Layla (16 page)

16

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Kyle asked when I walked inside.

“Nothing,” I said. “How are you?”

He didn’t look convinced. “Why are you so sad?”

I came to him and wrapped my arms around him, hiding my face. I enjoyed our closeness and appreciated the feel of his body next to mine. It was the only time I felt safe. His hands ran down my back and touched me softly. I pulled away then kissed him, enjoying the warmth of his mouth. He cupped my face while he kissed me, holding me close.

When I pulled away, I wanted to die. I hate this. I hate John. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?” There was alarm in his eyes. He looked frightened.

“I—I think we should take a break.”

“What? A break? What the hell does that mean?”

I took a deep breath and stilled my nerves. “I think we should break up.”

His breathing increased and his eyes expanded. “What? Why?”

“I—I just don’t feel the same way about you.”

“But I love you.”

I wanted to tell him I loved him too but I held it back. My tears were below the surface but I kept them back. This break up would be temporary until I got rid of John. I loved Kyle more than anything and I couldn’t let him get hurt. And I definitely couldn’t let his family get hurt.

“I—I don’t understand. We’re happy together.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while and this is what I want,” I whispered.

He paced in front of me, gripping his hair. I could feel the panic and the anger course through him. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t accept that. You broke up with me once and it almost killed me. I’m not letting you go. Whatever problems we have, we can fix them.”

I sighed. “Kyle, I don’t want to fix them.”

“Too bad. I love you and you love me. This isn’t over. I don’t know what’s gotten you so scared of this relationship, but I’m not letting you abandon it.”

“Kyle, just give me some space.”

“No.”

“Kyle, respect my wishes. I want to break up. Let it go.”

He shook his head. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,’ I said quickly. “I just feel differently. I can’t explain it…”

“That’s a really shitty excuse. There’s someone else?”

“God, no!”

“Then what?”

“Kyle, I just want to break up. You won’t change my mind, so just let it go.”

His eyes became watery. “This is it?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

Kyle looked at the floor then stepped back. “Okay.”

“I should go.”

He stood there, rooted to the spot. He didn’t look at me or speak.

I went to the door then walked out, closing it gently behind me. When I was out of his sight, the tears dripped down my face. I hated this. Kyle was the love of my life,
my everything. I hated hurting him but I didn’t have a choice.

When I went back to my apartment, John was there.

“How’d it go?”

“I fucking hate you.” I grabbed a bottle of Nyquil from my cupboard and marched to my bedroom.

John followed me. “Did you do it?”

“Yes.” I opened the bottle and took a long drink.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to bed.” I wiped my tears away then got under the covers with my clothes on.

“It’s seven.”

I ignored him.

He stripped his clothes away then lay beside me. His hand moved into my hair but I didn’t flinch. I didn’t want him to touch me, but I was too numb to care. His lips kissed my neck but I didn’t respond. I pretended he wasn’t there. My eyes became heavy and I fell asleep.

When I went to work the next day, Kyle wasn’t there. He called in sick. I felt sick to my stomach when I realized how much I hurt him. When we broke up the first time, he still showed up. Now he was gone. I tried to distract my mind through my work, but the flood of te
ars would return every few minutes. I kept my door closed all day so no one would see me.

When I left work, I went by a gun store but couldn’t force myself to buy one. I didn’t know how to use a gun, and if I did, I would probably shoot an innocent person. Or better yet, I would shoot myself. I had to come up with a different plan to get rid of John.

When I looked at my phone, I hoped Kyle had called me but he hadn’t. I was glad he didn’t fight for me but I was also sad about it. I had to get rid of John soon before my head exploded. I knew Kyle was in pain and I had to make it better as soon as possible.

I walked inside my apartment and saw John on the couch.

“Do you live here now?” I snapped.

“I just want to spend time with my girlfriend.”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m your fucking prisoner.”

He stood up then wrapped his arms around me.

I pushed him back. “Don’t fucking touch me. You aren’t getting any from me unless you rape me. And believe me, I’ll make that as difficult as possible for you.”

“I would never do that,” he said, offended.

“I’m sure,” I said sarcastically.

There was a knock on the door so I walked toward it.

“I got it,” John said as he passed me. He looked through the peephole. “It’s him.”

My heart accelerated and I reached for the door.

John grabbed me. “Get rid of him.”

I glared at him. “Okay.”

“If you don’t get rid of him, he’ll pay the price.” He walked into my bedroom and shut the door.

I opened the door and looked at his forlorn face.

“Hey,” he said weakly.

“Hi.”

“I wanted to see if you wanted to go to the game with me tonight.” He pulled a jersey from his back pocket. It was orange and black, the colors of the Giants.

My heart ached. “Kyle, we aren’t together anymore.”

“Just spend time with me. You’ll feel better about it. I’m sorry if I came on too strong and scared you off with my feelings. I’m madly in love with you and I can’t let you go. Not without a fight.”

This was killing me. “Kyle, please go. I don’t want to see you.”

“How can you be like this? I thought you loved me?”

“Sometimes…love just dies.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said quickly.

“Kyle, you are just making this worse. Please go and don’t come back.”

