It's a stare I have become accustomed to: curious, sympathetic, cautious.
A stare that I have received plenty of times today because of the blooming bruises on my wrist that are clearly shaped like fingers and show up every time my sleeve rises.
I'm sure the fading yellow on my jaw also isn't hard to miss and I know this particular waitress has noticed that I am forced to eat with my left hand because my right hand is bandaged due to a very painful burn on my palm.
My palm that had recently become an ashtray for His cigarettes.
But, I silently plead the waitress not to ask any questions and not to stare too much because He has finally taken me out of the apartment for the first time in weeks and if He notices her suspicion He will somehow blame it on me and lock me inside for good.
"You want desert, babe?"
His gravelly voice pulls my attention away from the older waitress and I offer Him a sweet smile to which He returns.
"No, thank you," manners are essential and must always be used around Him, "I think I'll use the restroom before we leave."
I don't miss Him tensing at my words and I try to make my smile as reassuring as possible, both for Him and for the waitress. His smile grows tight and my bladder is about to burst, so I lean forward and peck His lips quickly in hopes it eases the tension.
He barely has time to tangle His fingers into my long locks before I am pulling away. Finally, He nods in assent -pleased with my affection- and I scramble out of the booth and towards the back, barely noticing that the waitress had left sometime during our lip lock.
However, it's not long after I finish my business that I know her real reason for disappearing.
"Do you need help?"
I almost jump out of my skin when I exit the stall and find the waitress waiting next to the sinks for me. Her voice is hushed, her eyes wide in sympathy, and I know that she is only trying to help, but I begin to panic slightly as she continues speaking.
"I don't want to assume anything, but your bruises... the bandage... is that man out there... does he hurt you?"
I nearly choke as her words settle and I violently shake my head in denial, backing up into the wall and away from her. She approaches me like someone approaching a person with a gun and she even raises her palms up as if in surrender.
"It's okay, sweetie. We can get you help -we can put Him away," I instantly whimper at the words because why on earth would I want Him put away? He's all I have, "You just need to tell me the truth."
Right when I am about to open my mouth to deny all accusations, the door slams open to reveal the man in question -absolutely raging.
As soon as He takes in the scene -me cornered into the wall in panic and the woman trying to coerce me- His fists clench and He is storming towards us.
"You need to get away from her." He demands angrily, reaching out to grab ahold of my arm, but the woman steps into His path.
"No, I think you need to get away from her."
And all I can do is watch the two have a stand-off and try to calm my breathing and stop my hands from trembling -a habit that has only grown worse with time.
Suddenly, they are both turned to face me, their eyes pleading to choose them, but there isn't even a choice.
Ignoring the disappointment in the woman's eyes, I walk around her and into His arms. His fingers wrap around my injured wrist tightly and on purpose and I try hard not to wince as He begins to pull me away.
I glance over my shoulder to see her eyes full of sorrow and disappointment right before the door swings shut. His grip grows tighter as we leave her behind and I know I will be punished when we get home.
And as I hear the waitress call out a name that wasn't mine yet -a name I wasn't even aware existed- I begin to think that maybe I deserved a punishment.
"Layla!"
"Layla!"
"Layla!"
I'm shook awake by someone jostling my shoulder and almost knock my head into them when I jolt up in bed. And suddenly, the waitress' voice transforms into a much slower English drawl.
"Layla," My brain finally begins to function once I see Harry looming over my bed and I nearly kick him in the face when I crawl to the other side of the bed, "Are you alright? You were having a bad dream."
My heart starts to race for another reason as the dream fades away, because what the hell is Harry doing in my house and how did he get in?
"How are you...? What are you...?"
I can't even form a proper sentence because even though I know Harry won't hurt me, I'm feeling extremely vulnerable because of the nightmare and the fact that my brain is foggy and I can hardly remember anything in my current state.
Harry runs a hand through his hair in exasperation before taking a seat on the edge of my mattress. He looks a bit bothered and I have no doubt that it's because he just witnessed one of my infamous nightmares.
Something I will have to deal with much later.
"You got pretty wasted last night and ended up hurting yourself, so I took you home," In the dim morning light seeping through my curtains, I see Harry's cheeks heat as he looks away shyly, "I didn't want to leave you alone just in case you got sick or woke up or something, so I slept on the couch."
As soon as the words leave his lips I'm instantly hit by a wave of nausea just by the memory of drinking and scramble out of the bed towards my bathroom. I barely hear feet shuffling behind me before I am leaning over a toilet bowl and pouring all of last night's fun out.
Two gentle hands gather my short hair and hold it back, causing me to flinch slightly before continuing to purge. However, as soon as my stomach is emptied, I am hit by another problem.
I fall backward onto my bum, leaning against the bathtub, and clutching my throbbing knee in my hand, "Ow, ow, ow! What the hell happened?"
