49. Maya
Maya
Jamie’s plane landed a few minutes ago. His flight took off late last night, but I stayed awake the entire time to make sure I heard from him, and now its close to three in the morning.
Drew took me and Dani home after dropping Jamie off at the airport, but I was restless and upset and anxious on Jamie’s behalf. So, I got in my car and drove to my dad’s house, seeking comfort in the one person who might be as upset by this whole thing as I am.
At first, we were watching recaps of the championship game on ESPN. Seeing Jamie hoist that trophy over his head, looking happier than I’ve ever seen him, I can’t believe that was only two days ago.
Eventually, Dad turned on Bones—my favorite show, to distract me—and we’ve been binge watching for the last few hours while we wait for word that Jamie’s landed and that he’s safe.
I jump when my phone vibrates with a text, scrambling to unlock the screen and see what Jamie said.
Jamie
Jamie: I’m here. He had a driver pick me up from the airport.
Me: So you haven’t seen him yet?
Jamie: No, he never comes himself. He’s probably passed out somewhere in the house. I should be able to avoid him tonight, at the very least.
Me: Okay, good
Me: Are you okay?
Jamie: As okay as I can be, being here. I’m just going to lock the door and go to sleep. I’ll text you when I wake up
Jamie: Don’t sit around worrying about me all week, please. I’ll be home before you know it.
We say our goodnight’s and I love you’s, and then I give my father a hug, knowing that even though we’ve had our fair share of issues over the years, I’m grateful to have someone as amazing as him in my life.
Dad goes up to bed, but I know I won’t be able to rest, no matter how hard I try. Instead, I curl up on the couch with the TV playing, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts and bad scenarios playing in my head.
Jamie and I text off and on for the next few days. Monday morning, he said he finally got up and left his room, and there was no sign of Ross.
Tuesday, he finally resurfaced. Jamie said they went out to dinner with some of Ross’s band mates and team—the whole thing very domestic and civil.
Wednesday, Jamie went to the beach alone to surf—I didn’t even know he could surf, but I suppose it makes sense. He’d have to have some hobbies in California that would get him out of the house.
He sent me a photo from the beach, saying it was so early in the season not many people were out, but that he thought he could still get a few good waves in.
I’d asked him if he had any friends in LA he could spend time with, and he said he talked to a few guys from his high school team every once in a while, but they were all surface-level friends who never wanted anything more than to party.
All week, I go to work, busying myself with drawing new stencils and taking clients, doing everything I can to not sit neurotically on my phone waiting for word from him.
Thursday, I get radio silence. The day drags on, and I don’t receive so much as a text. One hour turns into two, into five, then eight. By the time my shift is over, I’m sweating with fear, driving like a maniac to my dad’s house because I don’t know what to do or where else to go.
“I’m sure everything’s okay, Maya,” Dad tried to calm me as I pace back and forth in the kitchen.
“No. No, I just don’t think it is. He wouldn’t not say anything this long if he was fine.”
Dad scrubs a hand over his beard, looking like he agrees with me, but doesn’t want to admit it out loud and feed my panic.
Just when I’m about to suggest we get on a plane and go find out ourselves, my phone vibrates in my jeans with a video call from Jamie.
My heart sinks and my stomach churns as I fumble to answer. We agreed to no calls, worried Ross would overhear or see me on his phone. Immediately I start screen recording before the call connects, knowing this cannot be good.
Jamie’s bruised and bloodied face fills my screen, and I choke back a sob at the sight of him.
“Jamie? Jamie, son, oh my God,” my dad says, stepping up behind me and seeing what’s been done to him.
“He knows. Fuck, Maya, he knows,” Jamie says, breathing heavily through his mouth because it looks like he’s got a broken nose.
“He had someone tailing me the entire fucking time. In Tampa—the beach and the piano—and at home, you leaving my house.” His voice is garbled from the blood going down his throat and swelling in his nose.
Jamie’s words are rushed and borderline incoherent to anyone who didn’t know what he was trying to say.
But I do.
All the sneaking around, everything he did to try to get Ross to think we weren’t together, none of it made a difference. Ross knew the entire time, despite the pictures Jamie put online and all the effort he made to keep me a secret.
“Jamie, where are you?” I ask, frantically.
“The bathroom. In my bathroom. He said he’s having another party tomorrow to celebrate my win—a party for me, and he has a ‘surprise’ to congratulate me.
God, you should’ve seen the look on his face; he’s fucking crazy.
” Tears stream down Jamie’s cheeks as he stares blankly at the ceiling, no doubt his encounter with Ross replaying in his head.
“What happened, son? I need you to talk to us,” my dad instructs.
“I don’t know,” Jamie whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and rocking his head back and forth against the wall. “I can’t do it again. He’s going to make me do it again.”
I have to fight not to get sick right here in the kitchen, knowing exactly what he’s saying—what he knows Ross’s “surprise” is and what he’s going to make Jamie do.
Dad pulls out his phone, face white as a sheet, and when I look over, I see that he’s trying to buy plane tickets.
He looks at me, as if debating whether or not he wants to take me into this situation, and I give him a hard stare back.
“You are not leaving me here. I’m going with you,” I say, voice final.
Knowing it would just waste time to argue, Dad books two tickets and says, “Get in the car.”
“Jamie, we’re coming. Do you hear me? We’re going to the airport right now. You can call the police; I promise, you can call, and they will come.”
He looks like he’s not even processing my words, having gone down in a spiral of nightmarish memories and PTSD. He shakes his head again and says, “It won’t matter. They won’t believe me.”
My heart shatters into a million fragments as tears stream down my face. My dad speeds all the way to the airport, never dipping below ninety miles per hour.
“Jamie, look at me baby. I need you to send me the address of your dads house and any gate codes we’ll need to get in. Please, Jamie, don’t fall asleep. We’re going to come and we’re going to bring help, but we need you to help us get inside.”