by Caisey Quinn
“Layla, he’s here. Again, ” my aunt Kate says through my bedroom door.
He’s been stopping by the house every day since Homecoming. I want to see him, want to ask if everything is okay with him and his dad. But he knew. The whole time. While I was convinced he just liked me for me—that he just noticed me all on his own and was interested—he was pretending. Because he knew about my seizures and wanted to rescue me from the big bad bullies of Hope Springs High School to make himself feel better or whatever. Well, I’m not interested in being rescued. I’ve survived more than Landen O’Brien could even imagine, and if he thinks being ignored at school because of my freakouts is more than I can handle then he—
“Layla, for God’s sakes. He’s just going to keep coming back.” Okay, now even Aunt Kate is annoyed with my knight in shining armor.
I crawl out of bed and open the door. My knight is actually wearing sweaty soccer practice clothes but he still looks pretty damn good.
It’s Thursday, and I haven’t been back to school since the dance, but he’s been coming by at the same time every day without fail. Aunt Kate has been diligently sending him away at my request, but I guess she’s tired of being my personal security.
I don’t even greet him. I just open the door and retreat back to the safety of my bed. But he follows. Lowering himself onto the mattress, he looks at me with these puppy-dog eyes, and I’m flustered. His face is still mildly bruised from his encounter with Becker, and I do kind of feel sorry for him. His wounded expression breaks my heart a little.
“What? Just say it, Landen.”
“Why wouldn’t you see me? Or answer my texts or phone calls at least?”
“Because,” I force out. “Because you knew, and you acted like you didn’t and…” And I am a fricking idiot who thought maybe you were just genuinely interested in me.
“Okay,” he says slowly, angling his shoulders towards me. “So I knew. So I asked about you when I first moved here and Alexis Bledsoe spouted some shit about you having seizures. So?”
“So…wait, why did you ask about me?”
“What? What do you mean why?” Landen shakes his head, and I have the strangest urge to run my fingers through his thick, dark hair.
“Um, why as in why did you ask Alexis Bledsoe, or anyone for that matter, about me?”
He rubs his neck and glances around my room. “I already told you. I wanted to talk to you. You were always alone, like you didn’t want anyone bothering you and I didn’t want to be the new guy hassling the queen of the school.”
I snort and then I remember I’m still in my PJ pants and a tank top. Dear God, I’m not wearing a bra.
Pulling my covers up to my chin, I drink in the boy who saw me when no one else did. “But why?” I whisper forcefully. “Why me?”
“Jesus, Layla. What do you want from me?” He tenses, and I can tell he wants to get up and yell. He’s all hyped up from soccer practice and trapped in my pristine room with my Aunt Kate probably listening right outside the door. “You walked in that first day and I…fuck, I don’t know. You had this, like, glow about you and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I expected to see you running the school, looking down your nose at the pieces of shit not worthy of breathing the same air as you, shaking your ass on the football field, and being followed around by an asshole boyfriend who regularly beat the hell out of any guy who so much as looked at you. None of which would have deterred me, by the way. I was prepared to deal with whatever. And then none of that turned out to be accurate. So I thought maybe we’d get to know each other and hook up until I moved again or graduation or whatever. But the more we hung out, the more I wanted…more than that.”
Neither of us says anything because, well, there doesn’t seem to be anything to say. I want to kiss this beautiful boy—man—Landen. But I’m not ready for that and I’m not sure what would happen if I tried. And I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. Tears prick my eyes because I’m not a charity case. And he did just notice me and want to get to know me. And I’ve made a mess of everything. Because I’ve never done this before and I have no idea what I’m doing.
“Because I have seizures and you wanted to save me damsel-in-distress style?” I ask, just to make sure.
“Because you are beautiful and kind and I love…being with you.”
“Landen—” I start, but he’s not done.
“Friends tell each other stuff, Layla. And I was hoping, as we got closer, you’d fill me in on the details about your seizures. I didn’t rely on anything Alexis or anyone else said because honestly, I couldn’t give a shit what they think.”
Friends. Seven letters. I’m beautiful and he wants to get to know me better. But we’re just friends. Seven letters have never been more confusing. And he’s not done.
“But that was the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced, and if there’s something I could’ve done to prevent it, like rip Brent Becker’s arms from his body so he couldn’t hit that door, then I want to know.”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” I tell him. My voice is so low I’m not sure he hears me, but he scoots closer on the bed so I’m pretty sure he does. The raw hurt in his eyes compels me to keep talking. To tell him everything. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch his face while I reveal my painful secrets.
“I was thirteen. We were on our way to see The Nutcracker—we went every Christmas.” Swallowing hard, I gather all the strength I have to tell him what I’ve only discussed with licensed professionals. Relaxing my grip on my comforter, I let it drop because I might as well be naked. I open my eyes and find him staring intently at me. As much as I want to squeeze mine shut, I hold his gaze.
“My parents were teasing me, trying to swing me in the air like they did when I was little, and I was irritated. Because I was a teenager .” I roll my eyes at the innocent girl whose biggest problem in life was parents who babied her.
