Page 7 of For the Love of Layla

I gasp as his hand grips my chin tightly, his brows knitted together. All traces of the lightness that graced his sculpted features gone. He pushes me back so that he’s hovering above me. His eyes now lit with that turbulent intensity I’ve come to expect from him. “Never say that again. You are everything, Layla. And you’re mine now. Just mine, right?”

My eyes widen at the gravelly tone in his voice, “Yours.” I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how quickly he shifts moods. He smiles, letting out a breath I didn’t realize he was holding.

I was holding mine too.

“You’re so fucking good for me. Perfect, and you deserve the world.” He runs his thumb over my lips, making them part slightly as heat floods my core. His eyes slip to my lips, his tongue darting out to wet his. “These soft pink lips are all fucking mine, baby.”

The movies can wait.

I take my thousandth deep breath of the day, which may be a new record as I climb the stairs leading to my bedroom. Kicking off my shoes unceremoniously underneath my bed before flopping face first onto it. Peaches sniffing at my bare feet, her cold wet nose makes me giggle.

A momentary distraction to what seems to be my new permanently sour mood.

Why can’t I stop thinking about him? Why do I care? He was insane, quick-tempered, possessive and insecure. In all the six months we were together, I only ever scratched the surface of him, and even I know I saw more than most. There was something else there, something dangerously broken. Had he not done what he did that day, I might’ve even fallen in love with him.

Or maybe you already did.

Nothing will change if I hole up in my house watching horror movies and true crime documentaries like I have the past three months. I don’t even properly enjoy going to work anymore, everything there is a constant reminder ofhim.Of that day…I knew Liam had influence and money, but I suppose it had never occurred to me how far that went. Not until the police showed up practically creating a cover story for him instead of taking his statement. Instead of treating him like a man that just brutally attacked someone in the middle of the day with zero warning. He almost killed Mr. Danvers in a crowded office without so much as a hint of remorse. The way he justified it, so sure of himself and his intentions. Like it was a perfectly reasonable reaction to his girlfriend getting groped.

The smile on his face when he turned to me, blood splatter mingling with his freckled cheeks, sends shivers down my spine even now.

I tried calling several times in the weeks after the incident, trying to apologize to Mr. Danvers, even though I know that’s ridiculous. None of my calls ever went through, which I don’t blame him for. He already hated me, then I started dating his boss, that’s when his harassment got…unbearable. I knew how Liam was; he overreacts.

A lot.

I knew not to tell him, granted I didn’t know how far he would take it, but had a feeling he would react in the intense way he normally does when it came to me. That’s why I went to human resources instead, filing complaint after complaint. So many in fact, that it got knocked up the chain of command.

To Liam.

He was furious with me; unlike I had ever seen him. I nearly shit myself when he stormed into his house that night, slamming me down into the leather couch. It hurt, he hurt me. His bright blue eyes looked different…crazed. It took hours to calm him down, just so he could listen to me. Hear my side of things. I thought it worked. He made me believe it had effortlessly towards the end.

It hadn’t.

Danvers ended up not only being fired and blacklisted, but Oliva told me he has to have reconstructive surgery. Still, none of that was as bad as when I told Liam I was done. The look in his eyes still gives me chills, the eerie calmness to his expression seemed like an attack more than anything. I was…insulted. I thought he would fight me.

Fight for me. Even just a little.

He didn’t apologize or promise to do better. He didn’t do anything. He just stared at me…those intense eyes boring into my soul the way he does. So much time passed under his gaze I thought he’d fucking lost it for a second. He didn’t say a word. Not fucking one. Six months of his undivided attention, of his world shattering love and he said nothing when I threw it away.

It was all lies, from the very start.

He was always so much. So intense in his actions, his so-called love for me it consumed me. The way I let him wrap himself around me, obscuring my view of anything that wasn’t him. I never really understood how deep my grandpa’s words went until I met Liam.

“People wear many faces, Layla. If you leave it up to them to show you the difference between them, you’ll always be in the dark.”

Layla Age Eleven

I pick up my tennis shoes making sure to hit all the right stops as I creep down the hallway of our trailer. My pace is agonizing as my heartbeat whooshes in my ears. One wrong step. That’s all it takes. I flinch as I hear the glass of a bottle hitting the vinyl floor.

He’s in the kitchen. I’ll eat at school.

I take a deep breath as I grab my backpack from the hook on the wall by the door.

Almost made it.

“Layla!” I jump as dad’s voice assaults my ears. He’s already yelling. I keep my eyes down, hating the idea of seeing his ugly, pinched face.

“Yes, sir.”

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