Page 19 of For the Love of Layla

My heart stops in my chest as that familiar old timey music plays, I hold my breath as I wait for the small voice to sing a song I’ll never forget. One that has been playing on repeat in my mind since the moment I heard it last night.

“I know

you belong

To somebody

Somebody new, but tonight

You belong

To me.”

“Who are you? What the fuck do you want?” I yell into the phone. Fighting the urge to flee back to Liam. I hear rustling around on the other end of the phone. The music plays faintly as that deep, heavily accented voice bleeds into my soul, injecting ice into my veins.

“To unravel you sweet, sweet, Layla.”

“Did you do it? Did you kill him?” I ask, barely above a whisper. My hands shaking as my palms sweat, feeling slick and clammy against my phone. He laughs, sending chills down my spine. It sounds wrong and unnatural, “You liked his voice. So, I took it from you.” The line goes dead as the elevator doors slide open. I look up, meeting Oliva’s eyes from the front desk as I step out, my legs wobbling beneath me.

“You look like shit.” She mutters before answering a call. I just nod as I head towards the bathroom. I don’t know how long I sit on the toilet and cry. All I know is by the time I come out I feel completely numb and Liam has evidently already said everything he needed to, to Mr. Campbell.

I don’t think that I’m okay.

Chapter five

I’ve Missed You

Liam,AgeSix

“Mother, look what I-”

Smack!

Pain radiates across my cheekbone as mother’s jeweled rings cut into my flesh. I stumble backwards, my back colliding with the accent table in the parlor. Making it screech loudly across the white marble floor.

“Do not call me that! Great, now look what you’ve made me do. I’ve scratched your face. We need to visit a dermatologist about those freckles, anyway. You look so much like your father I can’t stomach it. Au pair! Clean his face and don’t let him in here again.” Miss. Katla grips my arm lightly, pulling me from the room as mother climbs onto her new husband’s lap. She lifts her dress, exposing herself briefly before draping her dress back over them. I don’t understand why I’m never allowed to see her, I don’t understand what I’ve done. What I do every day that makes her so angry with me. I lift my arms, tossing them around Miss. Katla as soon as we’re out of sight, tears fall down my cheeks, soaking her uniform.

“Don’t mind her, Liam, some women just weren’t meant to be mothers.” She consoles me, running her hands through my dyed brunette hair. Miss. Katla told me once that my hair was a pretty red color, kinda like the bronze statues in the foyer. Mother doesn’t like that color, though. If it makes her happy, I don’t mind her keeping it brown like hers and grandma’s. Plus, I like the way it feels when the ladies at the salon play with it. I thought things might be better when we moved back into Curran manor with grandma, but she only seems more angry with me now. Although I’m not sure what I did. I only see them every few days, even though we live in the same house. It’s kinda like Miss. Katla is my mom.

“Miss. Katla, will you be my mom?” I whisper, scared mother might hear my betrayal despite us being well into the west wing now. Her breath comes out quickly, but it sounds weird. I peek up at her face as she sits me on the bathroom counter, digging my favorite Batman band aids from the drawer. Mother doesn’t like them, but Miss. Katla lets me have them, anyway. I like Bruce Wayne. He’s strong and really cool. He’s lonely a lot I think, like me. Miss. Katla kinda reminds me of Alfred too, except you know she’s not an old guy and much prettier.

She grabs my face lightly. My eyes wander when I see the tears falling down her pink cheeks, “It would be the greatest honor to be your mommy, Master Liam.” I beam up at her, fighting a giggle. She laughs. The warm sound makes my chest feel funny, “Don’t you be poking fun again.” She scolds me playfully, flicking water in my face.

“It’s not my fault your voice sounds goofy.”

“It’s called an accent, perhaps if you paid more attention in your Icelandic lessons, you’d know that, lítla Liam.” I wince as she cleans the scratch on my face with a yucky smelling liquid. It stings pretty badly, but I’m careful not to cry.

Batman wouldn’t cry.

“Lítla means little.” I say proudly. That’s an easy one, Miss. Katla calls me that all the time.

“Very good!” She muses as she leans down, smoothing the band aid across my pudgy cheek, “And for the record, I think your freckles are lovely.”

I sigh deeply as I run my hand along Peaches’ light-colored fur, she adjusts making her thick collar clank against the tags. I let my hand still for a moment, listening for any sign it woke my little star. When I’m satisfied she’s still out, I bend kissing the pup’s nose, “Sorry I flicked you last time. We good?” Her tail thumps against the leather couch as I give her one last head pat. I blink my eyes rapidly, still not used to wearing these godforsaken colored contacts. A groan slips from my lips involuntary as I stretch out my arms glancing at the clock. I’ve been here for a little over three hours now.

Oh shit, I nearly forgot.

I walk to the warm-toned kitchen island, unwrapping the chocolate mocha coffee creamer, Layla’s favorite. She never remembers to get more until she’s completely out and by then she has to go without which, according to her ruinsabsolutely everything. I smile to myself as I slip it into the door of the refrigerator, lifting the old bottle and giving it a little shake.

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