“We were walking to the Atlanta Civic Center Complex from a parking lot a few blocks away because my dad refused to pay to park closer. My mom was annoyed about having to walk so far in heels in the cold. Everything was so…normal . And then there were tires screeching, and a guy jumped out of a huge black truck. It was dark so I couldn’t see him clearly. My mom shoved me behind her, to shield me I guess, though I had no clue what was going on at the time.”
The throat choking sobs are coming and it’s getting harder to breathe. Landen waits patiently as I pull myself together so I can finish. He wants to reach out and touch me. I can tell by the way his hands twitch in his lap, but he doesn’t and I’m kind of glad. A hug or even an arm around would shatter me right now.
“The guy yelled at my dad to give him his wallet. From behind them I could see my dad scrambling to empty his pockets but his wallet was in his jacket pocket and when he went to get it…I guess the guy thought he had a gun or something because he shot at us. Four times.” I flinch because I can still hear it. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. I can still smell it. Burning.
“And then he jumped back in the truck and left. He didn’t even take my dad’s wallet.”
My eyes unglaze as I finish and I’m back in my room with Landen instead of on the side of the road in Atlanta. He’s dropped his head into his hands and is attempting to pull his hair out from the looks of it.
“But you weren’t hurt at all?” he asks, finally raising his head so his bloodshot eyes can meet mine. “Physically, I mean.”
“There’s a scar under my hair, just above my left ear where a bullet grazed me.” Without thinking, I reach up and touch it gingerly, not that it still hurts or anything. It’s just a reminder. Everything can change. Everyone can leave.
“Jesus,” Landen hisses through his teeth. “And the seizures?”
I shrug, because I’ve gotten through the worst of it. “Started soon after. My mom
…fell back on me and I hit my head pretty hard. I was practically unconscious when they found us. I had a severe concussion and was later diagnosed with seizure-inducing PTSD.”
“Are they random or is it loud noises that cause them?”
“Um, both I guess. I’ve had a few that came on for no reason at all, but most of them have been triggered by loud banging noises. Freshman year I was new here and someone’s chemistry project randomly exploded. I seized out in the lab in front of everyone. I was humiliated and just really messed up over the whole thing. Aunt Kate let me be home-schooled for a long time. I came back this year hoping to start over. But no one has forgotten. They’ve all pretty much avoided me ever since.”
“Brent Becker is a dead man,” he says evenly.
“It’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault, Landen. This is just…my life.” I watch as he takes a deep breath. He’s aged ten years from this conversation alone.
“Did they catch the guy at least?”
I shake my head. “No. The cops said it might’ve been some type of gang initiation or something. But no one was ever arrested.”
“I’m sorry, Layla. God. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know what to say so I just shrug.
“But the seizures, is there nothing they can do? Medicine, or surgery, or something?”
“I’ve tried several medicines. Some worked okay but they made me feel dead inside, which for a while was a nice change. But Aunt Kate didn’t like the zombified version of me so I mostly just take a migraine medicine that doubles as a seizure suppressant. I’m usually okay unless I get anxious or a loud noise catches me off guard. I get regular EKGs to make sure my brain activity is normal and all that.”
“Thank you,” Landen says softly and I’m confused.
“Thank you for what?” For getting EKGs?
“For telling me. For trusting me.” His hand slides over my comforter and finds mine and I feel safe. For the first time in forever.
He has this look in his eye. For a second, I’m positive he’s going to kiss me. Then he leans in and places his lips to my forehead. Time stands still the moment his mouth touches me. I don’t even think my heart beats. That single point of contact changes something between us. When he pulls back I’m struggling to remind myself to breathe.
“It’s what’s friends do, right?” I force out a laugh to break the tension. But his darkening gaze presses deeply into mine.
“No idea. We’re a hell of a lot more than friends, Layla Flaherty.”
Her aunt is kind of hovery and overprotective, I’m learning. At first I thought it was because of her medical condition, but after a month of dating, I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s realized I’m a walking, talking erection.
They’re coming over for Thanksgiving, Layla and her helicopter aunt, and I’m stressed out for a couple of reasons. Layla knows my dad and I don’t get along. But she has no idea what an understatement that is. Here I am, always giving her shit about friends telling each other stuff, and I have one hell of a secret myself.
When the doorbell rings, my heart pounds, forcing blood to rush so hard through me I can hear it in my ears. Christ I need to relax.
I clench and unclench my hands a few times as I walk to the front door. Everything will be fine. Just keep your mouth shut and don’t provoke him.
Right. The Colonel’s been drinking and watching football all day. I could breathe wrong and provoke him. No idea why my mom thought this was a good idea.
When I open the door to see Layla on the other side of it she takes my breath away. You’d think I’d get used to that face. That smile. Those eyes that light up every time she sees me. You’d be wrong.
“Hey, babe.” I give her a hug and her aunt raises an eyebrow so I back off.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Layla says softly. “We brought pie.”
I grin and take the two pies they’re carrying as they follow me into the kitchen. My mom makes a big fuss over Layla’s dark red sweater dress type deal, and they talk about food while I set the table.