Harry takes one look at the large and grotesque blooming bruise on my knee before his lips set into a concerned frown and he turns to pile toothpaste on my toothbrush by the sink.
"I told you you hurt yourself," I gratefully accept the toothbrush from him and ignore the pain from my knee as Harry takes a seat behind me and faces me with a worried expression, "Why did you drink that much?... You don't - You don't drink..."
But, he's wrong.
I might not drink anymore, but liquor was the only solace in my life that could numb my pain and help me forget. I had promised myself when I left Him that I would never turn to the same substance that brought out the monster in Him.
But, I was weak.
"I don't know." I sigh, spitting the toothpaste into the toilet and leaning back into the tub as the room is filled with silence.
I can't explain it and it terrifies me slightly, but I'm relaxed. For the first time in a very long time, being this close to someone doesn't make me nervous. Even the fact that Harry spent the night in my apartment last night without my knowledge only brings a very dull anxiety to my nerves.
I'm still angry and hurt and even sad about last night and my hands may still be shaking, but sitting here, on my cold bathroom tile, with a throbbing knee, and regrets swimming in the space between us, I have never felt more comfortable.
"Are you mad at me?" I loll my head against the side of the tub to face Harry, who is already patiently awaiting my answer.
"No... Yes... I don't know. Do I even have the right to be mad? I never asked, so you never had to tell me."
He doesn't reply. He just watches my face, emerald eyes tracing every inch, searching for something, but I turn away before he can find anything.
"I mean, I guess I'm just... hurt," I sigh and although I shouldn't say anything, the words slip out without my permission, "I don't understand why you wouldn't even bring her up? Were you keeping her from me on purpose? She's obviously a big part of your life and she was never even mentioned. I thought... I don't know... I thought we were becoming friends."
I cringe as I say the words, completely throwing the whole keeping-everyone-at-an-arm's-length thing out the window. But, I wanted answers -the appearance of Jaime had affected me more than I thought possible and I don't quite understand why.
Harry sits up and begins to reach out for me before withdrawing his hand and sighing, "I'm so sorry, Layla. I never meant to make you feel bad or like I was keeping something from you on purpose. I just... It never came up and I didn't think it was that big of a deal... But, I see now that it is and I really am sorry."
I let the words settle deep into my bones, as if that will ease the ache I felt last night. But, it doesn't. The ache is still there -settled into my heart and refusing to leave even though I'm not sure why it's even there.
We may have been on the road to friendship before and this may put a bump in the road, but I can't be a hypocrite.
Harry knows next to nothing about me and I plan to keep it that way.
"You don't owe me anything, Harry. It's not like I'm spilling about my life: my first bad haircut, or my first kiss, or my credit card number," He breathes a chuckle at this before leaning back against the tub once again, "Don't ask, don't tell."
"Maybe I don't owe you anything, but I'm still sorry."
"Well, you're forgiven." I smile, swiveling my head to face him once again and almost freezing once I realize how close our faces are from each other.
His eyes dart from my own to my lips twice before he shakes his head and cringes as if remembering something, "Am I still forgiven if I promised Jaime we would get together?"
"You what?"
"Well, technically you promised her last night and I just reaffirmed that promise."
He raises his hands up in surrender playfully and shoots me a guilty grin that literally has my heart melting and I have to wonder what the hell I did to deserve this goofball coming in and ruining my life.
"Oh my god, fine. Who can say no to that disgusting puppy-dog face?"
Harry instantly beams, though I can tell the prospect of having me in the same room as his girlfriend makes him slightly nervous. And from what I remember about last night and what I said to her, I don't necessarily blame him.
I was savage.
"I promise it'll be fun. I have a lot to make up to you, Red."
The nickname has me doing a double-take in confusion, but the fond smile on his lips and soft look in his eyes suddenly drudge up a very faint and sleepy memory of me inventing a new nickname for him, and him doing the same for me.
The memory and endearment make a matching grin slide up my lips and I unconsciously move closer to Harry.
"You owe me big time, Curly."
And maybe it's the softness in those green depths as he stares at me, or maybe it's the fond smile on my lips as our breaths intermingle in the minimal space between us, or maybe it's the way our hands are brushing against each other's on the tile, yet neither of us have bothered to move them.
But, I can feel a shift.
I'm not sure what, or why, or how, but I feel something shift in the dynamic between Harry and I. Something significant and life-changing and terrifying changing between us as we continue to sit together in loaded silence.
And when his hand finally closes the last inch of distance between us and latches onto mine softly, I don't stop him even though I should.
No, I squeeze back.
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#HAYLA FOR LIFE! The next few chapters are going to kill you, so I suggest you prepare yourselves.
I got an instagram so you should follow me and I will follow you back because I own't to get to know all of you! it's badbrits (of course)
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