Chapter 9 #2
Her eyes are wide, unfocused, like she’s not even seeing Tyler anymore. She’s somewhere else entirely, and wherever that is, it’s bad. Her whole body is rigid against the wall, trapped, and Tyler’s too close, way too fucking close, and he’s still talking like he doesn’t see what he’s doing to her.
Everything goes red.
I’m moving before my brain catches up, crossing the sidewalk in three strides. I grab Tyler by the shoulder and yank him back from Maya, putting space between them. The second he’s clear of her, my fist connects with his jaw.
He stumbles backward, hand flying to his face, and I’m ready to hit him again, but Donny’s suddenly there, grabbing my arm.
“Jackson, stop!”
Tyler’s on the ground now, blood trickling from his split lip, staring up at me with wide eyes. I shake Donny off but don’t move closer. My knuckles are throbbing, the rage still burning through my chest.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I’m yelling now, barely recognizing my own voice.
“I was just—” Tyler starts, but I cut him off.
“You should have listened to her!”
Donny looks between us, trying to piece it together. “Everyone needs to calm down.”
I’m not calm. I’m the opposite of calm. But I step back, giving Tyler space to pick himself up off the sidewalk, and turn to check on Maya.
Maya.
She’s slumped against the restaurant wall, hyperventilating so hard her whole body is shaking. Her eyes are wide, unfocused, tears streaming down her face.
“Maya.” I move toward her slowly, carefully, hands visible. “Hey.”
She flinches when I get close, pressing herself harder against the wall.
“Don’t—” Her voice cracks. “Don’t touch me. Please.”
I stop immediately, dropping my hands and taking a step back. “Okay. I won’t. Just breathe, okay?”
She’s not breathing. She’s gasping, chest heaving, hands pressed to her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together physically.
“What the fuck just happened?” Donny stares at Tyler, who’s still on the ground holding his jaw, then at me. “I looked away for two seconds, and you were on him.”
“He had her pinned against the wall,” I say without looking away from Maya. “She was begging him to let go, and he wouldn’t.”
Donny’s expression shifts, understanding clicking into place. He reaches down to help Tyler up, and Tyler immediately starts talking.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, wincing. “Maya, I’m sorry—”
“Get him the fuck away from her,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “Now.”
Donny pulls him down the sidewalk. They disappear around the corner, and I turn back to Maya.
She’s sliding down the wall, her knees giving out. I want to catch her, but she said not to touch, so I just crouch a few feet away, giving her space.
“Maya. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“Can’t—can’t breathe—”
“Yes, you can. In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me, come on.” I demonstrate, slowly and exaggeratedly. “In. Out. In. Out.”
She’s shaking her head, hands pressed to her chest like she’s trying to hold her heart inside.
The restaurant door opens. Emma and Chase come out with Ethan and bags of dessert, laughing about something.
They stop dead when they see us.
“What happened?” Emma’s voice is sharp, cutting through the air. Then she sees my bloody knuckles. “Jackson, what did you do?”
“Tyler happened,” I say without looking away from Maya. “Take Ethan to the car. Give us a minute.”
“Is she okay?”
“Emma. Car. Now.”
She goes, Chase, following with a backward glance that promises questions later.
Maya’s breathing is slowing, still shaking, but not hyperventilating anymore. The tears haven’t stopped, though, tracking down her face in the glow of the streetlights.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I froze. Just froze like a fucking coward.”
“That’s not cowardice. That’s trauma.” I keep my voice steady, gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see it: the raw terror, the shame, the exhaustion of trying to hold herself together for so long.
“He cornered me, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight, just like—” She cuts herself off, the words dying in her throat.
Just like whoever raped her.
I know from the journal, know that she froze then too, know she blames herself for not fighting back.
“Come on.” I stand slowly, carefully. “Let’s get you home.”
She doesn’t argue; she lets me help her up without touching more than necessary, just my hand hovering near her elbow in case she needs support. We walk to the car in silence, Maya’s arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold her pieces together.
Emma and Chase don’t ask questions on the drive home. Ethan’s already asleep in his car seat. Maya stares out the window, and I can see her reflection in the glass, see the way she’s still shaking.
Back at the house, she disappears upstairs before anyone can say anything.
“What happened?” Emma asks immediately, her voice tight with worry. “And why are your knuckles bleeding?”
“Tyler had her trapped against the wall. She was telling him to let go, and he wouldn’t.”
“So you hit him?” Emma’s eyes are wide.
“Yeah.”
“Good,” she says fiercely.
Chase sets the dessert bags on the counter, his jaw tight. "Is she going to be okay?"
"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 what was 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.
Even if every instinct I have is screaming at me to do something, anything, to help.
The pacing finally stops around 2 a.m. I hear her door close, and then the creak of the bed springs as she lies down.
I don't sleep. Just lie here in the dark, hand throbbing, listening to the silence and hoping she's okay up there.
Hoping tomorrow she'll let me help.
Hoping I haven't made everything worse by losing my temper and beating the shit out of Tyler.
Hoping she knows that what happened wasn't her fault, that freezing is a normal trauma response, that she's not weak or broken or any of the things I know she's telling herself right now.
But hope feels pretty fucking useless when the person you care about is falling apart above you, and there's nothing you can do about it.