The Contradiction of Solitude(59)

And I listened.



I woke up the next morning to silence. And light.

I sat up in bed; the blanket fell to my lap. I ran my hands over my face trying to remember last night.

Every morning was the same. Trying to recall the events from the night before. And I never could. They were slipping away. Between fingers. Before I could catch them.

What was happening to me?

“You’re awake.” Layna walked in and sat down on the edge of the mattress. She was lovely to look at. I think back to the first time that I saw her. All dark hair and coal black eyes. Reading her book and eating seasoned fries.

How could I have ever known that I would love my nightmare?

“I’m awake.” I looked around, not sure what I was looking for. If I was looking for anything.

“Are you going to work?” Layna asked. My head felt fuzzy and my mouth was dry. I took the cup of coffee Layna held out and drank a mouthful.

“Work?”

Layna widened her eyes. Fathomless holes revealing nothing.

Nothing.

“That place that pays you,” she clarified. Her brows knitting together.

Work.

When was the last time I had gone?

I had been wrapped up in a dead sister and a dead past. I had forgotten…

“You don’t have to go if you’re not up to it. You look like you could sleep some more,” she observed, watching me as I drank my coffee.

I couldn’t think much about going anywhere. I was trapped. Here in my house.

With her.

With her.

“Why are you here?” I asked. I couldn’t remember when she had come. Was it last night?

Why couldn’t I remember last night?

What was wrong with me?

“I called you. You said I could come over.” Layna frowned again. She was upset. Why was she upset?

With me?

“Did my phone ring last night? While you were here?” I asked. No texts. No missed calls.

Where had she gone?

Layna shook her head. “No.”

No.

I stood up and found a pair of jeans and a shirt from the pile on the floor.

“Where are you going?” Layna asked.

“To work,” I told her.

I had to get out of there.

Away from Layna and her coal black eyes that confused me. That consumed me.

I wanted to wrap my arms around her and fall. And fall.

And fall apart.

But I needed to go.

Because the call didn’t come last night. And that destroyed me.

“Why don’t you get a shower?” Layna suggested. I nodded. She was right. I smelled. When was the last time I had been clean?

Sixteen years ago.

“I can help you,” Layna offered. She took me to the bathroom and ran the water. She washed me like I was a child.

She cleaned my skin but not my mind. My memories were intact. There was no cleaning them.

I shivered under her touch. I wanted more. So much more.

There was never enough of Layna.

She let me take her clothes off. She let me fill her body. She let me kiss the pain. A-Way.

I moaned. She sighed. I cried. She laughed.

I loved her.

I loved her.

What was wrong with me?



“Elian, we need to talk,” George said as I walked into the studio. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been there.

Where had I been?

Margie wasn’t there. A different girl was behind the counter. I didn’t recognize her. She didn’t acknowledge me when I came in.

“I can’t right now, George. I have things to do.” I walked into the studio. Stan and Tate looked up but neither greeted me.

I didn’t care.

George followed me. Frowning. Irritated.

“Hang on a sec, Elian. You haven’t been here in over a week. No call. No show. And you just waltz back in like you still have a job!” George sputtered.

Over a week?

Where had I been?

With Amelia.

With Layna.

“Are you on drugs? Because if that’s what’s going on, I’ll find someone to help you.”

Tate and Stan pretended like they weren’t listening. But I knew they were. Assholes.

“I’m not on drugs.” I sounded dead. Unbothered.

I sat down at my bench and picked up a piece of steel wool.

What was I supposed to do with this?

I held it for a few seconds and then dropped it on the worktop. I rested my hands on the smooth piece of wood that lay there, untouched in weeks.

What was it supposed to be?

I couldn’t see the picture that had, at one time, been so clear in my head.

George pulled up a chair and sat down beside me. I barely noticed him. He didn’t matter.

I ran fingers along tools, trying to think of what to do with them.

Sand and stain. Cut and saw.

“If drugs aren’t the issue, then please tell me what’s going on. You’ve been working here for three years. Three years, Elian. That’s a long time. And I’ve never seen you act like this. The guys tell me you’re with some chick. If she’s got you tied up in something—”

“Enough, George,” I threatened low. I threatened loud.

He blinked at me in surprise.

He didn’t know me.