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Layla

Luca fucking Knight. I hadn’t meant to slap him, but it turns out my subconscious had other plans.

I bend down and grab my dress from the floor before running from the room.

Someone is looking down on me tonight, because by some miracle I manage to get my dress on and climb into a taxi before he has a chance to catch up with me. I’ve no idea if he’s even trying, but knowing him, he will be. This escape will be short lived.

My eyes burn, the lump in my throat threatens to choke me. My mind is an incoherent mess of hurt, betrayal, and leftover lust. Along with a dousing of pure embarrassment. Sex in public.

What was I thinking?

I’m so far from the Layla I know, I can’t work out if this is something that’s always been inside me, or I’ve lost the plot entirely.

Luca Knight is a bastard, and I’m an idiot for thinking otherwise.

I head straight to my flat. I need familiarity, I need…I don’t know what I need.

A lobotomy.

I take a shaky breath, wringing my dress as a deep exhaustion invades every weary bone in my body.

The taxi ride seems to last an eternity, my mind unable to focus on a single thought, instead a whirlwind of memories, images, and emotions fly through me in a tumultuous storm. I want it to stop, I want my busy head to be quiet.

Just for a minute.

“Can you stop the car please?” I ask.

The driver looks in the rear-view mirror and hesitates. “It’s late, no? You should be taken to the door.” He says, his voice is accented in thick eastern European.

“I feel sick,” I say, pretending to heave. The driver's eyes widen, and he pulls over.

“Not in the car, miss, please not in the car.”

I open the door and jump out, holding my hand over my mouth, putting on a show. Then realising I haven’t paid, I lean back in. “I can walk from here thanks.” He tuts. I pay him quickly, and close the door.

I’m about ten minutes from home, ten minutes of walking to clear my head. Ten minutes to slow the chaos.

The headlights of the taxi cast eerie shadows onto the pavement in front of me. The bushes create shadow tendrils that look like they are trying to reach out and touch me.

After a moment, the taxi turns, and I’m left alone.

I can’t understand how this evening went from something that felt almost normal to an absolute shit show. What am I talking about, of course I understand.

A heartbeat’s all it takes, remember.

My shoes pinch my feet, the dress that earlier felt like a disguise is now an itchy irritating reminder of the evening.

Luca was staring at Isla.

Stop.

He looked at her, that doesn’t mean he wants to still sleep with her.

Did I overreact?

No, fuck that. I did not overreact. But then, wasn’t that the purpose of tonight, for me to watch. This is all so, new. And extreme.

“Motherfucker!” Bending forward, unclasping the straps, and pulling the uncomfortable shoes off my poor feet, I launch them into the road.

The first drop of water hits my forehead and the complete and utter irony that it’s about to piss it down makes me smile.

The first drop turns into two, turning into three, before it quickly downpours. Big thick raindrops drench me within minutes. I pull out the pins that had been meticulously holding up my hair all evening, dropping them into the darkness never to be seen again.

With each step closer to home, with each removal of hair pins, with each drop of rain that washes off the makeup and mask, I feel more like myself.

I’d rip the dress off if I could.

My mobile vibrates constantly in my bag, I yank it out, seeing his name and the missed calls, I turn the damn thing off. He’s probably injected some sort of tracker up my arse whilst I’ve been asleep. He knows where I’m going, it’s not rocket science.

What did he expect?

That I’d go to his penthouse, like a good little girl. Climb into his bed, naked.

Fuck off.

There’s one problem with my idea of taking a stand and going home: I haven’t got a key.

I stand shivering in the hallway outside of the front door and tap on it. Hoping Katy isn’t too bladdered drunk to hear my knocks.

I knock louder, turning my phone back on. And call her.

I can hear it ringing from outside.

Another shiver wracks my body, balling up my hand into a little fist I slam it against the door, shouting her name. Sod the neighbours.

If I don’t get in, I’m going to get pneumonia.

Finally, I hear movement inside, and then the door opens.

“Thank the lo—” Katy is not the one who answers the door.

No, the person standing before me is a bleary eyed Roman. Hair sticking up all over the place, his torso bare, revealing tattoos that curl around his biceps, over his pecs, onto his stomach, and I just stare. Completely ogling the goods that Roman had hiding underneath his stoic serious demeanour.

A laugh explodes out of me. “Fucking priceless.” I giggle.

“Why aren’t you with Luca and where are your shoes?” he asks peering round me into the empty foyer.

“Because Luca is a prick.” I push past him. I throw my clutch bag onto the hallway console table before walking into our living room. R-Catz is curled up on the blanket, looking warm and snuggly, “Lucky bastard.” I mutter before walking to the kitchen.

