Chapter 26 Maia
Chapter twenty-six
Maia
The door groaned on its hinges as I shouldered it open, balancing a grocery bag against my hip while Uncle Wes came in behind me.
He was lighter on his feet these days, skin pale from too many nights under hospital fluorescents, and still reeked faintly of cheap cologne and the same soap he had always used ever since I was a kid.
It had been three weeks since I’d left Blaine’s penthouse. Three weeks of forcing myself not to look at his name in my phone.
I told myself I was busy. That someone would call me back for the jobs I’d applied for recently.
That busying my mind at the dance studio morning to night would serve me better than think about him over and over.
But every time I stopped, even for a moment, it was there…
the hollow feeling in my chest where he used to be, the gnawing reminder that I had walked away from the only person who had ever made me feel seen.
God, I sounded so pathetic. So naive to think any of it meant something. Even if it did… it couldn’t amount to much more than this.
Uncle Wes set his bag down with a sigh, shaking me from my thoughts. He took mine before I could protest, setting it gently on the counter.
“You sure about this, kid?” he asked, voice careful. “I don’t want to be in your way. You’ve already done too much.”
“It’s just for the weekend,” I said, forcing steadiness into my tone as I started pulling items from the bag. “Get you out of that place for a little while. Fresh air. Normal food.”
His mouth tugged into a small smile as he gazed around my apartment, which barely even had any windows or adequate circulation in spite of my frequent candle-lighting. “Fresh air, huh?”
That earned him a quiet laugh from me, one I hadn’t felt in a while. “Better than hospital walls.”
He lowered himself onto the couch with a grunt, hands resting on his knees.
His eyes followed me as I unpacked the bag—cans, a loaf of bread, cheap coffee…
It wasn’t much, but it was what I could manage to hold him over for the weekend.
Truthfully, it was all I could manage, period.
Rent was due soon, and the stack of rejection emails sat like a weight in the back of my mind.
But I smiled anyway. Because that was easier than admitting I was drowning.
The apartment was too quiet when I pushed the door open.
My uncle’s bag was still propped by the door, his jacket slung over the arm of the couch. For a second, I thought maybe he was napping, that I’d find him passed out with the TV humming just like old times. But the air in the apartment felt empty, like he’d stepped out some time ago.
I stepped farther in and froze. My mail sat on the counter, splayed out in a messy fan I didn’t leave it in.
Rent notices, past dues, all the little failures I usually shoved out of sight.
And in the middle of them, like a knife in my gut, was a familiar piece of paper: the note I’d buried somewhere deep in my mind.
My feet moved before my brain could catch up as I snatched the note from the counter.
I thought I’d shoved that note out of my life when I hid the cash, when I tried to forget and hide all of it—but it was sitting there, plain as day.
He was looking. He knew what happened.
Which meant—
I spun toward the bedroom. Drawers cracked open. Shoes Blaine had bought me shifted, tissue paper torn. He’d gone through everything. Searching.
My throat closed as I stumbled into the kitchen.
My eyes finally registered how he’d left it.
The cupboards were left just a little ajar, but not as noticeable as my room.
Regardless, I dropped to my knees in front of the sink, already knowing the truth before I pulled the door open.
The busted blender. The box of expired pasta.
Both shoved aside. And behind them… the space was empty.
Gone.
The cash. My one terrible, desperate safety net that Felix had “gifted.”
My hand braced against the cabinet wall as the room tilted. “No, no, no…” The whisper escaped me before I could stop it.
This is my fault.
He must’ve seen the note. Must’ve known exactly why I’d kept it from him. Must’ve gone searching for it in the hopes I’d kept it for whatever reason. And now… he was gone.
My chest caved in. This is my fault. If I’d burned the note like I should have, if I’d never hidden the money, if I’d told him everything instead of keeping it a secret, hiding it like a coward… maybe he wouldn’t have slipped. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone back—
The thought cut sharply in my mind as the spiraling thoughts silenced. My tears had slowed for the split second, and something inside me snapped.
“No,” I hissed into the silence, voice breaking. I’d bled myself dry to keep him safe. Worked myself numb. Let men with power chew me up and spit me out, all so he’d never have to crawl back to this. And still… still he went digging. He did the one thing he swore to me he’d never do.
Tears blurred, hot against my lashes, but the rage beneath them burned steadier. Stronger.
“Not again. You don’t get to do this to me. Not after everything.”
He wasn’t going to fucking do this. Not to himself. Not to us. And definitely not to me.
I slammed the cupboard door so hard it rattled the dishes in the sink, the crack of it like a gunshot in the empty apartment. My whole body shook, but the rage held me upright, steadied my hands.
Felix thought he could play me like this. My uncle thought he could slip back into that hole again while I stayed cleaning up behind him, giving sympathy, patience, support, compassion, kindness, warmth like I always fucking did… but this time? I wasn’t going to let it happen again.
