The silence in Ethan's car stretched, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft scrape of his knuckles against the steering wheel. He stole a glance at Maya, his gaze lingering on the way the hem of her long sleeve gray sweater dipped slightly, revealing a faint sliver of pale skin marred by a several jagged white scars.

The entire school seemed to be murmuring of the break in at Maya's house. Sarah and Emily had rushed up to Maya just as she was locking her bike up at the bike rack in front of Bridgeport High School.

"Oh my god, Maya! So glad you're OK!" Sarah said, wrapping her in a giant hug.

"You are OK, aren't you?" Emily said looking at the small bandage on Maya's forehead.

Maya nodded. "I'm fine. Just a few stitches." She admitted she did that to herself when she tried to climb out her bedroom window and fell. She tried to make a joke about it and was met with forced smiles.

The rest of the day went as as usual, with the addition of extra stares, some gossip, and with Sarah and Emily checking up on her between each class. After reassuring them a dozen times she was OK, they invited them to join them at Mariner's Rest Homecoming game.

They gave her a shocked and curious look when she told them Ethan was going to take her.

Sarah made gushing noises.

"No, it's not like that," Maya said. "For all I know, he could've been the one to break in to my house. Maybe he killed Arilla."

Emily raised a brow. "Talk about red flags . . . "

"Even if he did have something to do with it, he wouldn't dare try anything before tonight's game," Maya said.

Sarah and Emily stood in quiet skepticism. "Maybe I'll see you guys at the game. I gotta get home and finish cleaning up the mess before meeting Ethan. He's supposed to pick me up soon."

Sarah and Emily let the matter go, and with a wave, they said goodbye. Then Sarah, in her usual cheeky way, added, "Have fun, try not to get murdered!"

Some of the other students looked at Sarah.

Ethan had picked Maya up right on time. She'd had time to finish vacuuming up the broken glass in the hallway, but she'd need to repaint the door handle and replace the table she broke trying to climb out her window. She'd just showered off the dust and changed into a simple, but elegant white turtleneck sweater-skirt she picked up in San Diego and matched them with black leggings and knee-high black boots. Comfortable, yet sophisticated and stylish. The sweater would keep her warm too. The coastal weather brought a humid, sticky chill after sunset. But for now, she wore it with the sleeves rolled up as the sun was still high in Bridgeport, and warm mountain air smelling fresh like pine.

She asked Ethan if she could roll her window down, and he nodded politely. When she reached for the window panel, Maya noticed Ethan glance at the scars on her wrist which she tried to keep hidden by an abundance of stylish bracelets.

"Those . . . " he began hesitantly, then trailed off, unsure how to phrase the question that had been gnawing at him ever since they'd left the police station.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Maya's breath hitched, and she instinctively pulled her sleeve down further, a defensive gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Ethan. He sighed, frustration flickering in his eyes.

"Look," he said, his voice softer now. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with. But if you ever want to talk about it . . ."

There was a vulnerability in his voice that surprised Maya. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere out the window. Part of her wanted to shut him out, to retreat back into the safe haven of her own silence. But another, quieter part, yearned for a connection, for someone to understand the turmoil that had been her life.

With a shaky breath, she blurted, "It wasn't a suicide attempt."

Ethan's eyebrows shot over to her in surprise. He pulled over to the side of the road, his truck coming to a halt on the deserted forest-lined street. The foggy marine layer settled around them making it seem like their truck was floating in the clouds. He turned to face her fully, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"It wasn't?"

Shame burned in Maya's cheeks, but she pushed on. "No. It was stupid. The most pathetic thing I've ever done." She paused, gathering her courage. "I was shoplifting."

Ethan stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. Disbelief flickered across his face, then slowly morphed into something akin to amusement. A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Shoplifting?" he finally echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yeah," Maya mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Stupid, right?"

"Not exactly what I expected," Ethan admitted, the amusement deepening in his eyes. "Care to elaborate?"

Taking a deep breath, Maya plunged into the story. She spoke of the suffocating tension that had filled their house after her parents' announcement, the constant arguments that seemed to drain the life out of everything. She spoke of her mother's cold indifference, her father's silent retreat as he buried himself in work.

"It was like they forgot about me," Maya confessed, her voice cracking slightly. "Like I was just an inconvenience in their war zone."

She described the impulsive shopping spree with a group of friends, the thrill of rebellion mixed with a desperate craving for something, anything, to fill the emptiness inside her. The ill-conceived plan to steal a pair of designer socks, the adrenaline rush that turned into sheer terror when the security alarm blared. The panicked escape, the stumble, the searing pain as broken glass tore into her skin when she slipped on the sidewalk outside, dewy with ocean spray. She was arrested and spent a full twenty-four hours in jail. Her mom was furious. When Maya explained why, her mom didn't seem to get it. Her mom never seemed to get anything beyond her own world. Her dad just shrugged it off. He cared, but didn't want to pressure her. Deep down, she felt he already knew. He was intuitive like that.

By the time she finished, tears welled up in her eyes. There was a raw vulnerability in her voice that surprised even her. She had never spoken about this to anyone, not even her closest friends, save for the ones who were there at the time. "Friends," her mom would always say, adding finger quotes.

"It's why police make me nervous. I always feel like I'm in trouble now, even when I've not done anything. Like they're looking for a way to keep me trapped in their system."

Ethan listened intently, his expression unreadable. When she fell silent, he remained quiet for a long moment, as if carefully considering her words.

"That sounds awful," he finally said, his voice gentle. "I can't imagine what that was like for you."

There was no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding that made a lump form in Maya's throat. She wasn't sure if she believed him entirely, but the tentative olive branch of empathy was enough for now.

"I don't expect you to understand," she whispered, wiping away a stray tear.

Ethan shook his head. "Maybe not completely. But I can try."

They sat in silence for a few more moments, a newfound understanding settling between them. The scars on Maya's wrist remained a tangible reminder of a dark time, but perhaps, just perhaps, they were no longer a symbol of isolation. Maybe, they were the first step towards a fragile bridge of trust. But could she trust Ethan? Could she trust anybody?