Layla
Layla loved living with Celia; she loved that her family called every family night, and she loved that they talked fondly about their childhood memories. She loved how her whole family acted personally offended when she and Celia went to the salon. She touched up her red roots and her friend got a haircut.
“You have beautiful black hair. Why would you want red? And you, Celia, why would you cut it like this when it was so long?” her mother said. Layla could see heads bobbing in agreement in the back.
She liked how close she felt to Celia. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Celia snuck into her room, and they spent hours talking under the covers. Sometimes she could tell her friend was not feeling well because of how she took her hand and held it tight.
“Do you think it’s best if I stay away from her?” she asked one night.
The ‘her’ in question was one of the hardest people to read. Everything she did felt practiced; she was almost always expressionless, and when she wasn’t, it felt like a mask.
“You’re one of the few people who know what she’s actually like. I think you should give it some time, see how it turns out.”
One night, Layla heard movement in the living room. She got up and found Celia rushing out.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, slightly panicking. Celia was hurriedly looking for her other shoe, still in her PJ’s, and her hair was a mess. “Is your mom okay? And Matty?”
“Yes, sorry! They’re fine. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s Onika, she and her boyfriend broke up. They were out when they started fighting and someone took a video of them and posted it online, so Jess and Matty are on their way and we’re gonna go make sure she’s fine.”
“Oh.” Onika was close to Mateo. Layla was a big fun of hers; she was an amazing model. She also knew Onika had never been single; even so, the most famous bachelors are always looking for a drop of her attention. They were always attending her shows and talking about their crush in interviews. “Let me know if you need anything.”
A couple of hours later, the sound of the doorbell woke her. She looked through the window first because Celia texted her that she was sleeping at Onika’s. She found Jess standing awkwardly in front of her door.
“I had an invitation to deliver,” he signed when she opened the door. His moves were slow and his pupils were dilated; the smell of alcohol hit her and she frowned. Jess wasn’t the biggest fan of alcohol.
“What invitation?” she asked as he pushed his way in and held up his phone.
Layla to the audience: The invitation is digital.
“To the charity event. It’s hosted by my mom and you can give her the painting at the end.”
“Why are you drunk? Don’t you have practice tomorrow?”
“Because I’m upset.” He looked confused that she was asking. She thought about the rumors about him and Onika. Was that why he was so upset? He got drunk after leaving her place?
He walked slowly to the sofa, pausing every few seconds to see if she would help him.
She didn’t. He threw himself on the new sofa and it squeaked under his weight.
“Why won’t you touch me?” he signed, not looking at her. He stared at the big window and it felt like she was not the one he wanted to talk to.
“We touch sometimes,” she still answered. She wanted to so badly to be the person he craved to touch.
“Not on purpose.”
Maybe the rumors were true—he was drunk and upset right after seeing Onika heartbroken over another man. Maybe she imagined their connection, glorified it and made it into something it was not because she’d been so deprived of romantic connections.
She had let the loneliness fester inside her. It was so vast and so ugly, and there was barely any piece of her that wasn’t entangled with it.
She sat down a few inches close to him on the sofa. His eyes were closed. She let her hand hover near his. He was so beautiful, it was unfair.
She stayed with him until his breath evened. When it did, she closed her bedroom door and stayed awake all night.
