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 the 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 how to cry at the exact moment so that everyone would rush to comfort her.
You were quiet, or so they thought. Silent. Observant. Possessive even in silence. Jealous without the scenes, but with a long memory.

You argued about everything.
About the bathroom.
About the music.
About glances 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.

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

Don't look at me like that she would always tell you, her voice barely trembling

Then stop looking at me first you'd respond, without raising your voice.

You were a mistake living under the same roof.
Stepsisters by obligation.
Enemies by pride.

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

Because Maya hated you.
Yes.

But she also loved you.
And that was what infuriated her the most.