Page 8 of For the Love of Layla

“Why didn’t you wake me up?! I’m fucking late! Gonna lose my fucking job. We’ll be on the streets!” His words slur as he prattles around the kitchen. I peek above the TV checking the time, dread pooling in my stomach. “I didn’t realize today was Thursd-”

Crash!

The sound of glass shattering in the metal sink makes me yelp, the muscles in my legs tense, ready to run the moment he takes a step.

Just one single step.

“You fucking look at me when I’m speaking to you!” He screams, always…always screaming. I lift my head. His brown eyes are bloodshot as he stalks towards me. My hand twitches, my body begging me to run before it’s too late. Just go. Go to grandpa’s and beg him not to make you come back. Go anywhere that isn’t here.

“Sorry, sir.” I take a step back as he slams his hands on either side of my head. Caging me in, trapping me here in this house with him. The version of him he reserves for me and mom when she was around. Although we haven’t seen her in years, can’t really blame her for it. I’d have left to if I were her.

“Get to school. Now! If I get one more call about your grades or falling asleep in class, I swear, Layla, I will trash your room. Everything you own gone!”

I want to scoff in his face. That threat only works if you haven’t already taken most of my stuff. He’s probably too drunk to remember. My room comprises of a bed and blankets at this point. Bare necessities.

“Yes, sir.” I fight to keep my face neutral, despite his rotten breath ruining any appetite I had. Gin, cigarettes and God knows what else permeated overnight wherever he passed out. I always make a point to be asleep before he comes home. He’s less likely to fuck with me if he can’t see me. Out of sight and mostly out of mind. Something I learned from mom. He shoves off the wall and I don’t waste another second escaping that house. Not even bothering to slip on my shoes until I’m at the bus stop.

I fucking hate you.

Chapter three

Worst First Date Ever

Ismoothoutmystrapless black dress as we walk into the dimly lit crowded lounge, clutching the jacket between my hands, regretting my outfit choice as I seem… critically overdressed. Apparently, James’s band,Rivermouseis a big deal.

Locally at least.

Ava grips my arm as she leads me and the guy I’m naming Tinder Bro over to the long bar. Both of us helplessly dragging along behind the steam engine that is my best friend. We managed to get here a little early, which is surprising considering I tried to bail last minute. Some stupid kids have been prank calling my cell phone all night. Unknown number after private number calling again and again. It stressed me out so badly I got in the bath and flaked via text.

I should’ve known that wasn’t going to work.

Ava was knocking down my door at 6 p.m. sharp, whipping Peaches into a frenzy. She even brought me a dress, did my hair and makeup before promptly dragging me outside. The bartender walks over to me, leaning on the bar with a dark eyebrow raised waiting for my order, she clears her throat and I jump from my thoughts.

“Oh! Uh, a White Russian, please.”

Ava leans over, “I didn’t think you liked vodka.”

“I panic ordered.”

Her date, whom I’m in no rush to learn the real name of, considering she’ll block him after this, gives me a weird look while Ava laughs. My cheeks flush as I look down at the thin silver rings adorning my slender fingers, “It’s a thing.” I say it out loud, but mostly to myself. It’s a thing…perfectly normal thing. Ava wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “You owe me twenty bucks.” He groans, fishing for his wallet.

She didn’t.

I gawk, “You bet on me?”

Ava winks, sticking the crumpled bill into her purse, “You always panic order at least one drink at the bar. Easy money.”

“Your ethics are questionable at best.” I mutter, turning to her date, “She cries during sex just so you know.” Ava smirks, completely unbothered giving the guy a loaded look, “I’m a passionate lover.” I make a face as the bartender returns with our drinks, dreading having to finish mine.

I really don’t like vodka.

“Hey, you made it!” A familiar voice calls out over the loud chatter from behind us. I turn as James pushes through the sea of people making his way over. I give him a warm smile. He looks so different from earlier. His casual white t-shirt traded for a dark gray V-neck, showing off part of a large eagle tattooed across his chest in dark vibrant colors. The fact that my first thought was how much more I like Liam’s dark colored moth tattoo has me sipping harder on my drink. My gross drink.

“You like it?” He asks, smirking at the way I was staring at his broad chest. “I got that when I was stationed in Germany.” Drastically misreading my stare.

“Oh, what branch were you in?” Ava asks, cutting me off, probably about to ramble on about being a military brat. Her father has always been her idol. It’s the reason she works so hard, to impress the high-ranking general that she could knock the socks off of just by stapling a few papers together.

“The army, it wasn’t an excellent fit though. Turns out I’m more of a pacifist.” He jokes. I keep the fake smile plastered across my face, trying to shove away my nasty thoughts, directed at nobody in particular.

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