Page 28 of Laila Manning
It put a voice to my fear of moving on. It told the truth about my failure to thrive.
Dear Journal,
I thought my life had been bad. When I was young, my innocence was stripped from me with the swing of a knife, and I was never the same again. I thought that had been the worst of it, but I was wrong.
So wrong because it got so much worse after that.
Yet now, as a grown woman with nothing but opportunity ahead of me, I’m left feeling like it’s even worse now.
Somehow, being free yet chained to my past by fear is sorrier than being back there, imprisoned and tortured every day.
Freedom mocks me.
Happiness eludes me.
Nightmares haunt me.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Pretending. Avoiding. Acting like I wouldn’t rather be back inside that brothel.
At least back then, I could blame my captivity on something physical. Because right now, my captor is a figment of my imagination. Something that no longer exists.
Yet I can’t move forward. I’m stuck. Frozen in time, watching the rest of the world pass me by with curious glances and pitiful expressions when I fail to meet their expectations.
I’m nothing. Not even a prisoner anymore.
What if Carly and Jed tire of me? What if Ryker bores of funding my existence?
Will I simply fade away for good?
X- Laila
He folded the paper and stared at the door between us, once again like he knew I was hiding behind it. “Open the door.”
His deep voice echoed through the long hallway, and my breath froze in my chest.
I hadn’t anticipated that.
I wasn’t prepared to face him after cutting myself open like that. “Laila.” He called dominantly. “Open the door.”
My hand hovered over the unlocked handle but hesitated before I forced myself to turn it and step back, revealing myself to the harsh light of the hallway.
In my inability to plan for him wanting to speak face to face after reading the entry, I hadn’t gotten dressed for the occasion, and as his bright blue eyes slid down my body, covered in the light pink baseball style shirt and matching white shorts, shivers erupted over my skin.
He swallowed and leaned off his door, holding the paper between his fingers. “Do you think this is going to deter me?”
I bit my bottom lip to keep the quick remark I wanted to make from flying out of my mouth. “I just want you to know.”
“I know.” His deep voice vibrated through his bare chest and across the hallway to me. He slid the paper into his pocket and moved closer to me. “I know, Laila. I still want you.”
Swallowing, I took a deep breath. “I have nothing to offer you.” I shrugged, facing the bravery I felt earlier today head-on and embracing it. “I live on Ryker’s dime, I have no job, I have no future. I don’t even know how to be a willing sexual partner to you, for fuck’s sake, Zeke.”
“Enough.” He growled with that dominating tone that always made my toes curl, and my insides melt. “I don’t need you to have a 401K to desire you. You’re doing everything you’re supposed to be doing right now, Laila. You’re healing.” His throat tightened as he swallowed, looking down at me. “You’re finally getting to decide how you want to live your life and what makes you happy.”
“Don’t you want someone—” I paused, “Normal?”
He scoffed and slowly lifted his hand to the side of my face again, like he had that night in the club. He did it so cautiously; I knew he was giving me time to tell him to stop. But I didn’t. Because I craved his touch. Even if it hurt and burned at the same time. “Do I strike you as a normal man?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes at him, and his body tightened in front of mine in a way that I felt to my bones.
