Chapter 2 : Late night conversations
1180 Words
Maya couldn't sleep.
She'd been staring at her ceiling for two hours, watching shadows dance across white paint. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Derek's blue-gray eyes looking at her through the crack in his door.
She threw off her covers and padded downstairs in sleep shorts and an oversized Berkeley t-shirt. The kitchen was dark except for the stove clock's glow. She filled the kettle quietly.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
Maya spun around, nearly dropping the kettle.
Derek stood in the doorway wearing gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it.
"You scared me."
"Sorry. Saw the light." He moved into the kitchen, making the space feel tiny. "What are you making?"
"Just tea. Chamomile. Helps with the nightmares."
His expression shifted. "You have nightmares often?"
"Most nights. Since the accident." She turned back to the kettle.
"You want to talk about it?"
"Not really something I talk about."
"Fair enough. I have them too. Different reasons, but I get it."
She looked at him over her shoulder. "What do you dream about?"
"The night I crashed my car. My sister's face when she bailed me out. The disappointment."
"Is that why you left?"
"Part of it. I was engaged. Found out she was sleeping with my best friend and business partner. Lost everything in one night. Made stupid choices after."
The kettle whistled. Maya poured water, watching it steep. "The drunk driving thing?"
"Your mom told you?"
"She mentioned mistakes. Never details. She never gives details about anything important."
Derek leaned against the counter beside her. Close enough that she could feel heat coming off his body. "I was angry. Hurt. Thought I could drown it in whiskey. Crashed into a pole"
"Were you hurt?"
"Bruised ribs, split lip, damaged ego. Could've been worse. Could've killed someone." His voice went rough. "Linda had to get me from the station. Had to see me become exactly what she feared."
Maya stirred her tea. "What did she fear?"
"Our dad was an alcoholic. Mean drunk. Hit our mom before she left him. Linda spent her childhood terrified she'd end up trapped with someone who couldn't control himself."
"You're not like that, though."
He looked at her. "How do you know?"
"Because you're here. Because you got better and came back. Because you feel guilty, which means you have a conscience."
Something flickered across Derek's face. Surprise, maybe.
"You're pretty wise for nineteen."
"Trauma ages you." She sipped tea. "Why come back now?"
"Got tired of running. Tired of punishing myself. Wanted to prove to Linda I could be better."
"Are you? Better?"
"I don't know. Some days yes. Other days I'm not sure."
Silence. The refrigerator hummed.
"What about you?" Derek asked quietly. "What are your nightmares about?"
Maya's grip tightened on her mug. "The accident. I see it over and over. The truck running the red light. My dad trying to swerve. The impact. The sound."
Her voice shook. "He was conscious for a few minutes. Kept telling me it was okay. That he loved me. Then he stopped breathing. I couldn't do anything."
Derek's hand covered hers on the counter. Warm and solid.
"I'm sorry."
"The worst part is my mom acts like it never happened. Won't talk about him. Won't keep pictures. Won't acknowledge I was there." Tears burned her eyes. "She controls everything else instead. Like if she can control my summer plans, she can control the fact that he's gone."
"That's not fair to you."
"No. But that's Linda Chen. Everything perfect on the outside, even if we're dying inside."
Derek's thumb made small circles on her hand. She should pull away. But it felt too good.
"You deserve better," he said.
"So do you. One mistake eight years ago doesn't mean you pay forever."
Their eyes met. The air shifted. Became heavier.
"Maya—"
"I should go back to bed." She pulled her hand away, missing his warmth instantly. "Thanks for listening."
"Anytime." His voice was rougher now.
She turned to leave, got to the doorway.
"Maya?"
She looked back.
Derek stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands in his pockets, looking at her with an expression that made her heart stutter.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're here. I know that's weird, but it's nice. Talking to someone who gets it."
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Then she ran upstairs before she could do something stupid.
---
The next morning, Maya found Derek in the kitchen making coffee.
He looked up, eyes traveling over her pencil skirt and blouse. "You look different."
"I look like my mother's idea of professional. I hate it."
Derek poured coffee for her, remembered she took it black. "Meeting?"
"Internship at her firm. I'm supposed to be grateful."
"But you're not?"
"I don't want real estate. I want psychology. Help people with trauma." She sipped coffee. "But Linda doesn't care what I want."
"Have you told her?"
"About a hundred times. She doesn't listen."
Derek leaned against the counter. "Maybe stop asking permission. Just do what you want."
"Easy for you to say."
"I was emotionally dependent on her approval for years. Took me eight years to realize I'd never get it the way I wanted." His eyes held hers. "Sometimes you have to choose yourself."
Linda's heels clicked in the hallway.
"Maya! We need to leave!" She appeared, barely glancing at Derek. "Good morning, Derek."
"Thanks, Lin."
Linda's jaw tightened. "Maya, car. Now."
As Maya passed Derek, he said quietly, "Good luck."
Their eyes met. Understanding passed between them. Something else she didn't want to examine.
---
Three hours later, Maya returned exhausted from smiling and nodding.
Derek was on the back porch, sketching.
"How'd it go?" he asked without looking up.
"Like a root canal." She sat on the steps. "How was your morning?"
"Productive. Got designs done." He set his pencil down. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar."
Maya laughed. "I'm tired of being what everyone else wants."
Derek closed his notebook and sat beside her. "So stop."
"It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?"
She looked at him. "You make it sound easy."
"Not easy. Simple. There's a difference." He held her gaze. "What do you want, Maya? Not what Linda wants. What do you actually want?"
No one had asked her that in four years.
"I want to feel something real. I want to stop being numb. I want to matter to someone."
"You matter."
"To who?"
Derek's hand found hers on the step. His fingers threaded through hers.
"To me."
Maya's breath caught. They were too close. His thumb traced patterns on her palm. She should pull away. Should go inside. But she leaned closer instead, noticing gold flecks in his eyes, wondering what his lips would feel like.
"Derek—"
"I know. I know this is wrong. But Maya, I—"
The back door flew open.
Linda stood there, eyes moving between them, landing on their joined hands.
Her face went cold.
"Maya. Inside. Now.”
- Writer
