Silence and Pain

The quiet of Maya's room felt suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in around her. She had never felt more alone. The weight of everything that had happened was pressing down on her chest, leaving her gasping for air. Her phone buzzed on the bed beside her, but she couldn't bring herself to look at it. Her friends, her family, they all tried to check in, but none of it mattered.

She felt empty, hollowed out by the realization that she had given everything to Vic—her time, her energy, her love—and it had never been enough. All of it had been for nothing.

Maya ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes fixed on the mirror across the room, but the reflection staring back at her wasn't the girl she knew. It was someone else—someone lost, someone broken.

She had spent years pretending that everything was fine, that her relationship with Vic was perfect, that she was perfect. But now the truth was undeniable. She had built her identity around him, wrapped her self-worth in his attention, and he had thrown it all away without a second thought.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, but she didn't answer. She wasn't in the mood for more fake sympathy.

"Maya!" her father's voice called through the door, harsh and demanding. "Dinner's ready."

She didn't respond. She didn't have the energy to deal with him. She didn't have the energy for anything.

"Maya, open the damn door," he barked, louder now, his impatience seeping through his words.

She froze, her heart racing. The anger in his voice sent a jolt of fear through her. It was always like this with him—loud, demanding, never caring about how she felt.

"I'm not hungry," Maya called back, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

But the door swung open without warning, and her father stood in the doorway, towering over her. His broad frame filled the space, blocking out the light. His face was tight, eyes narrowed in irritation.

"You think you can just hide away in here like some spoiled little brat?" he snapped, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation. "I've had enough of your drama, Maya. Enough of this nonsense."

Maya's stomach twisted, but she didn't say anything. She couldn't. She had learned long ago that speaking up only made things worse. Her father didn't listen to her. He never had.

"Look at you," he sneered, his eyes scanning her, taking in her tear-streaked face and the messy bed. "You're a mess. It's just one boy, Maya. One stupid boy. And you're letting him ruin you. You're pathetic."

Maya flinched as though his words physically struck her. She had expected him to be disappointed, to be upset. But this—this was something else. This was pure venom.

"You're not some little girl anymore," he continued, his voice growing louder, more contemptuous. "You don't get to wallow in self-pity. You're being selfish, Maya. You think the world revolves around you? Well, it doesn't. I'm tired of it. I've got my own problems, and I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you complain about a boy who doesn't even care about you."

The words stung, each one landing like a blow. Maya's chest tightened, her heart aching with the weight of it all. This wasn't the father she had once looked up to. This was a man who saw her as nothing more than an inconvenience.

Her eyes welled with tears, but she forced them back, refusing to let him see how much his words hurt.

"You're worthless," he spat, his voice sharp with disgust. "You think you can just fall apart every time something doesn't go your way? You think you deserve special treatment? Get over yourself, Maya. You're not that important."

Maya wanted to scream, to tell him how much he was hurting her, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she just sat there, frozen, feeling smaller with every insult he threw her way.

Her father didn't seem to care that his words were cutting through her like a knife. He didn't care that she was already drowning in her own self-doubt, that his harshness was only deepening the hole she was falling into.

"I'm tired of you making everything about you," he continued, his voice filled with contempt. "You're a grown-up now. Start acting like it."

Maya shook her head, her vision blurring with fresh tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry I'm not what you want me to be."

Her father's expression didn't soften. If anything, it hardened, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Yeah, well, maybe you should start trying to be better. You know, get your life together. Because I'm not sticking around for this pity party."

He turned on his heel, his footsteps heavy as he left the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the walls shake.

Maya sat there, numb, feeling like her world had shattered in an instant. His words echoed in her mind, each one more painful than the last. You're worthless. Get over yourself. You're not that important.

Her throat closed up, and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, running down her cheeks in hot, painful streams. She couldn't remember the last time her father had looked at her with anything other than anger or disappointment.

She wasn't even sure he cared anymore.

Maya curled up on her bed, pulling the covers around her like a shield, but it didn't protect her from the cold emptiness inside. Her mind raced with all the ways she had failed—failed Vic, failed her father, failed herself. The little girl who had once believed in fairy tales, in love, in hope, had disappeared. And in her place was someone unrecognizable, someone who couldn't even muster the strength to stand up to the people who were supposed to care about her.

She had given everything to them. And it still wasn't enough.

A sob escaped her lips, raw and broken, and she let herself crumble under the weight of it all.