Set Me Free// L. Staley

18. Sparks

Rowan was completely and utterly exhausted by the tiring day; her emotional battery drained. 

She didn't usually talk about her feeling about Emerson to anyone, not even her sister. However, Rowan couldn't keep her emotions at bay. It took everything in her to stop her from having a breakdown any second.

The lingering pain of the day prevailed as she woke up on the beach once more, the bright sunshine greeting her once more. She didn't know if she would keep herself together when talking to Layne, and she didn't want to blow up on him.

The thought of Layne made her soften just the slightest bit. Though he didn't reassure her in any way, a pang of sympathy hit her when she realized his existential outcome.

Both Layne and Emerson died of an overdose, which made Rowan want to break down even more. She knew Layne wasn't like Emerson, but she saw qualities of him through Layne. In a way, it was as if she could receive reassurance from Layne, but she knew how awful that sounded.

Emerson was a whole other, separate identity, correlated to Layne, who was also his own person. To compare the two was unfair since they were two different individuals entirely. But she couldn't shake the thought that they were two very similar people.

Rowan considered staying on the beach, waiting for the wave of sadness to dissipate, but the pain lingered, and she realized she had to go in. She didn't want to leave Layne alone. Not only did Rowan rely on Layne, but he also relied on her. The pair knew that they both mutually needed each other.

She approached the door she had grown so familiar with, looking at in adoration. The door, a symbol of which reminded her of Layne, consoled her nerves. She knew that by stepping through that door, she was free to be herself, free to open up to someone that appreciated her for the way she was. 

She had never felt so comfortable with a person in her life.

Rowan twisted the golden knob of the door, entering the room as she usually did. She smiled when she saw Layne almost immediately, tucked away at the end of the bed, strumming at his guitar absent-mindedly.

Not as much as a surprising occurrence anymore, Layne's sweater remained discarded from his torso, the beige material strewn in the corner of the room. His dreads fell loosely around his shoulders as he nodded his head, a content relaxation on his face. He sat criss-cross, the guitar placed firmly in his lap as he continued to play the instrument.

Layne looked up at her as soon as he saw her walking towards him and smiled almost immediately.

"Rowan!" he exclaimed. "Welcome to my crib. Mi casa es tu casa."

Layne's greeting brought a small smile onto her somewhat depressed features. If anyone could cheer her up, it was Layne.

"Hey," Rowan replied, taking a seat on the bed next to him. "You know Spanish?"

"A little," Layne replied with a shrug as he stopped strumming the guitar. "Yo soy tu perra."

Rowan narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I don't know what that means, but I'm assuming it isn't good."

"It's however you take it, sweetheart," he replied, winking as he nudged her shoulder.

"Right..." Rowan replied, nervously giggling as she pointed at his guitar. "Anyway, what were you playing?"

Layne shrugged, looking at the guitar plainly. "Not sure; just fucking around."

"It sounded good," Rowan pointed out, looking up at Layne appreciatively. "It'd make a good song."

He shrugged once more, holding the guitar as he stared at it with a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. 

"Well, there's not much of a point to write songs, is there?" he replied, chuckling sarcastically. "I've got no one to write them for; no audience..."