Chapter 25
The dryer hums as the used sheets tumble to a rhythm.
I’m awake.
Have been since Damien left. Mostly, I’ve stared at the ceiling, rubbing my tender wrists, but my reigning emotion is regret. I didn’t have the balls to ask him to stay when he so clearly wanted that.
Honestly, I’m not even sure why I didn’t invite him. Now, I’m tormented, imagining his warmth in my bed, his skin on my skin.
Shit. I fucked up.
My friends have been texting nonstop in our group chat. Mostly, they want more info on Damien after his surprise appearance tonight. But they’ve also spent a fair amount of time gushing over how “insanely lickable” he is, according to Isha. I, on the other hand, haven’t responded to a single message. I need to let my thoughts settle before I’ll be able to answer any of their questions, knowing they’ll at least suspect that we had sex tonight. My plan is to address it all tomorrow and not a moment sooner.
I turn onto my side, and my eyes shift to the nightstand. Normally, when I’m this unsettled, I’d consider going a round with my vibrator. That tends to relax me, but the idea of it doesn’t appeal to me now. All because, now that I’ve had him, I have real concern that nothing—and maybe no one—will ever compare.
A terrifying thought.
I’m on my back again, forcing my eyes closed with hopes that I’ll miraculously drift off, but my mind has other plans. It’s decided to take a trip down memory lane, perhaps in search of stray memories that included Damien. Thoughts his revelation may have awakened.
But instead of seeing him, I only see her.
My mother.
Her memory always makes my heart heavy, like the weight of the emotional burden she’s left behind rests there. No, she wasn’t all bad, but she was bad enough that even the good moments feel like a dark cloud hangs over them. I see that evil grin on her face again as she paints herself in red, as my father bleeds out on the floor, as my innocence is drained from my soul.
It”s hard not to wonder what Damien knows about her death. The story was plastered all over every news media outlet, so it’d be hard to miss. But does he mostly remember the me before she left, or the me who remained? Because a very different girl emerged from that nightmare.
My breathing quickens as I remember the suffocating feel of the thick blanket the officer placed over my head that night, shielding me from the carnage I’d already seen so much of. But then, I remember the one thing that brought me comfort.
The warm hand that held mine.
Calming words that came with the kind gesture, a promise that he wouldn’t let my mother hurt me.
My eyes pop open as an air of familiarity seeps into my bones. It’s enough that my brain has already started mapping out a weak connection between that seeming disembodied hand, to Damien.
Is that… is that even possible?
Being so young, how would he have even gotten to our house that night if…
Loud pounding at my door startles the thought right out of my head, and I bolt upright in bed, scrambling to my feet as my heart races. It takes a moment to remember where I left my robe, and by the time I grab it off the back of the bathroom door, whoever’s been trying to pound my fucking door to dust slams their fist against it again.
I’m so rattled, I don’t even check the peephole, just wanting the noise to stop, but the second I lock eyes with Martinez, I wish I’d been more careful.
“What the hell do you want?” Sighing, I lean against the doorframe, bracing my shoulder there so he knows this is as far as he goes.
“What’s wrong? Can’t let me in because your boyfriend’s in there?” he says, yelling the last part louder in case there’s someone inside to hear him ranting.
I look him over, wearing the same burgundy dress shirt and black slacks he had on earlier at the lounge. Except he’s disheveled now, and judging by the glazed look in his eyes, he’s buzzed. Not quite drunk enough to blame his poor decisions on the alcohol, but enough that it’s given him the courage to show up at my door unannounced, knowing his face is likely the last I want to see.
“You’re seriously going to give me shit about being with someone tonight when you thought it was a good idea to show up to my friend’s party with another girl? Okay, Martinez. Good night.”
I step back and attempt to shut the door in his face, but he stops it with his foot.
“Just admit it, Layla. Admit that you’ve been fucking that guy behind my back this whole time, and I’ll drop this shit.”
I nearly laugh in his face.
The fucking nerve.
“Go. Go before this gets ugly, and we make things even more awkward for ourselves at work.”
I shove his chest, but it hardly moves him. Instead of heading back down the steps, he pushes his way inside the apartment, searching for evidence like he’s my father or something.
“He was here, wasn’t he? You fucked him tonight?”
There’s no suppressing the eye roll his question has drawn out of me. “Don’t you just want to be done with this? Don’t you just want to move on?”
He blinks at me like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Then, his eyes shift back to my bed, and I’m guessing he’s imagining Damien and I doing unholy things there. Things that may or may not have actually taken place.
“Wanna know what the real fucked up part is?” Martinez scoffs, finally bringing his eyes back to mine. “It’s that you don’t even realize you got played.”
Another eye roll. This time, I double down by laughing.
“You can think that shit’s funny all you want, but it’s the fucking truth,” he seethes. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I never took you seriously? Didn’t you wonder why I wanted to keep it a secret that I was screwing you?”
“Not really, but I get the feeling you’re about to tell me anyway.”
“Damn right, I am. You should know that this fucking pretty-boy asshole you’re with won’t take you seriously either. At least, he won’t once he finds out the truth about you.”
I cross both arms over my chest. “The truth?”
“That you’re a fucking psycho, Layla. You think I haven’t seen your pills? You think I haven’t looked up what that shit’s for?” he adds, shaking his head as a smile ghosts on his lips. “All you ever were to me was a piece of easy ass. I could never have a nutcase like you around my kid. And that’s the truth.”
I’m silent, feeling the fight drain right out of my body as words kids taunted me with when I was younger echo inside my head. I hide that it stings, though. Hide that my throat is suddenly thick with bile as I hold back tears.
“So, let me get this straight,” I sigh. “You want nothing to do with me, I’m crazy, and yet… you’re the one standing at my door in the middle of the night? If you ask me, you’re here because your sensitive ass needs closure, but you’re too much of a bitch to admit it.”
He takes a step forward, and I take one back, maintaining my hard expression despite worrying that he might actually resort to violence. I’m reminded of how he grabbed my arm in the parking lot when we argued, reminded of the pain that lingered for days afterward. Before then, I wouldn’t have pegged him as the type, but now I’m not entirely sure what to expect from him. Especially since he’s clearly had a few.
“Get the fuck out of here before I call 9-1-1 and ruin your fucking career.”
He stares me down, his shoulders heaving with rage, but he’s not a fool. Well, not a fool who’d risk losing his job, anyway.
Still, he leans in to whisper one last thing. “One of these days, you’re gonna push me so far the consequences won’t even matter,” he says. “Whatever happens to me after that, it’ll be fucking worth it.”
There’s so much hatred in his eyes when he backs away. They seem darker than I’ve ever seen them before, making his threat that much more bone-chilling. I don’t let out a breath until he turns and leaves, prompting me to quickly close and lock the door behind him. Then, I move to the window, watching as he storms out to his car, looking more sober than when he first showed up to bring his usual brand of negativity into my life, but at least he’s gone.
For now.
His words play on repeat as he burns rubber peeling out of the driveway, not caring in the least if he wakes my father, but a quick glance toward his bedroom window proves it’s already too late for that. Dad’s standing there, having likely heard Martinez and I shouting at each other.
Annoyed and concerned, I close the blinds and toss myself back onto the bed. I’d love to think this is the end of my ill-fated involvement with Diego, but something tells me he’s only getting warmed up.