Hurt People Hurt People

Chapter One:

My very name means 'dark one' - Layla. The childish part of me thinks that it's why it all happened, that darkness had to have come upon me at one point or the other. Then again, it's the same part of me that holds a pink turtle teddy to bed each night, that can't read scary stories in the dark, that has to sleep with a small light on to keep the monsters and the memories at bay.

I've never liked nighttime, not since I was a baby and was unaware of things such as ghosts and witches and horrible creatures lurking in the cupboard. Now, at sixteen years old, I still lie in bed stiff with terror, battling away the old thoughts and horrors of the past, shame that should have been long buried curdling in my stomach. I know little of it was my fault, I always have, but I can never shake the self blame I wear like a necklace; In my darkest moments, I fear I'll never take it off.

The past follows me like a shadow, even when the sun has already set.

I fear the future most of the time, and when I don't it's only because I'm preoccupied with family and small, insignificant things like lining up the elephant statues on the shelf in order of size, or categorising my books alphabetically. I'm grateful for the simple distractions, but the moment it's finished I'm back to where I was once more, trying not to bite my thumbnail agitatedly and watching fixedly out my window - just in case.

And then evening comes again, and I stare at my ceiling for hours and hours without even attempting sleep, simply letting the worst moments replay over and over, letting my chest constrict with sadness, letting the tears roll silently out of the corner of my eyes. It is easier to be consumed by the past when you are alone and scared at one in the morning. That's the time when days long gone dance in front of your eyes, and you relive them, same as you have every night for so long now. And every single time, you come back to the place, the day it all started. . .