I snatched my bag from the counter, keys biting into my palm. My pulse was hammering so hard it was all I could hear.
I didn’t even bother wiping the tears off my face. I let them streak. Let the world see what I’d been holding together.
I’d given him everything. My time, my money, my heart, my sanity. I sold myself to keep him off the streets, to keep him sane, to keep him human, and what did it get me? What the fuck did it get me?!
The cry ripped out of me, raw and ragged, before I could stop it.
My vision blurred, my body trembling, but I didn’t let myself collapse.
I couldn’t. Not when every second wasted was another second he slipped further away.
My bag was in my hands, my feet already carrying me out of the complex.
If I didn’t find him now, I’d lose him forever.
But deep down, I knew I’d already lost him long before tonight. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
It didn’t take me longer than thirty minutes to find him outside a rundown casino three blocks away, slouched against the brick wall, using the building to practically keep himself upright. His hair was damp with sweat, his shirt untucked, the smell of whiskey clinging to his skin.
The casino lights buzzed overhead, neon humming against the darkness, and somewhere down the block, a group of strangers laughed as if the world hadn’t just split open at my feet.
“Uncle Wes.” My voice cracked around his name. He didn’t even flinch.
“Uncle Wes… Wesley,” I said, firmer.
He finally seemed to come to. He looked up, squinting like the streetlight was too bright. A sad smile slid over his face. “Hey, kid.”
“What… What are you doing here?” I asked.
He shook his head, running a hand down his face.
“Just… having a rough night,” he practically slurred.
I scoffed. “A rough night?!” My voice rose an octave or two, and he blinked at me, as if he couldn’t understand why I wasn’t softening for him the way I always had. Probably wondering why I wasn’t using my sympathy tone with him either.
“You’re in rehab.” My voice was shaking now, and I could hear the edge of hysteria creeping in. “You were supposed to be getting better.”
“I was— I… Christ, I am kid,” he said quickly, stumbling over the words.
“Then where’s the money?” My voice was sharper now. He looked like a deer in headlights, his eyes searching mine as he tried to find the words.
“Maia, I was doing fine, I swear. But I… I needed a break. Just one night to clear my head—”
I cut him off. “Where is the money?”
He gulped softly. “I needed it.”
Hot tears leaked from my eyes as I shook my head. “You needed it,” I seethed, but he couldn’t even look me in the eye. “That was for emergencies, Uncle Wes.”
“I know it's from Felix.”
“Even if it is, that's not the point. I was going to throw it away, but I kept it for us. Not for you to gamble it all away.”
“I was gonna win it back. I-I still can. I just need a little more time, I—”
“That’s exactly what you told me before rehab!” I yelled, my heart clenching as I watched him helplessly. “That’s exactly what you told me every single time you’ve done this.”
I was trying to see if my words were breaking through to him.
I thought he’d understood, I thought he wanted to change for himself, for us.
But he wasn’t hearing me. If he heard me, if he did care, he wouldn’t have done this again.
He would have admitted he couldn’t fight it, instead of tearing down what little we had left.
He would never change.
The truth hit my chest. Not if he didn’t decide to on his own, and I couldn’t make him. Not anymore.
“…You’ll never change.”
“Maia, honey—” he began.
I shook my head. “It's my fault.” I wiped away my tears. “You weren’t ready to change. I should’ve accepted that from the beginning instead of hoping for the best. No matter how hard I try… it won’t happen.” I sniffled softly.
His lips parted like he wanted to deny it.
“You’ve always been the only one who believed in me.
You know I don’t mean to let you down. I can still fix this, you know that…
We’ll start again. I’ll go back to the facility.
They’ll put me on a new plan and I—” His words faltered as a sob raked my chest.
The words broke me more than the relapse itself because I knew what that meant.
Another round of bills. Another round of me scraping together rent each month, of living on scraps while he sat in another program he didn’t care to finish.
Another round of me bleeding myself dry just so he could make another careless mistake when it was over.
If he really cared, he wouldn’t ask me to do it again. If he really cared, he wouldn’t let me kill myself trying to save him.
I shrugged, defeated, my face still red hot with messy tears as a bittersweet smile pulled weakly at my lips.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I whispered, and instantly I could see a flicker of panic pass through his eyes.
“Kid, give me another chance. I’ll do better,” he almost pleaded.
Crouching down, I grabbed his warm hand in mine, holding back my sobs as best I could. “I love you…” My whisper broke as I shook my head. “But loving you doesn’t mean I can keep saving you. Not when you don’t want to save yourself.”
His grip tightened like he could anchor me there. “Maia—”
“I can’t watch you do this anymore. Not to yourself. Not to me.”
Standing, I ignored the way his hand tightened, I ignored the tears that came to the corner of his eyes before I slipped from his grasp and walked back the way I’d come.
He didn’t call my name to stop me; he didn’t say anything as he watched, and it was probably for the best. Because if he did?
I wasn’t sure I’d have the strength to keep walking.