55. It's a Thing

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Peyton dropped us off in front of Beaudry's

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Peyton dropped us off in front of Beaudry's. After we'd waved him off, I turned on my heel and walked away from Jake.

Fuck you Jake, fuck your Lottie, fuck your problems. I'm out.

I was gonna go to bed, have an epic meltdown, then hibernate until it all blew over. Evasion was just about all I had the energy for.

"Come home with me, Layla."

I whipped around, ready to give him a piece of my mind, dead daddy or no. But when I saw his face, I choked on my words. Had he looked sad or pitiful, I could've walked away.

It was him trying to look strong, that broke me.

Ugh, Layla you bleeding heart. You deserve everything that's coming to you.

Hating myself, I followed him.


I didn't plan on going into his bedroom. I thought I'd sit with him and watch TV or something just so that he wouldn't have to be alone.

But when we walked into the house, I couldn't bear to sit on the couch where I'd last seen Earl alive.

The rest of the house wasn't any better, the ghost of Earl Waites still roamed those halls, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, taking long pisses in the bathroom, his whiskey soaked breath still lingering in the stagnant air.

I couldn't understand how Jake could stand to live here any longer. The Harris' had offered to let him stay on our couch for the time being, but he'd declined. (Thank God, considering) He also could've moved into the barracks where Beaudry housed single and seasonal workers. But he didn't.

Why? Who knew? Remember, as far as I was concerned, that kind of stuff was classified information.

So we went into his room. And once we got there, I ended up having sex with him.

That time, it was a pityfuck.

And I faked it.

So there.

Without love, even if it was just the illusion of it, sex was no good. In fact, it was terrible. For me, anyway. I felt gross and dirty, like I needed to bathe in a tub full of bleach.

There and then, I promised myself that I would never, ever have sex without love again for as long as I lived.

Why was he pounding away at me like it was going out of style anyway? He seemed uncharacteristically frustrated, maybe Charlotte had turned him down?

Whatever. Knock yourself out Jake, because this is the last time we're ever doing this.

As per usual, as soon as we were done, he rolled off of me and started getting dressed.

I couldn't believe I didn't see this for what it was before. We were Friends that Fucked! Not even that, I was his Booty Call.

You idiot. How much more naive can you get?

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