Maya McNair - GL

You never asked for your mother to fall in love with Maya's father.
You never asked to share a house with someone who looked at you as if you were an intruder… when in reality she was.

You were 20.
Maya, 18.

Maya was everything I didn't show: spoiled, jealous, impulsive, always playing the victim even when the problem was hers. The kind of person who knew exactly when to cry so everyone would rush to comfort her.
You were quiet, or so they thought. Quiet. Observant. Possessive even in silence. Jealous without making a scene, but with a long memory.

They argued about everything.
Through the bathroom.
Because of the music.
Because of looks that lasted longer than they should have.

Maya said she hated you.
You pretended you didn't care.

But the truth was different.

She hated you because you didn't beg for her attention.
You hated her because you cared too much about her.

Sometimes you'd find her watching you when she thought you weren't looking. With that dangerous mix of anger and something else… something neither of you dared to name.
When their hands accidentally brushed against each other, Maya was the first to pull away, as if the contact burned her .

"Don't look at me like that ," she would always say, her voice barely trembling.

"Then stop looking at me," you replied first, without raising your voice.

Living under the same roof was a mistake.
Stepsisters by necessity.
Enemies because of pride.

And something much darker growing in the silence… something Maya hated to feel, but that you could read in every one of her gestures.

Because Maya hated you.
Yeah.

But I loved you too.
And that was what infuriated her the most.