Page 35 of Beautiful Thing

Layla.

Always Layla. Only Layla.

I’ve got to keep it together. Seventy-six more days to go.

My control is fraying. I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off.

I’m fucked.

13

LAYLA

Ishouldn’t have answered my phone.

When it started ringing, I considered just ignoring it. I really did.

Then I caved.

Now, instead of picking out my outfit for tonight’s welcome home dinner for the senior Brightons, I’m held hostage by my mother’s frustrating phone conversation.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us,” she’s saying, giving me shit. Like always.

I tuck my phone against my shoulder as I thumb through the scant wardrobe options hanging in the tiny bedroom closet. “There was really nothing new to share, Mom. We’ve been split up for months already. You knew that.”

“We had to hear it from Ansel.” My mother sniffles through the phone. “He called us, you know?”

Of course, Razor—orAnsel—as the government likes to call him—contacted my parents. What a manipulator. I can only imagine the sob story he painted for them.

“He told us all about how he was trying to finally work things out with you,” my mother goes on. “Butyoubroke up your family. For good.”

“Mom, you know it’s not that simple.”

I don’t understand how she takes someone else’s side over her own daughter’s, without even considering things from my perspective. It’s always been like this. In her mind, she always finds a way to make me wrong.

That hurts.

I’m an only child. But contrary to the popular stereotypes, I didn’t grow up spoiled and coddled by adoring parents. My father has pretty much dismissed me for most of my existence, while my mother used me as a recycling bin for dumping all of her disappointments and frustrations into.

My dad is a traveling sales man, always on the road for trade shows and customer demonstrations. I’m convinced that the only reason my mother even gave birth to me was to make sure that dad would come back home after stints on the road.

Unfortunately for her, that little scheme didn’t exactly have the desired effect, because even when he was physically around, he was never emotionally present. That man just doesn’t give a fuck.

As a little kid, I’d jump through hoops of fire, hoping to get my dad to notice me, to get my mom to be proud of me. I got perfect grades. I organized a lunchtime book club at school. I was captain of the kiddie volleyball team. Not because I was particularly gifted at any of those things. I did it all through sheer determination to get my parents to love me. But nothing was ever enough.

By the time I hit 14, I was burned out on being the good girl. I had finally figured out that I would never get my parents’s approval. So I decided to do whatever the fuck I wanted.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

My teenage rebellious phase was a textbook cry for attention. But my dad barely noticed and my mom used my turbulent behavior to justify my dad’s lack of interest in being a part of our family.

I think that’s how I ended up in Razor’s grip. I just wanted someone to see me. Finally. When I got his attention, I clung to him for dear life and he took me on one hell of a ride.

Thank god I had Karli and her family in my corner. More than once, Mrs. Brighton’s gentle guidance kept me from spinning out completely. Who knows where I would have ended up if not for my best friend and her family.

To this day, my motherstilldoesn’t get it.

According to her, she and Dad are twin flames. What does that entail? Basically, he runs away from her, and she chases him down at breakneck speed. She seems to think it’s her wifely obligation.

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