Chapter 7: Layla

It’s been three days since my first day of college, three days of numbness. I built up all my hopes of having a fresh start, only to have them smashed. To make matters worse, Evelyn received news about one of the kids from the foster home I grew up in.

My chest tightens as I think of Nelson, and I wonder yet again, for what feels like the millionth time, how he died. No one will give us any information about him. I want to attend his funeral, but without a second name and his location, that isn’t possible. My mouth dries up at the thought that if the news had been about Jared, I don’t know how I would have handled it.

I also came to the conclusion that Jay isn’t Jared. Jared would never hurt me. My shoulders are marred by small purple bruises, but nothing feels worse than the fear he pushed deep inside me. So deep that it opened up old wounds.

The clang of Evelyn’s knife on the white porcelain plate draws me back to the breakfast bar. I glance at Carl’s empty chair. He’s staying in Galway over the weekend. I push my cereal around my bowl. Evelyn’s soft touch on my arm has my gaze jumping to hers. "He’ll be back soon."

My face blazes. Am I that transparent? I get anxious when one of them isn’t around, and an irrational fear shows up, telling me this perfect life that I’ve found myself in won’t last forever. Evelyn tells me this self-doubt is normal, and these thoughts will fade. But they haven’t.

"I know. I was just thinking about college," I lie, then I shovel a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. I chew, not tasting the food.

Evelyn’s smile tugs at her mouth. "Layla, it’s okay to worry about Carl. Honestly, he loves when we fuss over him." She rolls her eyes dramatically. "It would break his heart if he thought we weren’t pining over him." Her words and batting eyelids have me smiling back at her.

"There’s that smile," she says while gently stroking my cheek before tapping me on the nose. "You better get ready for school you don’t want to be late."

I quickly check my phone. Yep, I am going to be late if I don’t leave soon.

***

I park my car under low-hanging trees and have to run into the college as the rain pelts the asphalt with a violence that sends the water spraying back up. The fabric of my black trousers soaks up the water. I clear the three steps and make my way into the building, dripping wet.

The hallway is empty—I’m late. The receptionist glances at me. Her gaze trails to the small puddle of water that’s started to form under my feet. Her nose curls before she turns away.

I hurry and make my way to my business class. I give a quick whispered apology for being late and sit down. I take out my notepad and pen, which survived the onslaught outside, and take notes for the next hour and a half. My clothes have dried out somewhat, but they still feel damp against my skin.

I spot Ashley a few times during the day, but each time, I duck my head. Today, I don’t want to talk to anyone, and missing three days of class has pushed me even further back. After the news of Nelson, school didn’t seem to matter—until it did. Until I could see the concern and worry in Evelyn’s eyes, and I couldn’t disappoint her any further.

My body collides with someone, and I stumble back, but I catch my balance at the last second.

Alex glares at me. "You did that on purpose." She brushes off her designer sweater while tilting her head. Her face holds a smile, but her words aren’t friendly.

"Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going," I stutter.

She shakes her head, and two girls who appear as perfect as she does flank her on either side. "Clearly. They’re really starting to let anyone into Kingscourt." She speaks to the girls as if I’m not standing in front of her.

Move, Layla. I sidestep Alex and her friends, but she blocks me.

"Watch where you’re going next time, scar."

My head snaps up, and her smirk grows while her gaze travels to my legs like she can see all my scars, even though they’re covered.

I brush past her and hear their laughter the whole way out of the building. I don’t stop until I’m in my car.

The drive home is haunting. Memories of Bert’s anger and violence resurface with a vengeance. I push his face away while fighting the tears. Seven years of therapy, then one insult from a pretty girl sends me into a tailspin. The news of Nelson is the real reason, but it always takes that one small thing to tip a person over the edge: the tip of the iceberg, the icing on the cake, the last straw, the straw that broke the camel’s back. That is one of Evelyn’s favorites. The heaviness lifts slightly as I think about Evelyn saying it; she was so serious, and the saying made me laugh hard even as my body and soul cried from all the pain.