When my mom calls for my dad to join us, I drop the carving knife I’ve been holding. We’re just sitting down when he walks in. The air becomes thicker, and without thinking, I reach over and put my hand on Layla’s bare knee. Somehow this calms me. I glance over to see if it’s okay and she’s biting her lip. Damn, I want to bite that lip. Okay, maybe it doesn’t calm me exactly but it does distract me from the many ways in which the Colonel could ruin this dinner.
She puts her hand on top of mine and I nearly choke on my drink. I clear my throat before I speak. “Colonel, um, Dad, this is Layla Flaherty and her aunt, Katherine.”
“Kate,” Layla’s aunt corrects me. She reaches to shake his hand but he ignores her, taking a drink of the dark liquid in his glass and eying my girlfriend in a way that makes me want to tackle his old ass to the fucking ground. Kate’s eyes narrow and I see from the corner of my eye that she’s sizing him up. Probably figuring out all my secrets and plotting the easiest exit route for her and Layla.
“This the reason you missed those two field goals last week?” His voice is gruffer than usual, his words slow and falling over each other. Great. He’s drunk. Not that he’s full of sunshine when he’s sober, but drinking brings out a darkness in him that I don’t want close enough to cast a shadow anywhere near Layla.
“No, sir,” I answer evenly, hoping he’ll let it drop.
My mom, ever the peacekeeper, jumps up to fix his plate. “Sit. Relax,” she tells him. He does, but his eyes don’t leave the girl next to me. She’s rigid under my hand until I give her a little squeeze. A forced smile pulls at her lips and again, I want to kiss that mouth so badly. Want to lose myself in the taste of her. The feel of her.
“Maybe if you spent more time practicing and less time gawking at Blondie, you’d have made those. Field goals win games. Or lose them, in your case.”
I take my hand off Layla’s knee so I don’t crush it. “We were down by two touchdowns, sir. I don’t think two field goals would have made much difference.”
Layla’s focusing on her plate—not touching it, just staring at it. Probably wishing she could disappear. Suddenly, without any change in her demeanor, a hand lands on my thigh. Despite the tension in the room nearly choking us both to death, my dick twitches at her touch.
“You watch your mouth, you hear me? Two field goals can be everything. If you took football seriously, there’d be scouts coming to see you.” The Colonel goes on about monumental games where field goals made all the difference. He might even refer to me as soccer fag once or twice. But my sole focus is on the small warm hand on my inner thigh.
She’s rubbing in a slow circle, applying pressure now and again—probably when she thinks what the Colonel says is affecting me. My mom and Kate are trying to make small talk but even their words are barely registering.
“Are you even listening? Goddammit. Can’t even show some respect for five fucking minutes. How the hell are you going to make it at West Point?”
His fist hits the table and Layla flinches. Son of a bitch.
“Don’t do that,” I say evenly. Her hand leaves me and I’m untethered. No longer attached to Earth by anything that matters.
The Colonel’s red-rimmed eyes bulge. “What did you say to me?”
“Jack,” my mom breaks in. “Why don’t you go back down to the den and I’ll bring you some pie?”
He ignores her. As usual. “You were man enough to backtalk to me once. Do it again. What’d you say?”
Adrenaline has me breathing so hard I can see my own chest heaving. “I said, don’t fucking do that. Don’t hit things or slam things around Layla. She has a condition. Noises like that can—”
“It’s fine,” Layla says quietly from beside me. “I’m okay.” Her hand returns, and I re
alize there will be immediate consequences for my actions. It all makes sense. This is why my mom invited them. She thought he’d behave around company. But when the Colonel stands, I know she was wrong. And so does she.
So does Layla’s aunt apparently. “I think we’re going to clear out of here and let you all have some privacy.” She stands and jerks her head not-so-subtly towards the living room. We both look at Layla, waiting to see what she’ll decide. She’ll run straight out the door and never look back if she has any sense.
“That’s enough, you two,” my mom says in the sternest voice she’s capable of.
“Like hell it is. Just because he’s got his little piece of ass here, he thinks he can—”
“Excuse me?” Kate lurches at the same time I do.
“Apologize,” I command. This is it. It’s been coming forever. It’s almost a relief. Today’s the day I hit back. I just wish she didn’t have to be here to see it.
“I don’t know what she’s done to you or if she’s just convinced you that your dick is bigger than it actually is. But you’re on very thin ice.” He’s standing now, leaning towards me, staring me down, with both hands gripping the table. Probably so he doesn’t break my neck in front of so many witnesses. I’ve never understood why he hates me so much. I’ve just accepted that he does.
“We’re going, Layla. Now ,” Kate announces. She reaches for Layla and I have no idea what happens next. Everything goes bright white and blinding pain collides with my face.
It takes me a second to get my bearings. Motherfucker. He sucker-punched me when I looked away.
When I can see again, I see her. Tears filling her eyes as her aunt pulls her towards the door away.
“I’m sorry,” is all I can say, but the ringing in my ears keeps me from hearing my own words.
