Layla
Chapter Twenty-Six
Marking territory for his ex hadn’t been my most mature plan, but God, it had felt good. And once he’d reassured me I was very welcome there, all my insecurities over Carly disappeared. I’d actually felt like a badass again. Maybe I was getting my groove back.
At least it felt that way until I woke up on Friday morning, and the bottom dropped out. Because on my pillow was a clump of dark hair. I stared at it for a full minute before the truth sank in, and I started crying.
Yes, it had been stupid to think I’d be the exception.
Stupid to get my hopes up about not losing my hair.
But I’d still hoped. As I stumbled into the bathroom, I fisted out another clump by tugging gently.
The strands falling in the sink had me sobbing.
I’d foolishly hoped I was past this point, despite having read it could take a couple of treatments before hair started falling out.
So much for our romantic weekend away in the San Juan Islands.
Now I’d not only need a padded bra, but also a wig.
And before long, fake eyelashes and drawn-on brows. It was too much to process.
I sank down to the floor, the tufts of my hair remaining in my hands.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed that way, but finally my tears dried.
After getting up, I walked out to the kitchen and grabbed the scissors from the knife block.
I was in a daze as I walked back into the bathroom.
I looked but didn’t really see my reflection in the mirror as I began to hack.
There was no other word for it. The kitchen scissors weren’t sharp, so I simply grabbed and cut until every chunk over an inch long was lying in the sink.
Finally, I focused on my reflection in the mirror and saw the horror. Fresh sobs wracked my body.
Somewhere in my mind, I realized how vain I was being, considering the grand scheme of things. But perspective wasn’t something I was welcoming at the moment. I shoved that thought to the back of my brain; maybe it could make an appearance at a later time.
My knees gave way to an urge to curl into a ball on the bathroom floor.
I lay like that until exhaustion claimed me, and I must’ve snoozed on the cool tile.
I awoke to wonder if I’d had a nightmare.
But I saw the shears on the floor and knew it was reality.
The dark hair all over the sink and countertops slammed that reality home.
I was not only losing my hair, but also my shit.
I went out to my bedroom and picked up my cell phone in order to text Kellan.
I didn’t want him coming over tonight as we’d planned.
But before I could hit send, I thought through his potential response.
He’d ask why. I wasn’t ready to tell him.
He’d say something rational, like that it would grow back.
Like I was still beautiful. He’d try to mean it.
Then there was my mother. She’d freak if she saw the state of my hair.
She’d try to say something comforting even though we’d both know how horrified she’d be with my appearance.
I was the opposite from the beauty queen she’d always pictured.
The thought caused a maniacal giggle to erupt. Yep, I was officially losing it.
But the real reason I wanted to lock myself in my apartment, never to come out, was that I was ashamed.
Ashamed I was so vain when it came to my hair that this would be my tipping point into devastation.
There were thousands of women who had it worse than me.
Women who had kids and spouses, all with less hope of beating the disease.
Who was I to despair about losing my hair when there were so many people who’d give anything to be in my shoes with stage two, treatable cancer?
The thought put me into a fresh round of self-hatred-inspired sobs.
I was so unbelievably selfish to feel overwhelmed over something so superficial.
By six o’clock that evening, I’d done nothing all day but lie in bed.
My depression was crippling and no logic would work to relieve it.
But I couldn’t ignore my buzzing phone. Not if I wished to keep people away.
They’d assume the worst and come over to check on me.
I saw the missed call from Kellan and then a text.
“You okay?”
Not at all. But it was easy to type the lie. “Yeah, was just napping.”
“I’m on my way over. Want me to pick up dinner?”
“I’m not really up for company tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know if I’m feeling better.”
The phone rang immediately, showing his number. I felt irrationally annoyed that he couldn’t leave it at texting. “Hello,” I answered, trying to keep my voice sounding sane.
“Hey. I wanted to make sure you’re doing all right.”
“I said I was.” Damn, my words had come out bitchy. “I’m sorry. I’m crabby today.”
“How about I come over?”
“No.” My response came out really quickly. Too quickly.
“Layla, are you certain you’re all right?”
“I need some space.” It was difficult to get those words out of my mouth without a quiver in my voice.
“From me?”
“From everything. But I’ll, um, call you tomorrow”
“Okay.”
“Good night.” I pressed end before I heard his response and experienced immediate relief. I wasn’t sure what I’d do long-term, but right now I needed a reprieve, some time to sleep on it and see what tomorrow held. Hopefully, it would include a healthy dose of perspective and sanity.