I don’t even know what I want from the kitchen, I just stand and stare into the darkened room. Turning, I walk back out, Roman still watching me.

“You need to get into dry clothes.”

“I know.”

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“I know.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

“Do I care?”

“Layla.” He sighs and takes my wrist to hold me still.

“Roman. Please take your hands off me. I’ve had a really shitty night, and I’m about ready to have a meltdown.”

“I think that ship has sailed, sweetheart.”

“Ergh, why are you all such bloody wankers.”

He shrugs. “I need to take you back to Southbank.”

I march to the bathroom, Roman hot on my heels. “Nope.”

Roman’s phone starts to ring, and I wave him away, walking into the bathroom. “Your master beckons.”

I slam the door in his face and sink to the floor. Tears threatening to come as the weight of everything crashes down on me. Time blurs as I sit there, lost in my thoughts.

Eventually numbness sets in, and I gather myself enough to strip and get into the shower. Letting the hot water wash over me, bringing some warmth and feeling back into my body. I step out, feeling a hundred times warmer, but the heaviness lingers, leaving me feeling like a sack of shit.

I wipe the condensation off the mirror and stare at my reflection, looking for any part of the old me. The remnants of my makeup still tracks down my face. Taking my cleanser, I wash off the rest in a trance, working on autopilot.

Hello coping mechanism, how I’ve missed you.

I’m methodical in my approach, cleanse, tone, moisturise. My phone buzzes again, and I shift my gaze to the message from Katy.

Are you okay?

Katy

I pick it up and start typing, then delete, then type again, then delete.

You fucked Roman?

I press send, and she comes back with the monkey emoji.

And now stop deflecting.

Katy

Is Rome still here?

Rome is the least of your worries.

Katy

Oh, for fuck’s sake, I mutter.

I'm staying in the bathroom then.

Sound choice. I’ll speak to you in the morning, he’s in bits if it’s any consolation.

Katy

Roman?

Luca!

Katy

No, Katy, it’s no consolation.

What happened?

Katy

He's in bits. Why the hell is he in bits? I tap out my reply, but I want to speak to her. I just want to get someone else’s thoughts on this.

“Layla.” Luca’s deep voice is at the door. “I’m not a patient man, but I just want you to listen very carefully.” I clench my eyes shut. “What happened tonight—”

I walk over to the door and unlock it “Did you fuck her after I left?”

“What! No.” He’s dishevelled and pale, and so far away from the put together man that I stood next to five hours ago.

“But you kept looking at her.”

“I did.” I go to slam the door, but he puts his hand out.

“Move your hand, Luca.”

“You’ve hurt me.”

“I hurt you?” I ask, eyes wide. “Are you insane?”

“How could you even ask that? How could you think I’d do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you kept watching her.”

“And that means what? That I'd fuck her as soon as you run? I thought I made myself very clear, no? You do not hit me.” He’s not listening to me. My heart beats rapidly as frustration builds, making me angry.

“But you can treat me like a piece of shit, right? Have me at your beck and call, boss me around, tell me what to do?”

He steps forward getting up into my personal space, and I step back folding my arms over my chest, lifting my chin.

“Luca,” Roman says, and Luca steps back, clutching his hair. He looks like he’s… I’m not sure what.

“ He’s got you on a leash for once?” I say. I must have a death wish. But how dare he play the victim?

He looks at the floor, takes a breath, and when he looks back his usual mask is back in place. “You need me.”

“And you need me.” I realise just how much of a fool I am and laugh humourlessly. “I thought…” I swipe angrily at a tear; I will not fucking cry. “I’m not naive, Luca, I know who you are.” I tilt my head, eyes searching. “But I thought we had an understanding, I thought tonight…I thought tonight something had shifted, but I really am just a pawn in a game to you. And I’ll never not be that.”

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes cold and dark, and the snippet I saw of Luca earlier has been replaced with the ruthless criminal. And I’m so angry at myself for thinking he, or we, could be anything different.

“I can’t protect you if you’re here.”

“Oh well.” I slam the door.

My heart slams against my ribs, trying to beat its way out, my hands clench and unclench. I hate how he makes me feel. I hate how I can’t hold a coherent thought; I hate that he has such a hold on me. I hate that he makes me want more, I hate that I’m naive to think that this could be anything other than an arrangement.

I hate myself.

I hate it all.

I hate that I have no control.

Dropping my towel, I turn the shower back on, turning the knob as hot as it will go.