38. Layla
layla
. . .
Brian’s laughter echoes through the hallway, muffled by his gaming headset.
He’s been at it for hours, yelling into the mic at his friends, cursing, laughing, swearing he’s “almost done.”
He always says that.
I stand in the doorway for a long minute, with my arms crossed, watching him.
He doesn’t even look up.
“I’m going to check the mail,” I say.
He doesn’t glance over. “Yeah, whatever.”
My chest tightens, not from surprise, but from the dull familiarity of it.
I grab my keys and leave quietly.
The hallway smells of citrus and vanilla as I walk through it, heading to the elevator.
I finally arrive at the lobby, where early-morning light spills across the white and gray marble, golden rays streaming through the glass doors.
The mailboxes line the far wall; I walk over to mine, unlock it, and start flipping through the envelopes.
Bills, so fun. Ads, gross. And a magazine I didn’t remember subscribing to, I need to cancel this shit.
My fingers pull out the last envelope, a simple one with a Ruby Ridge, TN stamp.
My heart stutters.
Reed’s handwriting curves across the front, a little messy, but it’s him.
I slide onto the wooden bench in the lobby corner, carefully tear open the envelope, and unfold the page.
Layla,
I’m not sure why I’m writing this, maybe because I’m better at saying things when you’re not looking at me. Maybe because I miss you, and this feels like the only way to quiet my mind for a while.
The bar feels too still without you. I keep expecting to hear your laugh, you filming around the bar, you stealing my drinks and pretending it’s an accident. You left pieces of yourself all over my place, and each one makes it harder to breathe.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what this is between us, how it feels so good, so easy, and how that frightens me. I’m not used to good things lasting. I keep waiting for you to realize you could do better than a man who avoids his reflection.
But then I remember the way you look at me—like I’m something worth keeping—and for a moment, the fear quiets down.
You once told me I made you feel safe.
You do the same for me, sunshine.
If you ever wonder how I feel, just remember this: you’ve got a man in Tennessee who hasn’t stopped thinking about you, not even for a day. And no matter what happens, I’ll always be waiting for you, baby.
— Reed
I’m barely able to reach the end without my vision blurring. A tear slips down as I press my hand against my mouth, my heart splintering wide open.
He thinks I’m going to leave him. He thinks it’s temporary. And I’ve been letting him believe that.
Because I’m still here, trapped in this apartment with a man who stopped loving me long before I stopped pretending, I’ve been too scared to leave and finally choose myself.
Looking down at the letter again, at the ink smudge where his hand must have hesitated, at the line that says you do the same for me, sunshine.
I have to call him.
My hands tremble as I grab my phone.
I scroll to his name, my thumb pausing briefly before I press call.
It rings for less than five seconds before his warm voice and southern drawl flood the line.
“Hey, sunshine.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wrote me again.”
He’s quiet for a second. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Didn’t think you’d get it this fast.”
“I just read it.” I glance down at the page still clutched in my hand. “You don’t ever have to be scared with me, Reed. I’m not going anywhere.”
He lets out a slight sound, relief, maybe, and when he finally speaks, his voice cracks. “You sure about that?”
“I’m sure,” I whisper. “I miss you. Every single day. And I’m coming home soon.”
He exhales slowly. “Guess I’ll start makin’ room for you here, then.”
“You already have.”
I close my eyes, leaning against the cool tile wall, with the letter pressed to my heart.
I stay in the lobby for a few more minutes after Reed hangs up, clutching his letter.
His voice still hums in my chest, soothing the ache that’s been sitting there for weeks.
Folding the letter carefully, I tuck it back into the envelope and take the elevator up.
My reflection looks back from the mirrored doors—tired eyes, mascara smudged, the ghost of a smile lingering from hearing his voice.
The large, metal doors slide open, and I stroll to my apartment, reluctant to go inside.
As I step back in, it’s quiet—no shouting, no laughter, just the low hum of a TV game menu looping repeatedly.
Brian’s off his game now, sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand, scrolling through his phone. The screen's glow illuminates his face, making the bags under his eyes look deeper.
He glances up as I walk in, his gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. “You look like shit,” he says flatly.
I blink, clutching the mail tighter.
Yeah, I think, he’s definitely changing his ways.
“So kind of you,” I murmur, setting the small stack of mail on the counter.
He nods toward it without looking up. “Anything for me?”
“No,” I say. My voice remains steady, even though I can still feel Reed’s words pressed against my ribs.
“You do the same for me, sunshine.”
He makes a grumbling sound, like he doesn’t believe me or thinks there’s no point in asking. He puts his beer down and moves toward the counter.
Fuck, I think he’s going to grab the mail, or maybe come back to me, but he doesn’t as he just stares at the envelopes, unreadable, turning away.
“Whatever,” he mutters as he walks back to his setup. The chair squeaks, the headset clicks, and his friends’ voices fill the air once more.
I stand there, still holding Reed’s letter in my hand, watching the man I used to know fade away behind a glowing screen.
The pain inside me doesn’t hurt the way it used to. It’s quieter now. Resolved. For the first time, I’m not wondering whether I’ll leave.
Now that I know I can create content without him, I can definitely leave him for good.
I turn away, slipping into our bedroom, the letter pressed close to my heart.
The noise fades behind me, the shouting and the laughter that aren’t mine.
In the stillness, I whisper to myself again, this time a promise instead of a hope.
“I’m going to do it.”
Brian sits beside me on the couch, scrolling through his phone with one knee bouncing, while the hum of his console continues in the background.
I’m half-curled into myself, thinking about Reed’s letter still, and how desperately I want to text him right now.
I draw a breath, smoothing my palms over my thighs before I speak.
“I was thinking,” I say, keeping my voice light and careful. “Maybe I should head back to Ruby Ridge for a bit.”
He continues scrolling, not paying an ounce of attention to me.
“For what,” he says, not looking at me.
I hesitate, angling my body toward him anyway. “I miss the girls. Catalina, Amelia. It’s been a while.”
That part is true. It’s just not the part that hurts.
He exhales through his nose, finally glancing over. “You were just fucking there,” he replies.
“I know,” I reply quickly, filling the silence before it stretches. “I just—there’s a lot going on, and—”
“Fine.”
I blink. “Fine?”
He places his phone on the coffee table with a deliberate tap and leans back, spreading his arm across the couch.
“If you’re going,” he says evenly, “I’m coming with you.”
My stomach drops.
“Oh,” I say softly, shaking my head. “You don’t have to do that. I was just thinking it’d be nice to have some girl time, you know?”
He shifts closer, angling his knee toward mine, crowding my space without touching me.
“No,” he says, reaching out to grip my throat, squeezing. “That’s not fucking happening.”
I gasp for air, raking my nails down his forearm, trying to escape. “Brian—”
He squeezes harder. “No ifs, ands, or buts,” he says. “If you go, I go.”
“I just thought—” I try to get the words out, but he keeps squeezing harder, cutting off my air.
He releases his grasp. “You don’t need to think about it,” he says. “I’ll handle it.”
I nod automatically as I rub my throat, coughing. “Ok—Okay.”
He relaxes back into the couch like the conversation never mattered, reaching for the remote.
“Good,” he says, his eyes back on the screen. “I’ll book something later. And, baby?”
“Y-Yes?”
He smirks, caressing his hand across my thigh, causing me to flinch. “You can take me to that freak’s bar.”
No.No.NO.
I stare ahead, nodding in agreement as the TV light washes over the room, and tell myself to breathe normally. To stay calm. To not let the ache show on my face.
All I was trying to do was go back to myself and to someone who never once told me what I was allowed to want.