Page 35 of August and the Night

I consider his words carefully, sensing his genuine concern. After a moment, I nod in agreement.

"Alright, I'll stay with you, August. But just until we know I'm safe."

Still, I am dead set on buying an apartment, but I didn’t tell him that as I had a feeling he would think I am rushing, even if I am not going to move into it now, I want it. I never had anything to my name, anything that I could call mine. That is going to change now.

He smiles faintly, his fingers tracing circles on the back of my hand. "Deal."

As we finish our coffee and the birds' melodies envelop us, I can't shake the feeling of excitement that is growing in me despite the uncertainty of my future. I am going to build a life for myself, write it however I want. No one will ever dictate how it should look like. I will finally get to live.

29

Layla

I excuse myself from the living room, telling August that I need to unpack my stuff. As I walk down the hallway to the bedroom with my bag on my shoulder, each step feels like a leap towards a new chapter in my life. The bag I carry in my hand seems to carry the weight of my decisions, both old and new.

Inside the guest bedroom, I close the door behind me and place the bag gently on the bed. The soft light filters through the curtains, and I close them, wanting complete privacy as I process my funds. The funds that will help give me my desired future, my canvas to paint with my own choices and desires.

Carefully, I unzip the bag and start emptying its contents. Clothes spill out onto the bed in a haphazard pile, but I only brought some of the clothes that were in my old wardrobe.

The one who got that wardrobe was a different me, one that was dying to adhere to father’s expectations and desires. So, I only pack necessities to use until I can shop a new wardrobe for myself. I want to be true to myself, to embrace my own sense of style.

Among the clothes, my fingers brush against a smaller bag nestled in the corner of the larger one. A rush of emotion courses through me as I hold it. It's a bag of jewelry, delicate and precious, a gift from my mother before she passed away when I was just a child.

Lily had given me this bag of jewelry on my sixteenth birthday, along with the instruction to use it only in times of need. And now, as I sit on the bed surrounded by these memories, it feels like one of those times has arrived.

I unzip the bag and carefully spread out the jewelry before me. Each piece probably holds a memory for my mother; it's the only thing that connects me to her. But I have to sell them; while it breaks my heart, it's something that has to be done.

I close my eyes and send a prayer to her, thanking her for thinking of leaving something of value to me in case times got rough.

But there's something more in the bag. As I explore its contents, I discover a stack of envelopes, each containing a substantial amount of cash. My heart skips a beat as I realize that Lily must have put them there in secret before I left.

It's a gesture beyond measure, a cushion that will ensure my comfort on the hard path that I have chosen. I know that Lily was rich; she did a lot of business with father, but I wasn’t stupid enough not to think that this would not cause a dent in her pocket; she is so selfless.

Tears well up in my eyes as I think back to all the things Lily has done for me; she was always by my side no matter what. I remind myself to call and thank her early morning, but no words I could ever say will be anything she deserved; she deserved more than anything I will ever try to tell or give her.

With a breath, I wipe away my tears and carefully place the jewelry back in its bag. I close it gently and look at the envelopes of cash again before quickly stuffing them back in the bag and hiding it under the bed, leaving it for tomorrow to deal with.

The gears in my head turn, and I reach for my phone, dialing John. I tap my fingers anxiously on the phone, my heart racing while I wait for John to answer. On the first ring, his voice comes through, and a wave of relief washes over me.

"Hey, John," I greet.

"Layla, are you okay?" he asks, his concern evident in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, I reply, "I'm fine, really. There's a lot to talk about, but I'll fill you in later. Where have you been?"

"Okay," he says, his voice softening. "Where have I been? Well, your father's not too thrilled with me right now. He blames me for letting you escape. So, I am laying low for now."

My heart sinks, and I apologize, my voice laden with guilt.

John's immediate response is to shush me gently. "Layla, none of this is your fault. You did what you had to do to protect yourself."

Tears prick at my eyes, grateful for his understanding. "Thank you, John. I mean it."

"Of course," he replies, his voice reassuring.

"Listen, I need a favor," I mutter, my tone more serious now. "But it's important that you keep it a secret, even from August."

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