Layla
Samira won some contest at school. She always said she wanted to be a woman in STEM. When she called Layla, she asked her to come to dinner; she said she wanted them to pick her up from school to go have dinner at a nice restaurant like a family.
Layla couldn’t say no to her. It was a simple request, dinner with her family, but it meant she had to see her mother soon.
Layla to the audience: I decide that the most reasonable thing to do was push it to the back of my head and not to think about it at all.
She spent the whole day drawing sketches and portraits of Jess. She specifically drew him multiple times in his pink suit from the charity gala. When she realized it, she sketched a couple of other people to act like what she had just spent the last couple of hours doing was completely normal.
Layla to the audience: don’t look at me like that. It is normal. I’m an artist.
Celia attempted to open the locked door; Layla jumped. She was not letting anyone in, so she spoke through the door.
“Do you have someone in there?” Celia teased.
“No, why?”
“You haven’t left the room all day.”
“I’m working on commissions.” Celia left but, an hour later, she knocked again. Layla opened it, ready to tell her to leave her alone when she came face to face with her muse, Jess.
“Are you feeling okay?” he signed, pushing his way in. Layla pushed him out.
“Wait, wait.” She closed the door forcefully and ran around the room to hide all the art she’d made of him, shoving them all into a folder.
She only kept the drawings of the other people. Jess was confused when she opened the door, but his eyes held delight when they land on one of the sketches of Kione from that night.
“Oh, look how pretty!” She fully expected him to pick up Celia or Onika’s portraits since they were the ones she put a lot of effort into but, he kept admiring the paper with his best friend’s face. Layla rolled her eyes.
She took the chance to stare at his lips. She tightened her hold on the brush in her hands; she had just been painting those lips. She wanted to be brave enough to kiss him or just to reach and touch.
Jess noticed her staring at his lips and inhaled sharply. He took a step closer, followed by another, until there was barely any room between them. His hands were clenched. She wanted to thank him for being so careful, so considerate of all the silly little things she made him do. For the longest time, she only knew what it was like to be touched when the intention was to harm and humiliate. She was still coming to terms with the fact that anyone would ever want to touch her because they wanted to show love, not resentment and anger.
She put her hands on his chest. His shirt was soft and she could feel his heart beating so fast.
“So what about me?”
“What about you?”
“I don’t get a painting?”
“I don’t have the color palette for your complexion,” she said. It’s not really a lie. Layla had run out of the colors she would need to paint him because she’d been using them all day.
“How convenient,” he replied. She was wearing a long sleeve crop top. He carefully placed his hands on her wrist to make sure her hands stayed on his chest. His eyes scanned her face, searching.
“This is okay,” she whispered. He nodded; his pupils were dilated.
They stayed like that for a few seconds before she stepped back. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she headed over to the desk chair. Jess started telling her about all these cool scenes he had planned. He explained the plot and the world building. Layla had her iPad out and she was sketching as he spoke.
After that, he opened his laptop and went into full writing mode on her bed; she made a note to sketch him in that exact position later.
She ended up drawing two black and white scenes from his book; they weren’t too detailed, but she liked them. She noted that time seemed to run away from her when she was with him.
“What were you sketching?” he asked her.
She should have lied. She was a great liar most of the time, but a very ill-timed blush crept up on her.
“It’s nothing.”
“Liar. Let me see.”
“No.”
“Please? I’ll be good to you and I’ll shower you with compliments.”
She handed him the iPad. Well, it was more like she slapped it on his chest, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“It’s just a simple sketch, but I liked how you described the scene.” He was so quiet, just staring at the screen. Layla was confident in her work, but she didn’t want him to hate it. Maybe it was out of line that she just started sketching his unfinished project without asking first. “It’s just how I pictured what you described, so obviously it’s not perfect or anything. I should have asked first.”
“Silly girl.” He pulled her closer, looking down at her in a very fond way. She loved that look more than anything. It felt like it was designed for her. He ran his fingers through the strands of her hair, then took a step forward and she stepped back until she was cornered against the wall. Jess placed his hands on the wall.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do always try to corner me?”
“I don’t know. It feels like you’re always running and I need to do something about it.” She chuckled, then tried to lightly push him away. He gently grabbed her hand and she tried to use the other one, but he grabbed it and pinned them both above her head using just one hand.
“I do not. Stop cornering me,” she told him. She wanted to attempt to tickle him but he had her pinned with an amused look in his eyes.
“It just happens, okay?” he signed with one hand.
“Like when you pulled my hair?”