I’m home quicker than I expected. By the time I walk into the house, exhaustion pulls heavily on my shoulders. I take a deep, calming breath before going to the kitchen. Evelyn takes off her reading glasses and glances at me. She has so many questions burning in her eyes. Why am I home early? Was I crying? How was college? Her khakis and loose cotton blouse make her look like she belongs on a beach, not in a kitchen reading some thriller.

She settles on "So how was school." as I get myself a glass of water.

My throat has utterly dried up. I gulp the water until the glass is empty, and only then do I turn to Evelyn. "Interesting." That’s the best I can do, but as Evelyn continues to watch me, I have the urge to tug at my ear to give my hands something to do. "I’m just tired. Honestly, it was a lot. You know, missing so many days. But I’ll catch up. I’m really enjoying it."

Evelyn tilts her head before her mouth rises, forming a pleasant smile. "Good. That’s really good, Layla."

Lowering my gaze, I fidget with my bag, which is still slung over my left shoulder. Placing it on the counter, I glance at Evelyn and nod. "I’m going to take a shower before dinner."

"Okay, sweetheart."

I take the opportunity to leave without any further questioning.

"Layla." I stop at the door, glancing back at Evelyn. "I’m so proud of you."

I inhale deeply, and a weird feeling pulses through me. I find myself standing a little straighter as Evelyn beams at me. "Thank you." The words are low, but from her smile and nod, I know she heard me.

The spray of the water helps my aching shoulders. Lathering my hair, I try not to think about the day I just had, but I can’t stop the memory playing out in my mind. Ruminating is something Evelyn warns me about. Yet I can’t stop the memory of Jared that assaults me.

It’s the cold—the cold that seeps into my back and runs so much deeper than my twelve-year-old brain could truly comprehend.

A coldness that, after seven years, has never left me. I fear it never will. My lids squeeze closed as the memory tears another piece of me apart.

Scorching heat burns my face, and it’s no match for the cold slate floor that penetrates through the back of the light, flimsy white dress.

Bert’s hand rises again but stops in midair, every finger straight to the point of straining. My eyes shoot from his hand to his red face, flushed with anger and alcohol. I’m waiting for the blow. I’m waiting for a reaction so badly. I want it to happen and for this to be over.

The front door behind Bert is stark white. Why I focus on the door, I’m not sure. It becomes a beacon that seems to grow smaller the longer I lie there waiting. My gaze darts back to him, and his hand connects with my face. The burn seems worse than the first time. My head whips to the side. Darkness clouds in quickly, and I welcome the blackness, only for the veil to disappear and keep me rooted in the here and now. The spindles on the stairs take priority in my mind. My eyes trace where some of the white paint has been chipped off from all the children that have passed through the doors of Bert and Ronnie’s foster home. Each breath I take hurts as I force the air into my lungs—lungs that never seem satisfied.

"I asked you a question!" Bert’s voice isn’t slurred or fueled by the anger clearly displayed on his sixty-year-old face. His words are a command. A prelude. A promise that isn’t idle.

When he asked me where his car keys are, a fear developed deep down inside me because I don’t know. And if I don’t answer soon, he will continue to beat me.

My hands tremble as I try to push myself up from the stone floor. Bert’s eyes are wide, and he tilts his head. A threat for me to hurry up screams from his tight features.

"I don’t know," I say honestly. All the while, my body curls in as it braces itself for the next slap that Bert plants on my face without hesitation. This one is harder than the last and sends my head snapping back. Blood fills my mouth, and stars fill my head. It takes me a few seconds before my hearing slowly starts to trickle back. On reflex, my hands touch my aching face.

Bert steps closer and leans over me, stumbling slightly. If he falls, his sheer size will smother me. But he catches himself and continues to bend down.

"You think you’re clever?" he snarls.

My shoulders hunch forward as I try to move away. It’s a movement, a tiny movement, one he won’t notice.

He notices. Oh, no, no, no…