Page 47 of For the Love of Layla

I lean my head on the tattered seat as my eyes take in the nearly healed cut on my arm, and all the subsequent bruises that came after that. Ranging from yellow to purple. I take a deep breath as my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Unknown:A psychopath, Layla? You wound me.

Layla: Will this ever end?

….

Unknown: Of course it ends, how although is entirely up to you. What you did… the things you said it hurt me. Why do you do that? Hurt me?

….

Being with Liam? What things did I say that hurt him? Why isn’t he threatening to kill everyone I know?

I don’t even care how he heard my conversation with the cops. I’m not surprised he can. I’m entirely trapped underneath his thumb. Just where he wants me. As of now, I see no exit.

Layla: They don’t believe me.

….

Unknown: Do you believe yourself? The things that you call me? Your tormentor, your stalker… if I’m being honest, I don’t mind what label you attach to me as long as you call me yours. I think you’ll feel better if you’re honest about how I make you feel. We’ll both feel better if you’d open your fucking eyes. You’re smart, Layla, so smart. Ignorance isn’t always bliss.

I hesitate, I almost don’t send the message. My heart pounds in my chest, my anxiety mixes with uncertainty.

Be honest with myself. What does he feel like?

Layla: Liam?

….

Unknown: Stalker, tormentor, Liam… you can call me whatever you want, little love. I’m yours as much as you are mine.

I shake my head to the empty house. Should’ve known better than to expect a semblance of closure. I’ve never had that, not ever. Never so much as a glimpse.

Unknown: Sorry about your house. I got angry. I’ll fix it if you want.

I shut off my phone, scratching the top of Peaches’ large head before I lead her out to the backyard. Tying her off to her dog house, which ironically enough was one of the few things left untouched. That and my grandpa’s room. My head pounds as I pick up broken glass, glimpsing the scar on my palm. It nearly brings a smile to my face.

Nearly.

Chapter twelve

A Little Push

Saint Bernard by Lincoln

Liam

A frustrated growl slips out as pain rips through my fist. I take a deep breath, gripping the black marble countertops, now painted over with blood as I drive my fist again into the shattering mirror in my bathroom.

One week since she’s started ignoring me. Acting like I wasn’t there. One fucking week.

It doesn’t matter how I try to provoke her. How many times I text, threaten or call she pretends she can’t see me. I have to be seen by her. Why all of this restraint now? After she was getting so close, she knows it’s me. She has to.

My sweet little star… what the fuck are you doing to me?

I shake my head, staring at my blue eyes and copper hair in the mirror, my mother’s voice grating against my eardrums. Playing on repeat and shoving me further down the rabbit hole. I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected Layla to request information about me. Not that it bothers me, it’s easier this way her finding out the less than savory aspects of whatmademe instead of us having a long conversation where I won’t know the correct things to say ninety percent of the time. Another thing that has plagued me with unnecessary stress in all this is my contemptible mother. She was naturally tipped off when Layla requested that particular information as well. Something that directly affects her just as much as it does me.

God forbid anything casts a dark cloud over Curran Manor.

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