He sighed then squeezed the jersey in his hand. “I love you so much,” he whispered. He handed me the jersey then walked away, wiping his eyes as he went. My heart shattered into a million pieces at the sight. After I closed the door, I fell to the floor and started to sob.

John emerged from my bedroom then kneeled before me. He placed his hand on my thigh but I kicked it away.

“Fuck you.” I stood up and marched to my bedroom.

“I’m taking you to dinner. Get ready.”

I turned to him, an incredulous expression on my face. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m crying.”

“Then stop crying,” he snapped. “If you aren’t ready in five minutes, I’ll dress you myself.”

I gave him the bird then slammed my bedroom door. I changed into a dress but didn’t do my hair or makeup. I tried to look as hideous as possible.

John held my hand as we walked to the restaurant but I kept pulling it away. When we got inside, he helped me into my chair and sat across from me. When the waiter came over, John ordered for both of us. Normally, that would irritate me but I was too depressed to care.

“You look lovely this evening,” he said.

I stared straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular.

“The firm is relocating to the east side of the city. I’ll be closer to your apartment.”

“Am I supposed to care?”

“How are your two friends doing?”

“Let’s just not talk,” I snapped. “Looking at your face is nauseating enough.”

“You’re lucky that I’m not slapping you right now.”

“I couldn’t care less if you did. There’s no way I could feel worse than I do now.”

He stared at me then sipped his wine.

“So this is it? I’m going to be your hostage for the rest of my life?”

“You’ll come around.”

“Believe me, I won’t.” I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest. When the food came, I didn’t eat. I had absolutely no appetite
..

After we went back to the apartment, I drank more Nyquil
so I could fall asleep and forget the pain in my heart. John slept with me but he didn’t touch me. I was surprised he didn’t hold me down.

The next week was pure torture. Kyle came to work but he wouldn’t even look at me. In the short amount of time we’d been apart, he lost weight. He didn’t have the command in his presence or the confidence in his voice. He was lifeless and dull. Kyle never spoke to me. If he communicated with me, it was through email. And even then, it was short and plain. Seeing him so hurt made me want to die. It was so painful.

John was always at my apartment and took me to dinner every night. He tried kissing me in bed or on the couch, but I slapped him and punched him as hard as I could, never letting him embrace me. I expected him to fight back, but he never did. Before, he would just slap me and throw me against the wall. Now he was passive and non-violent.

I cried more than I ever had. I was seriously dehydrated from the loss of so much water. My friends called me a few times, but I always said I was busy and couldn’t hang out. It seemed like they didn’t know about me and Kyle so I kept it that way.

When John was asleep, I snuck into the kitchen and pulled a knife from the drawer. I imagined stabbing him through the chest and ending his life altogether, but I couldn’t do it. As I hung the knife over his chest, I felt the guilt flood my body. It was too complicated. I would go to jail for manslaughter and it would be pointless anyway. I put the knife back then cried in the living room, wishing I could find a way out.

The next morning, I made breakfast in the kitchen, pancakes and eggs. I hadn’t been eating all week and now I was starving. I’d lost more weight than I ever had before. It had only been a week, but I already lost five pounds.

When I opened the refrigerator, I moved aside the almond milk and grabbed the butter. But then my hand stopped. John was deathly allergic to almonds. My heart accelerated in my chest as I stared at the carton. That could be my way out. I could pour it into the batter and the eggs and make it look like an accident. It was the perfect plan. The guilt flooded inside of me when I realized what I was going to do, but I grabbed the carton anyway.

I poured it into the batter and the eggs then returned it to the refrigerator. Just as I started to pour the cakes on the grill, John emerged from the bedroom.

“Wow. You’re actually going to eat?” he said.

I ignored him.

He came to me then kissed me on the forehead. I moved before his lips touched me. “Everything looks good.”

“Get out of my kitchen,” I snapped.

He stared at me for a moment before he took a seat at the table.

I made our
plates then placed them on the counter.

“It looks good.”

I picked up my fork and stared at my plate. As soon as he ate a few bites, he would be done for. I would be free.

He picked up his fork and looked at me. “You look beautiful.”

“Fuck you.”

He sighed then looked down at his food.

Even though I hated him, I felt the guilt rise in my throat. I was about to commit murder, something I’d never thought I would do. It was wrong. John had never killed anyone, and I was taking his life. But I didn’t know what else to do.

He cut a piece of the pancake and speared it with his fork. My heart raced. John stopped and stared at me for a long time. I met his gaze with fear. Did he know? Why wasn’t he eating it? Should I stop him? Maybe I should. His throat would close up and he wouldn’t be able to breathe. It was a horrible way to die. The guilt overcame me and I reached for his arm.

John grabbed my hand. “Layla, I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry about all of this.”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

He sighed then pulled his hand away. “My behavior has been unacceptable. I can’t stand to see the depression on your face. I—I don’t want this.”

“What?”

“I don’t want this. I want you to want me, not hate me.”

I felt the relief wash through me. “What does that mean?”

“It means…be with the guy you really want.”

I jumped out of my chair and hugged him. “Thank you so much.”

He patted my back awkwardly. “I’m sorry about everything.”

I rose then left the table, grabbing my purse from the counter. “Will you leave me alone now?”