Page 24 of For the Love of Layla

I woke up this afternoon with a piercing headache, a doctored arm and a freshly cleaned house. He had even cleaned me up…. down there. My cheeks flush florescent red, despite the numbness deep in my chest. I should be disgusted and I am, but mostly with myself.

What right do I have to be upset when I enjoyed his touch? When the things he murmured in my ear instilled in me both blinding fear and butterflies?

I watch as the last of the police trickle out of my house, Officer Daniels steering clear of Ava as she prattles around in the kitchen. Thankfully, nobody sounded incredibly pissed when I called into work letting them know I won’t be in the next day or two. “Here, careful it’s hot.” Ava says from beside me as she hands me the cup. I grip it tightly as the sides burn the palms of my hands, my head still a little fuzzy from the sleeping pills. “Why don’t you let me run you a bath?”

I shake my head, sitting the tea down on the worn coffee table. “I’m fine, Ava. Really.”

“You’re in shock.” She insists.

But I’m not. I suppose I’m not really fine either. I’m upset and angry. I’m humiliated and scared. I’m also… curious. Which scares me more than any of it.

“I swear I’m okay. You’re already late for work.”

“I am not leaving you here. Are you fucking insane? Layla, you were attacked. You can’t just bottle it up like everything else. Call your therapist or I will. You have to-”

I groan snapping my head forward burying my face in my hands, “I think-God, I can’t say it out loud–he felt so familiar, Ava. His touch felt familiar.” She rounds the couch, plopping down beside me before tucking her feet underneath her, “Do you think it’s Liam?”

Maybe.

“No, this man had a thick accent and brown eyes.” I say, not removing my face from my hands.

“You said you didn’t think he wanted to hurt you.” I can hear the skepticism in her voice, I know it makes no sense because hedidhurt me. But he also made me feelgood. Hecleaned me, doctored my wounds, changed the bloody sheets.

He cared for me.

“Yeah, he was aggressive, sure, but soft.” I peek out at her between my fingers. Her pretty eyes look duller than usual. She’s stressed. About me. I hate seeing her like this, especially knowing it’s my fault.

“The security company said they would be here by this evening. I’m staying until then at the very least. I’d much rather you come home with me.”

I nod, knowing it’s no use arguing with her. My phone rings for the twentieth time today. I know it’s him and so does she. The silence in the room apart from the jarring ring is fat and unforgiving. I can tell it’s freaking her out. I want to turn it off. I want to shove the fucking thing down the garbage disposal, but what happens if I do? Would he hurt the people I care for? Hurt me?

Just another thing to feel sorry for.

I lean over as she picks up the TV remote, flipping through Netflix as I lay my head down on the pillow next to her. Letting her run her fingers through my hair, the hair he detangled while I slept. Mindful not to just brush through the curls. I don’t want her to touch me, it feels… overwhelming, but I don’t say anything. She needs the comfort too. Shoving my hands into the pocket of my dark purple hoodie I run my shaking fingers over the note he left me.

You should be more observant.

I left you this bracelet over a week ago.

I’ll see you soon, lítla ást.

Little lovein Icelandic. I’ve never even left the state of California. How in the absolute fuck I stole the attention of a stalker that speaks Icelandic well enough to have a heavy accent is beyond me. When Ava finds something mind numbing enough to watch, she tosses the remote to the other end of the couch and gets to work absent-mindedly braiding and twisting at my hair. All I can think about is how badly I wish she’d leave. How badly I want to run to Liam, to throw myself into his arms and point him in the direction of the man that’s tormenting me.

I’m a hypocrite, a freak, and a terrible friend.

Layla, Fourteen Years Old

The roof of the trailer groans as I adjust against the hard metal where I’ve been laying on it, staring up at the sky and pretending I can see the stars.

Stupid clouds.

I’m bored as shit, but anything is better than going inside and being screamed at for literally just existing. Even now I can hear him moving around inside, his heavy steel toe boots knocking against the clutter as he stumbles around. He tried to apologize to me this morning. I told him it was okay.

We both know it wasn’t.

I lift my legs from where they dangled off the side of the house, staring at the deep purple bruise forming on my thigh. Nothing like getting woken up by to being kicked by steel toe boots, all because he forgot to pay the water bill again. I know grandpa gave him money for it. I also know within the hour dad shot it straight up his arm. My chest aches when I think of grandpa. His house used to be my safe place, my solace away from this hell hole of a trailer park. Too scared to walk around outside at night knowing the heated stare of our neighbor, my father’s dealer Jeremy lingers on my skin.

I miss when he just used to drink.

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