Page 56 of For the Love of Layla

“Call behavioral. Let them know we have a 10-73 in need of immediate assistance.”

“What? No… look, I’m sorry, please just listen to me.” Another officer comes to his side, helping him right me as my knees wobble. The pain in my shoulder suffocating the pain in the back of my head. I beg him as he stares, his eyes blank and unfeeling, looking at me like a fucking insect.

“No one is stalking you. We’ve had officers follow you, stake out your house off and on since the night at the bar. Nothing was found. Nothing. You need help, Miss. Burke.”

What? No…I can’t…

“You’re wrong. Look at me!”

My stomach sinks like a led weight as he jerks my cuffed arms again, I whimper as another officer takes my good arm, wrapping his hand tightly around it. Officer Daniels barely gives me a second look before turning from me with a disgusted sound and heading out of sight. I turn to the blonde plain-clothes officer as he lightens his grip on my arm, “Please.” He frowns, glancing down the hallway where officer Daniels disappeared. The others in the room funnel out as well, as he urges me to follow. “Let’s get you something to drink, okay? I’ll take your statement myself.” He says softly. I nod and exhale a shaky breath as we head down the hallway, the judgmental stares of the others watching us pass are nearly as painful as my shoulder, my heart, my soul. I don’t want to go back there. I can’t be alone like that again. If I'm calm they won’t make me go. They can’t.

What’s the alternative, Layla? Stay where he can reach you? Continue this cycle…

My sobs begin all over again as I realize… I would rather take my chances withhimthan be locked away and force-fed medication again. The group therapy with people that don’t give a fuck about me. The constantand how did that make you feel?I can’t breathe like that. I can’t live like that and I won’t. I won’t. My head feels heavy on my shoulders as he guides me to an empty chair, my bare legs shaking. He leaves for a moment and for a moment I hope he won’t come back.

When he does, he gently drapes a blanket over my lap covering me, his hands careful not to touch my skin. I’m grateful. I see his hair shake from my peripheral, taking in the damage on my body. I don’t want to clean up. I don’t want anyone to wipe the blood from my legs, the dirt, or clean my wounds. This is my truth. The evidence thathe’sreal. My only evidence.

I don’t bother fighting the staff as they hand me two small white cups. The orderly rattles one of them around, making the pills bounce against the paper walls. A fight here can’t be won, it’s only met with more brutality, more force. I’ve had enough of both. I spent the first two weeks of my previous stay scratching and screaming at anyone that came near me. It never got me anywhere good. I don’t argue as I’m helped into the shower; the attendant watching me as I groan, trying to scrub my only proof from my body. The blood and mud run from my skin, turning the water pooling at my feet into unnerving shades of brown and pink. She’s patient letting me scrub at the skin until it’s bright red, the crusted over cuts bleeding like they’re brand new. Each pinkish streak makes me think of him. The things he said.

I’m not trying hard enough. How could that be true?

The throbbing in the back of my head is in a dick measuring contest with the throbbing in my shoulder a nurse popped back into place when I got here a few hours ago. I meant to answer all their intake questions. It’s the middle of the night and I know they’re tired, but I just couldn’t find the right words, any words. My chest feels too heavy to answer them.

Who currently lives at your residence?

Me, my dog and my stalker, but he mostly stays outside.

In your words, describe the problems you are currently having?

I’m in a love triangle with my stalker and my ex. Oh, and nobody that counts seems to think he actually exists. I’m starting to doubt myself, too.

Do you want to take your own life?

Maybe.

The only thing I’ve asked for since I arrived was a phone call, that of which I was told I could have in the morning. Which I’m not sure is legal. On the upside…

What was the upside again? My head is fuzzy, either from the concussion or drugs. Or both.

I’m handed a heavy blanket as I’m led into the stark white room, no sign of the previous troubled soul that stayed here. Forty-eight hours is the longest they can keep me. I just need to make a call first thing in the morning. If I could feel anything I’m sure I would cry thinking of how upset Peaches was when I left, how she’s wondering when I’ll get home. I’m sure Ava is freaking out too. I hope she doesn’t go to the house. Sitting on the small bed, I collapse backwards before thinking about it. Thankfully I don’t feel it. I curl up on my side as the medication makes my eyes droop, sleep finding me quickly despite my best efforts to stay awake.

I don’t feel the relief I had expected to or anything at all as they hand me my phone the next morning, the battery wobbling on about fifteen percent. I know I should call Ava, but I don’t.

Ring.

Ring.

“Layla?” Liam’s deep voice fills the speakers, not sure why he sounds anxious, but I don’t really care right now. I can’t tell if that’s because of the medication or me. If I’m just…done.

“Hey, can you do me a favor? I know I have no right to-”

“Anything. Where are you?”

I hesitate, “I just…I won’t be home for a few days probably, please go get Peaches and be careful. Take Brandon with you. It’s not armed or anything. Probably unlocked, too. I don’t know where my car-”

“Where the fuck are you, Layla?” He demands. I don’t need to see him to know he’s pacing back and forth, his go to when he’s agitated. I picture him in that dark navy blue suit that fits him so well, running his hand through his messy copper hair. God, it used to drive me crazy. Now ironically enough, I miss it.

“Fairview, and no, I don’t-”

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