Page 56 of August and the Night

A heavy silence hangs between us, broken only by my soft sobs. I cling to Lily's knees as if they are a lifeline, as if my entire world depends on this one fragile moment.

Then, something shifts in Lily's expression. A glimmer of emotion, a final tear escapes her eye. My heart surges with hope.

But that hope is short-lived. Lily's broken gaze meets mine, and in that instant, I understand that the pain I've inflicted is beyond repair. With a trembling hand, she gently pushes me away, disentangling herself from my desperate embrace.

I fall on my ass, my heart shattering as I watch Lily take steps out of my apartment. The place seems to grow colder, emptier, as she moves toward the door. I want to reach out, to stop her, but my limbs feel heavy, uncooperative, and my voice is way too hoarse to utter any more words.

And then, Lily is gone. The door closes softly, sealing my fate. The apartment feels cavernous, loneliness and self-hate bites away at my skin.

With a guttural cry of anguish, my fists clench, and I stumble into the kitchen. Tears blur my vision as I swipe my arm across the countertop, sending plates and glasses crashing to the floor. Each shattering sound reminds me of the world that is now shattering.

As the last glass falls and shatters, I sink to my knees amidst the wreckage. My body is wracked with sobs, and the apartment now mirrors my heart as well as my life—broken, shattered, beyond repair. The weight of my mistakes bears down on me, an oppressive burden I can't escape.

44

August

In the bustling airport, I stand with my secretary Stacy, who had insisted on coming to Miami so we can depart from the same airport, which is completely unnecessary in my opinion, but I have no energy to argue, my soul drained from what went on with Layla. The throngs of travelers are a distant backdrop to the hurt I feel in my chest.

I notice Layla calling me, and my heart aches. I cannot go back on my decision. I cannot be with her; we are not meant to be. So, I am very harsh to her during the call.

I tell her that what we had was nothing, that she should move on because I have, but that isn’t the truth. I can never move on from Layla; I am pretty sure she has carved her name in my heart. I love her more than words can say, more than I would like to admit. But I cannot be with her; our past is too twisted.

A sense of discomfort prickles at my consciousness, and I glance around to see that Stacy has sneaked up behind me, a smug expression on her face. I realize she has overheard the last part of our conversation. Rage twists my insides.

Suddenly, she opens her mouth and says, “Baby, is she still chasing after you? Pathetic.” My heart drops, and my chest surges with anger as I realize what she did. She wants Layla to think we had something going on, that my heart belongs to someone other than her. My grip on the phone is so tight I think it will crack under my fingers, and I register that Layla has ended the call.

"Pathetic? Layla is anything but pathetic," I shoot back, my voice trembling with the need to murder Stacy. No one talks badly about the women residing in my heart, especially in my presence.

Our eyes lock, and I can see the sick smugness in her eyes, a smile etched on her features as if she finally has a chance with me now after that disgusting thing she did. It is then that impulse takes over reason. I reach out and grip her arm, my fingers tightening in a vice-like grip as I propel her towards the exit, my travel plans forgotten.

Once we are seated in the car, her satisfaction seems to pour forth from every pore. She has always carried a torch for me, and this incident is an opportunity she has seized with cunning precision.

My hands clench around the steering wheel as I find a quiet spot to pull over. I turn to her, my anger threatening to break free from its fragile restraints. "Listen to me," I grind out, my words laced with violence. "You mean nothing to me. My heart belongs to Layla."

A crimson hue creeps up her cheeks, a cocktail of anger and humiliation swirling in her gaze. She shoots back, her voice sharp with challenge. "Lair, you clearly don’t love her, she doesn’t even deserve you. I have waited for you for years. I won’t allow her to steal you from me. We are perfect for each other."

My patience snaps. In one swift motion, I retrieve a gun hidden beneath the seat, its cold weight familiar and foreboding. The weapon finds its place between us, my trembling hand pointing it straight at her head. I have to constantly remind myself that I do not hurt women. I am seconds away from blowing her brains out.

"Never insult Layla again, I was never yours for her to steal me. Every inch of me is hers." I warn, my voice icy as I fix her with a steely gaze. "I have a policy of not harming women, but if you don't step out of this car right now, I'll make an exception."

Her defiance wavers, replaced by a raw fear that dances in her eyes. She scrambles out of the car, stumbling away from me as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her retreating steps are marked by a newfound vulnerability, and she can't help but offer one last parting shot. "I'll see you back in the office when you come to your senses."

My reply is cold, unyielding, the gun a somber reminder of the lines that have been crossed. "If I ever lay eyes on you again, I won't hesitate to end you."

She scrambles away, and I feel my hands shake at the images of me choking her to death. “I do not hurt women,” I keep repeating as a mantra in my head. I try to calm myself down, running a hand through my hair as I take a deep breath, willing the murderous urges in me to stifle down.

My phone rings, breaking the silence that has settled over the car. In that split second, a desperate hope flares up within me, a yearning for the one person I shouldn't want to hear from. I pray that it is Layla, that she has called me again. I cannot understand my own contradiction.

But as I look at the screen, my heart clenches. It isn't Layla. It is Cole. I answer, my voice tinged with the exhaustion I feel. "Hey, Cole."

"August!" Cole's voice rings out proudly, oblivious to the state I am in. "It's done. I exposed the Lexingtons."

My breath catches in my throat. The words reverberate through my mind like a thunderclap. It is done. The truth about the Lexingtons, the darkness that has haunted me for so long, is finally out in the open. A mix of emotions surges within me—relief, triumph, but above all, a gnawing worry for Layla.

"You did it?" I ask, my voice betraying a sense of urgency. "Why now? It wasn't supposed to happen so soon."

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