Later that night as I lay in bed, unable to concentrate on my Kindle or anything else, I was tempted to take a leftover pain killer so I could pass out.
I’d tried on the head wraps Patty had left the last time she’d been here but had quickly taken them off again.
I felt ugly no matter which color I chose.
Wigs were an option, but I wouldn’t be able to get one of those tonight.
The knock at the front door took me off guard, but it didn’t throw me as much as looking through the peephole to find Kellan standing on the other side of it. I took a deep breath before speaking. “I asked you not to come over.”
“I know, but I can’t help thinking something is wrong.”
My tears came hot down my face. I wasn’t in a good emotional space to deal with him and his sweetness while processing the loss of my hair.
“Layla, let me in.”
“I can’t.”
The sound of his loud sigh was his reply.
“Go home, Kellan. Please.” With my emotions swirling, I couldn’t stand the feeling of being cornered.
We’d come so far in this relationship, in spite of my issues, that I didn’t want to backslide.
I didn’t want to lash out and say something I’d regret.
I just desperately wanted time to process this newest circumstance.
“I need to confirm you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Then why don’t I believe you?”
“Please go home.”
“Promise you’ll call me tomorrow.”
“I promise.” When I heard his retreating footsteps and could no longer see him through the peephole, I finally let out my breath.
I was on my way to brush my teeth and get some sleep when my phone went off. It was Russ. What was this? I needed to be alone, and everyone was calling. Besides, I’d already texted Russ tonight with my promised welfare check-in. After sending his call to voicemail, I fired off a text to him.
“Am getting ready for bed. Will talk to you tomorrow.”
“How about you talk to me now?”
There would be only one reason he’d insist. Because Kellan had spoken with him. They were ganging up on me.
“No, thanks. Good night.” Although it wasn’t my most mature action, I silenced my phone.
I couldn’t deal with Russ or Kellan tonight.
Was it too much to ask to be left alone one night for my pity party?
I didn’t think so. But evidently, I was alone in this belief.
The next thing I heard was the sound of a key in my lock and the front door opening.
Kellan wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t use his key to come in after I’d told him not to. He wouldn’t ignore my wishes. But he would, I realized, when his voice called out. “Layla.”
Panic set in, and I slammed the bathroom door shut, flipping the door lock. “What are you doing here?”
“Your brother said you wouldn’t answer his call.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone. Why can’t either of you understand that?” My voice was near hysteria now.
“Because we’re both worried.”
“And I told you not to be.”
He tried the bathroom handle and found it locked. “Babe. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Jon Snow,” I whispered.
“What?”
My voice got louder. “I said Jon Snow. You gave it to me as my safe word, and I’m using it now. Please leave, Kellan. Please.”
“Did you start to lose your hair?”
I shouldn’t have been surprised by his guess. After all, he’d been reading up about my treatments. I didn’t answer. Instead, I sat on the floor, my knees to my chest, and my back pressed against the cool porcelain tub.
“I’m sorry. I know you told me you need space, but I can’t help being concerned. And if it is your hair, it’ll grow. It’ll be okay.”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to tell me how to feel right now.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to. I’m at a loss, though, as to what to say or do here.”
My tears started to flow. I wished more than anything I could put things into perspective. But that was the thing about rock bottom. There were no straws to grasp, and no logic to be found.
“I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“You promised. You promised you’d give me space when I needed it.”
I heard his curse. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line. But I’m worried about you. I care about how—”
Nope. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t hear him say the perfect thing when I was in the midst of crisis. “Don’t. This isn’t working anymore, Kellan. You coming in here after I asked you not to. Using your key. You crossed a line, and I can’t be with someone who would do that.”
How the hell had I gone from telling him I needed space to breaking up with him? I wasn’t sure, but self-preservation was in crazy-as-fuck full swing, attempting to get rid of him by any means possible.
“You don’t mean it.”
“I do. Please go and leave your key in the bowl by the door. I don’t want to see you again.” My chest hurt at the thought of him leaving my life. But I couldn’t manage his feelings while being so overwhelmed with my own. This was a runaway train I couldn’t stop.
“Babe.”
“Goodbye, Kellan.”
There was a thump, which I imagined was his head hitting the wall. “Okay. I’ll go. But do yourself a favor and call your brother before he’s down here doing the same thing.”
I swallowed hard, knowing he was right.
Even after the sound of his footsteps and the door closing made it obvious he was gone, I stayed in the bathroom for what seemed an eternity.
I didn’t trust he wouldn’t try to fool me.
But when I finally made my way out of the bathroom, warily, I saw I’d worried for nothing.
He was gone. And I’d never felt so unbelievably empty.