He blushes then nodded. “Can I put them in my book?”
“No.” Yes.
“Why not?”
“You’re not even finished with the first draft yet. What if you change the scenes of something?”
“I’ll hire you to remake them.”
“I am not taking money from you.”
“Yes, you are. You’re literally the best artist I know.”
“I’m also the only artist you know. I am not taking money from you. It sounds so weird. What’s wrong with you?”
“Just shut up and take my money.”
“Reyes, no.”
“I’m a client. Why are you discriminating against me?”
“Just because.”
“If you don’t take my money, I swear to god, I’m going to kiss you.”
“Why?” she asked him.
“Why?”
“Yes, why?” Why do you want to kiss me, she wanted to say.
“Because I’ve been imagining it for a while and I want to know what it’s really like.”
“I haven’t been kissed in a while,” she blurted.
“Ok. Can I touch your cheeks?”
“Yes. I’m nervous,” she said.
“I like that.”
“You like that I’m nervous?”
“I like that I make you nervous. It means my plan to charm you is working.” he smiled. She hated his perfect smile.
“I may have lost my kissing skills.”
“I’ll have to test them for you” he carefully cupped her cheeks. Her eyes were wide open. Jess was staring at her. There was a soft flush to his cheeks. His chest heaved as his breathing matched hers, leaving him in quick, short pants. His thumb swept across her bottom lip as he searched her face, her eyes. “Pretty, pretty eyes,” he murmured.
“Thanks, yours are alright,” she said, breathing too fast.
He started by placing soft, small kisses on her jaw. The feel of his lips on her skin was something she’d never stop thinking about. She would try later to paint something that felt similar to how she felt as his forehead rests on hers, as their heartbeats matched each other’s. He placed a quick kiss on her mouth; she made an annoyed noise, and he chuckled as he brought his mouth forward for a proper kiss.
The second time, he kissed like he wanted to bruise her lips. He kissed her with rough affection, her lips swelling beneath his. He tugged her hair to expose her neck; he sucked on her neck and she pulled his hair to get him to come back to kiss her because she wasn’t finished.
Their kisses were desperate. Something about them would always be desperate. There was no escaping it, no denying it.
“Jess.” A whimper crawled up her throat when his tongue swept into her mouth. She didn’t realize how tight she’d twisted her fingers in Jess’s fluffy hair until he bit her lower lip in warning and groaned.
“Jess,” she whispered again.
“I know, I know,” he signed. They were grinding against each other. She had no intention of stopping, but he had gripped her waist to stop her. He picked her up to place her on the desk. When she placed her hands on his cheeks, he took her finger into his mouth. His eyes were still on hers. Her lips parted, breath caught in her throat as he playfully sucked her fingers. He seemed to be willing to put his mouth anywhere she asked him to, like he was just waiting for the chance to. She pulled away to press her face into his neck. The intimacy of the kiss was stealing away all of her senses.
She pulled back, which made him step away. They were both breathing heavily; she wanted to let this go further, but she felt so disoriented and out of control. Layla thought it was just a crush, but evidently, it was bigger than that. The kiss confirmed it; it was a feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced.
“I should go,” he told her.
“Okay.”
“Training camp starts soon. It’s usually a very busy time. I won’t have a lot of free time, but I just wanted to ask if we could write more letters? I think it’ll relax me.”
“How long until the camp ends?”
“About three weeks.”
“I’ll write every day.”
When he left, she paced in her room. Salem came in and she picked him up. He was used to being picked up whenever she needed emotional support.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you getting pets from him. You looked like you enjoyed it,” she told the cat, and he blinked. “Do you think I shouldn’t have stopped it?”
Growing up in a house with no love shaped her in a way that was so hard to describe. It felt like there was a wall between her and the people who had been loved before. They experienced closeness and intimacy in a way she could never understand.
To Layla, love felt overwhelming, disorienting, and maybe even unbearable. Who could ever look at me and feel like the sun shined more brightly when I smiled? Who could ever feel a healthy love towards me if my own parents couldn’t stand the sight of me? she asked herself.
She feared the touch of someone’s hand almost as much as she craved it. She had allowed this loneliness to fester inside her; it was so big and so ugly, there was barely any piece of her that wasn’t entangled in it. There’s barely any piece of her that wasn’t so starved.
It was so hard to connect her thoughts and what she had been told her whole life to the image of a very kind, considerate Jess.
She didn’t want to fight it, but there were things he didn’t know about her and, she couldn’t help but think, would he still be interested if he knew just how weak she was?
