Chapter 38
Josh
With pressed lips and clenched fists, Maya stands in the doorway. "You won't manipulate me," she hisses, visibly upset.
Something in her expression makes me pause halfway through the hotel room. Helplessly, I spread my arms. "I didn't intend to."
She shakes her head so vigorously that her oversized glittering earrings touch her cheeks. "You're lying!"
Why is she yelling at me? I raise my eyebrows, unsure of what to say.
Her angry gaze is fixed on me. "Do you think I'm too stupid to understand what's going on here? Do you think you can feed me a fairy tale and I'll just ignore what's really happening?"
"What are you talking about?" I dare to ask.
Her fingers fumble incessantly with the hem of her T-shirt. "You know exactly what I'm talking about." She takes a step back and slams into the doorframe.
It's better if I stay where I am. "No, Maya, I don't." I try to maintain a calm tone, but it doesn't stop her escalation.
"Just stop lying!" Her face turns red, and she breathes heavily.
I haven't even said anything yet. She doesn't even give me a chance to speak. Clearly, she's overreacting. "What's wrong with you?"
A disgusted snort escapes her mouth. "There's nothing wrong with me," she replies, then points her accusing finger at me. "But something is seriously wrong with you."
Yes, what I'm doing is not right. I'm aware of that myself. "My hand is shaking again," I admit meekly. So she understands what's happening here.
She doesn't respond, just shakes her head and crosses her arms in front of her chest.
"A little alcohol relaxes my neck muscles and my nerve pathways so that I can play the piano flawlessly." I search her eyes for any sign that she understands what I'm trying to say. But there's nothing there. It's as if my words don't reach her.
It's as if she's not really here.
Now she pulls the corners of her mouth downward contemptuously. Her complexion suddenly resembles the pale gray wall behind her. "You're a drunk. A damn alcoholic."
"No, I'm not." I stare at her, disturbed. How can she accuse me of something so absurd? There's a world of difference between what I'm doing and being an alcoholic. I despise drinking. I only need this crutch until the award ceremony because I don't have time for any other solution. After that, it's over.
"They were right. Everyone who warned me. They were right. I shouldn't have protected you for so long," she mutters absentmindedly. Even though she's looking at me, it's as if she doesn't even notice me. And now I'm certain that her words aren't directed at me.
"Whom have you been protecting?" Maybe it would be better not to ask this question. But I need to know. I can see the weight on her chest. I reach out my hand to Maya, signaling she can trust me. As if she's waking up from a dream, she lifts her eyelids. Her piercing gaze meets mine.
"In Tyrol, you were drunk," she says with a coldness in her voice that sends shivers down my spine. "That's why you broke your promise to Sophia. You forgot about her. Your own daughter!" She continues to rage on, unstoppable. "How can you possibly love alcohol more than this innocent girl?"
"But I don't!" Drinking means nothing to me. It's just a temporary crutch.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing to her?" she persists, undeterred. "This child idolizes you. She would do anything for you. She would make excuses for why you couldn't attend her school performance so that no one would know the truth. She would clean up your vomit so that no one would notice." Maya sniffs loudly, her body trembling. "And she would never stop believing your dirty lies."
"Maya..." I stammer, unable to form more coherent words. Too many thoughts swirl in my head, yet they haven't formed a clear picture, but a dark suspicion rises within me.
"No." Maya raises her palms, and I know I shouldn't come any closer. She's not done. Not by a long shot. "You're destroying her, do you understand? She will convince herself that you're just tired and not drunk. That you have an upset stomach or that your work exhausts you, causing you to go straight to bed in the evenings." With tear-filled eyes, she looks at me pleadingly. "She will see you as a hero, even though in reality, you're the biggest fraud of them all." Tears stream down her cheeks. I can see all her pain reflected in her expression, and suddenly, it becomes clear to me what's happening here.
My God. Her father was an alcoholic.
Everything inside me longs to comfort her. I want to take away her memories and her fears. "This is different," I say calmly.
It's as if she sees right through me. "You're forcing her to build a dream world where she can escape to endure you and your lies," she continues in a strained voice as if I hadn't said anything at all.
Images of Maya appear in my mind's eye. I see her playing with Sophia, laughing and dancing with unburdened joy. She's happy. Because she's in her bubble, where neither the real world nor her painful memories have access. Suddenly, everything makes sense. Her strong desire to help children in need. Her tendency to shield herself from the adult world. And, above all, her lack of self-confidence.
She swallows hard. "And one day..." Her voice breaks. She clears her throat, her expression filled with anguish, making me want to hold her tightly in my arms. "One day, you'll drink yourself to death. Your pancreas will be chronically inflamed, and you'll continue drinking. Your kidneys will fail, yet even that won't stop you."
Her lower lip trembles. I can see how difficult it is for her to continue speaking, so I wait.
"And when your organs give up the eternal battle against the liquid poison, you'll turn to your daughter with a face distorted in pain."
Her breathing becomes labored, sweat forming on her forehead. I feel her anguish, and I see fourteen-year-old Maya sitting by her father's deathbed, holding his hand.
" Smile, and the whole world will be yours , you will say. And your daughter will believe you. She will smile at you until you close your eyes for the last time."
That is too much for me. Without further thought, I run toward her. Even though I know I can never take away these painful memories, I want to at least cover her with my warmth. I want to be the bubble she retreats into, to forget for a moment.
The closer I get, the clearer her gaze becomes.
I'm almost there. I open my arms wide. "I'm so sorry, Maya," I whisper hoarsely.
"Just stay away from me, Josh." She looks directly at me and wipes her cheeks harshly. Her fingers tremble, as do the tips of her hair. The vein on her neck stands out.
"I can't do that." I pour all my warmth and emotions for this woman into my words. Then I dare to take a step closer. I reach out my hand, but before I can touch her, she turns away.
"Don't touch me," she hisses, agitated, and stumbles toward the door. Once there, she turns to face me. "It's over. I never want to see you again." Her voice breaks, but she fights against it. "Never. Do you understand?"
"But I..."
She leaves the hotel room already.
"...love you," I whisper very softly even though I know she can no longer hear me.