Page 21 of Tormenting Me

Layne: Hey sorry I didn’t text you back last night. I got caught up with a friend.

Layne: Text me the time doors open.

Atlas: Doors open at 7. Bitch <3

“There, all done.” I put my phone in my bag and continue to eat my food. “So, what do you want to do today?”

“Is the courthouse still not an option?” Wes eyes me playfully, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

What comes out is more like a snort than a laugh. “Not today, Romeo.”

“Well, then that leaves only one other option.”

“And that would be?” I lean back against the booth’s back. His eyes darken and the word that leaves his mouth makes me clench my thighs together.

“You.”

Chapter fifteen

Wes

Hand in hand, I pay the bill and guide Layne out of the diner, but I head towards the water instead of returning to the car. The bay looks so calm this morning. I’ve lived in San Francisco nearly my whole life and have only come to the bay’s edge a handful of times. Everytime its to dump the remains of people.

Layne freezes, unwilling to go any closer to the edge of the pier. My grip on her hand tightens as I tug her to come with me. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the fear reflected in them. “What is it, Ma Petite Mort? Scared of the water?“ She nods. Tears prick in the corners of her eyes as she backs away, overwhelmed with emotion. Panic sets in, and she begins to breathe rapidly. Terrified that she is on the verge of some kind of panic attack, I stop.

I pull her into an embrace, feeling her body relax into mine. “You’re okay, Layne. I’m here, baby.” Wrapping my arm around her back and one hand cradles her head to my chest. “Use the sound of my heartbeat as your anchor,” I say, trying to get her to center herself. After feeling her breathing steady a bit, I ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I- I want to go. Take me somewhere else.” Her voice trembles as she says, “Wes, please,” and I give in, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

“Okay, baby. We’re leaving.”

We make our way back to the car, and I help her into the passenger seat. Firing up the engine, I can see its low rumble seems to put her at ease as I sit beside her, looking over at her with concern. I back the car out of the spot and turn left, leaving the parking lot. Layne takes a deep breath and finally asks,“ W-where are we headed to now?”

Focused on the road I say, “My place. It’s closer.”

My place because I don’t want to go back to her’s, last thing I want to deal with is running into the little pizza boy. Though I’m nervous about her being in my space, I’ve hidden all traces of my “work”. My job as an investigator in the district attorney’s office has its perks. With unlimited free rein to resources at my fingertips, I can keep tabs on literally anybody. It makes finding the pieces of shit I hunt down a breeze. Nobody suspects me of anything other than being the top investigator in the field. My charming demeanor and sharp suited up appearance has everyone fooled. I turn into the gravel driveway and reach out the window, punching buttons in the box. The gate unlocks, and I pull forward and get out to lock the gate.

Get this fucking gate fixed, ASAP.

“You live in a warehouse? Living up to your stalker persona.” Layne says as I climb back into the driver’s seat.

I pull over, and the sound of the engine dying breaks the silence. The bay’s chill hits me while getting Layne out of the car. My keys jingle as I unlock the door and lead her into the large open space. Finding the switches on the wall, I flip them up, and the lights above us kick on with a low hum. Home sweet home.

“Lovely place you’ve got here,” she says sarcastically, her eyes meeting mine, “so do you sleep on the floor?”

I shake my head and motion to the spiral stairs on the left. “This way, baby.” Once upstairs, I put my keys down and take my jacket off. With my hand wrapped around hers, I lead her across the living room to the open kitchen, then I let go of her hand and grab two beer bottles from the fridge.

Unscrewing the top of one and I give it to her and she accepts it, taking a long swig. With a nod of my head, I invite her to sit with me on the couch. “So…tell me.”

Layne sighs, taking another long pull from her bottle, and begins. “My childhood was shit, Wes. My parents had …problems.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Problems like they were alcoholics or drug addicts?”

“Yes, to both. But they also were abusive. My whole life was one beating after the other. I wasn’t loved, I was a punching bag for them and their lowlife friends. Life was a constant struggle of being hungry, hurting, or emotionally neglected. I was fifteen years old when I overheard my parents discussing selling me to their dealer, so I tried to run away. I didn’t know what to do so I hid out at the pier close to our apartment.” Her words are already twisting my stomach into knots, but I let her finish uninterrupted.”

“I thought I had gotten away. But my dad knew I went there to hide out when I was scared. They found me quicker than I expected, and I didn’t have time to prepare to get away. They punished me for running away by dunking me under the water and holding me there. I fought and thrashed to try to get them to let go of me. My last memory was just the murky dark water closing in around me, stealing my air. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. I was officially dead for three minutes. They charged my parents with child abuse and attempted murder. My mom killed herself in jail a year into her incarceration and my father is still out there somewhere.”

Layne’s breathing is slow and staggered as the tears fall down her face. “Atlas is the only other person I’ve ever told about my childhood, and he’s never brought it up again.” I stare at her, my fists clenched.

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