Layla’s POV
I woke up slow. My head hurt. I was in a room. A nice room. Not a cell. A bed.
A man was near me. He had a stethoscope. A doctor. He touched my chest with it.
I pushed him away. "No! Help!"
The door opened. My father walked in. He had a cigar. He looked at the doctor. "Is she okay?"
The doctor nodded. "She is fine. Just a bump on the head."
"Good," my father said. The doctor left.
I sat up in the bed. I moved away from my father. I did not want him to touch me.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. His voice was calm. Like nothing happened.
I did not answer. My face felt wet. I touched it. Mascara. My stripper makeup was ruined from tears.
"I want to go," I whispered. "I do not want to be with you."
Frank laughed. A short, ugly sound. "You go nowhere, Layla. I own you."
