over. The way Tyler leaned in, the way Maya went still, the split second it took me to process how terrified she looked before my body reacted.
I should have been faster. Should have stopped him before he touched her.
The thought makes my chest tight.
My phone buzzes.
Tyler
I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. Tell Maya I'm sorry.
I stare at the message, then delete it without responding.
Another text comes through immediately.
Tyler
For what it's worth, I really am sorry. I thought... doesn't matter what I thought. I fucked up. And I deserved what you did.
I delete that one too, then type out a response:Stay away from her.
Tyler
Yeah. I will. And Jackson? Take care of her. She needs someone.
I don't respond to that.
Above me, I hear footsteps. Maya pacing her room, back and forth, back and forth. Awake, alone, probably spiraling.
I close my eyes and try to breathe through the rage still burning in my chest, forcing my fists to unclench before I put a hole in the wall. My knuckles throb, and I should probably clean them up, maybe ice them, but I can't bring myself to move.
Tyler got too close and wouldn't back off when she told him to. Maya froze because someone else had done this before—taken her choice away, ignored her words—and her body remembered even if her mind wanted to fight.
And I stood there for a split second too long before I could stop it.
That's the part that's killing me. That moment where I was too far away, too slow to react.
I should have protected her. Should have seen it coming.
The pacing continues above me. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I want to go up there, sit outside her door, and keep watch like somehow my presence could make the nightmares stay away. But that's not what she needs. She needs space, needs to process this on her own terms, needs to not feel crowded or pressured or watched.
Even if it's torture to sit down here knowing she's up there alone.
I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Maya pace. My hand throbs. My chest aches. And all I can think about is the look on her face when she realized whatwas happening, that moment of pure terror before she shut down.
I can't fix this. Can't undo what Tyler did or what happened to her in Pinewood. Can't erase the trauma or make her feel safe again just by wanting it badly enough.
All I can do is be here. Be steady. Be someone she can trust when everything else is chaos.
Even if it kills me to watch her suffer and not be able to make it stop.
