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Maya is not a good person.
At least she didn’t feel much like one, not now. She laid curled up in her bed, eyes drifting off to her desk every once in a while. Her computer was left on, emitting a soft blueish-green glow from her backdrop. She considered getting up to turn it off, the incessant buzzing of its fan had become annoying, but Maya couldn’t bring herself to move. In between the trap that was her bed and that which was her computer, she felt much safer in the former. It wasn’t as degrading.
Ever so faintly, Maya could hear the muffled voices of her sisters in the next room over. She couldn’t make out a single word, but their tones were light. Carefree. It was almost upsetting. She felt a quick surge of pain in her chest as she imagined their smiling faces, doused in the warm yellow light of an overhead lamp rather than the cold blue light of a computer screen. They were nothing like her, and Maya couldn’t help but be a little jealous of that.
Her jealously felt criminal in of itself. She should be happy, really. She should be happy they’re not like her. Because if they were, that would mean they suffered. That would make them broken. She should be happy, but she isn’t.
Instead, it just felt like a punch in the face. Another reminder of how perfect her sisters are and how irredeemable she is in comparison. It’s a thought that Maya has frequently. She tends to fantasize about the end, about when it’s all over. About how her sisters will lay in expensive caskets, remembered by loved ones and friends they’d made over the years, while Maya would have nobody. The only proof of her existence would be locked away in a folder somewhere in possession of the state, reported by a concerned netizen, though she doubted anybody cared that much either way. To say she was being remembered was a loose bastardization of the term, anyway. Nobody knew her name, they barely knew her face, she might as well be nothing more than a collection of pixels on a screen. Maybe it was better that way.
Maya turned 18 tomorrow. It had become increasingly obvious that as the years went by, her worth declined. It was harder to snag creeps nowadays, nobody seemed to bite. Maybe 17 wasn’t as alluring. The thought itself sent another sharp pain straight to Maya’s heart.
Being a lonely kid on the internet was confusing, but it was easy. It had become clear to Maya soon enough that in order to fill the social void she had created for herself at school and with her family, she just needed to market herself. There was a whole world of devilish people out there willing to entertain her just so long as she entertained them back. It gave her an ephemeral feeling of belonging, just enough to keep her going until the next tug at her fishing line. But now there was nothing biting.
Maya’s marketability was running out. Sure, she had other qualities, but they didn’t sell as well. Putting on a heavier accent paled in comparison to the allure of victimhood. Maybe that’s all she ever would be.
She clutched at the skin on her arms, digging her fingernails in until they left red marks. There was hardly anything to pull at, she’d been losing more weight recently, people liked that too. She both looked and felt sick with herself.
I’m not any better than they are.
She sat up.
I should know better by now.
Maya tossed her covers to the side, pressing her feet to the ground.
Am I pathetic for not even trying?
She got up, taking a few steps out from her bed before steadying herself on her desk chair and sitting down. Maya rolled the chair back to be centered with her desk, face to face with the glowing light of her computer screen. Maya looked up at the webcam mounted atop her monitor, nothing special, something cheap that a stranger had bought for her. She could almost hurl at the thought.
She sluggishly reached for her mouse and opened her browser. The clicking of her keyboard broke the pattern of constant white noise generated by the computer fan. The website address autofilled before she could even get past the third character.
Maya sat for a moment, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She’d be 18 in just a few hours.
She reached up and tilted the webcam further down, making sure it wouldn’t be able to capture any of her face. Not that she had a reputation to be ruined, anyway. It just felt safer, more secure. Maybe deep down it made her feel a little less shitty about it all too.
Maya typed in a fake name and scrolled through the list of ages to find her own, sitting far at the end of the list. A cruel reminder of her impending doom. She clicked to confirm her information one last time, waiting for the chat screen to load up. She sent the usual, a childish hello to grab the attention of anyone who was lurking. Maya waited in silence, the only notification to pop up in response was an automated "welcome!" printed out by a bot. She waited some more. The red light of her webcam flickered, dragging her attention off the screen every once in a while. Everything felt like nothing.
She tried again. Nobody bit.
And it felt worse than being 14 again.