Layla's Story- Chapter One

She’s the type of girl who’ll always have the innocence and naiveté of a toddler; trusting anyone and everyone she comes in contact with. She sees the decency in everyone; whether it’s real or imagined. No matter how many times she was taken advantage of because of her trust, or manipulated and abused because of her innocence, she still continued to believe that everyone was as ethical and angelic as she was; it’s not that she’s stupid, she was actually very intelligent, much smarter than the average 15 year old, from spending so much time sitting in her room at night, examining the world and herself, trying to answer life’s difficult questions, she was just a bit too trusting.

         She was absolutely beautiful. But the type of beauty that was very uncommon- natural. Her waist long, wavy, auburn hair coexisted perfectly with her pale, pale skin. She had a fast metabolism that made her very thin and fragile looking, like a glass vase. You were almost afraid to touch her, it seemed like she could just fall apart in your hands.

Her eyes were her best feature, doe-like, childish and wholesome. One look and you’d do anything she requested. The thing is, is that she didn’t even realize it. She simply didn’t look in the mirror long enough to notice. She could be a master at manipulation but she was far too nice for that.

         She didn’t have friends at school, or friends at all really. Living in a small, Christian town in Iowa, not only were her exotic looks shocking, but also her ideals. She wasn’t a Christian, she thought believe in one all-powerful entity was strange, like a dictatorship. She was an animist, believing everyone and everything had it’s own spirit, so she needed to treat everything with respect. These beliefs did not fare well with her peers, who often called her the “Satanist” or “Stupid Atheist Girl”. Besides she didn’t have time for friends, she was much too busy.

She adored her family, which was only her father, since her mother died when she was four. He was her entire life, she denied every party invitation and after school activity to help him out. She did everything for him, the weekly grocery shopping and a part time job at the local Winn-Dixie to contribute to the electricity and water bills. Her father was her idol; she loved him more than life itself.
Did I mention he’s an unemployed, physically abusive drunk?


*          *          *


         Her name is Layla and her story begins on a seemingly average day at school but what made this day different was that she met Zach. Zach was the type of guy who could get any girl he pleased, the classic “skater dude” with his olive skin, bright green almond shaped eyes and curly blonde hair, but what made him really irresistible was his, practically patented, half-grin. Layla didn’t pay much attention to Zach, knowing that she probably wouldn’t ever get the chance to even talk to him, so she basically ignored him.
         But Zach noticed Layla. A lot.

         They had World History together for 2nd period and had to choose partners for the end-of-term project. Layla was planning on just working alone again when Zach popped up in the desk in front of her. He turned a full 180 to face her.
         “Hi,” he said with his boyish grin.
         “Oh, hello” Layla said, surprised someone was talking to her and actually being friendly.
         “So, do you want to be partners for this thing? And what’s your name, by the way?” Zach definitely knew her name, everyone did. Layla was the outcast of the school but Zach wanted to play it cool.
         “Oh, sure. And it’s Layla”
         “Hmmm, Layla… what a beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” Layla blushed and looked away, not used to being complimented on her looks, or complimented at all really. Then they started to work on their assignment.

         “So… are you really a Satanist?” Zach asked after a while, he was trying to sound casual, but you could tell it was really bothering him.
         “No,” she said, thoughtfully “I don’t worship the devil, I just don’t worship God. But I’m not an atheist. I believe everything is important and deserves our respect. I live my life trying to be a good person.”
         “Oh, good!” Zach sounded relieved “I’m glad you’re not some kind of Satan-praising, ritual-reciting freak!” He smiled, trying to impress her.
         “Even though I’m not a Satanist, I think we should respect their religious beliefs also.” She said simply and with that the bell rang, ending their conversation. “Do you want to come over tonight to work on this?” she asked and gave him her address.



*          *          *


         “Hi, daddy! I’m home! I got you something!” Layla yelled down the hall of her darkly lit house. Suddenly, in the darkness she felt a hand throw her to the ground.
         “How dare you be so fucking loud? Can’t you see how hungover I am?” Layla’s father slurred as he swatted her back with a metal broomstick.
         “Daddy! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She cried over and over again as she fell to the floor. After a few minutes, he finally let up. She winced at the stinging sensation that the broom left over. Her father hugged her and wiped away Layla’s tears; the tears that HE caused.
         “I’m sorry, sweetie,” he coaxed “You just need to learn to not be so loud,” and with that he walked over to the couch and passed out. Layla slowly picked herself off the floor, threw away the card she got her father and slowly tiptoed to her room where she started sobbing into her pillow.

         After awhile, she heard the doorbell ring, she checked the time. It was time for Zach to come over, she completely forgot. Layla rolled out of bed and slowly stumbled to the door, trying to wipe her face and calm her hair at the same time, she was able to get herself to quit crying for a few minutes.

         “Hi,” she said as she opened the door for Zach. He gasped.
         “Oh, my, GOD. Layla! What happened, are you alright?” instead of answering, she took his hand and led him outside so her father wouldn’t hear. On the front porch steps, Zach tried again. “Layla, what happened?” he asked, genuinely concerned. Layla couldn’t hold it together anymore, she collapsed into Zach’s chest and completely let loose. Zach was surprised and confused and did his best to comfort her, slowing patting her hair, whispering in her ear and Layla couldn’t help but notice how good he smelt.

         “It’s all my fault,” Layla whispered, suddenly sitting up.
         “What is?” Zach, whispered back as he reached over to grab Layla’s hand.
         “I came in too loud, I should’ve known my dad was hungover. I deserved this.”
         “Deserved WHAT?” Zach asked, extremely worried at this point. Layla didn’t answer but lifted up the back of her shirt to show Zach the bruises that the broom left. He gasped again and grabbed her into a hug, being careful of both her back and natural fragility. He let Layla cry for about 10 minutes until he heard someone stir inside the house.

         “whooooo the fuccck is outsiddddde???” Layla and Zach heard Layla’s father slur and crashing sounds inside the house. Zach looked at Layla and saw her doe-like eyes grow even wider. Without thinking, he got up, grabbed her hand and pulled her into his truck.


*          *          *


         Zach’s house was a quaint, one story cottage and his mom was the classic housewife: plump, rosy cheeks, curlers in hair, pastel apron, the whole she-bang. She was absolutely adorable and offered Layla fresh-baked cookies as soon as she stepped into the house, which Layla hesitantly took.
         “Hey, sweetie! I’m Zach’s mom, make yourself at home!” She could obviously see how upset Layla was but was nice enough not to comment. Zach said hi to his mom, took an icepack and ushered Layla into his room.

         Zach’s room looked exactly like him, simple and masculine. He had skating posters up all around his wall, some dirty clothes and underwear on the floor. His bedspread was a plain indigo blue.

         “Lay down on your stomach,” he said gently as he gestured to his bed and Layla obliged. He put the icepack on her back. The cold stung and numbed her pain all at once. She took a shuddering breath, both from the pain and trying to stop herself from crying. Both Layla and Zach were quiet for a few minutes before Zach whispered something Layla couldn’t hear.
         “What?” she asked
         “It wasn’t your fault. Your dad’s a psycho.”
         “No he’s not! He’s a good person! I just deserved it this time.” Layla snapped at him.
         “Good people don’t hit their children.” Layla started crying again, defeated. She knew Zach was right deep down but this was her FATHER. Her father HAD to be good, this was the man that taught her how to ride a bike, the man she’s called daddy for 15 years. Maybe he was just misunderstood.
Zach just held her as she cried.