9
1302 Words
C H A P T E R N I N E
L E A V I N G T H E B E D
H E M A D E
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EXHAUSTION IS PAINTED over her beautiful features, causing my brow to dip in a frown.
Her hair isn't curly anymore, I think with dismay, missing the feel of her hair between my fingers while I pull—
I sigh.
"You drive me crazy," I whisper in her ear.
She shifts, moaning in her sleep.
I just wish that she never would've left my bed that night.
Sleep takes hold of me while I clutch my son and my Layla and dream of what could've been.
·•·
Five years later...
I f****d up.
I ruined my life.
Chelsea sits on my lap, making me grit my teeth and look away.
You know this is wrong, my inner voice sounded.
The media had been swarming us.
Dominique being the vindictive b***h she is, leaked info and now, my son and Layla had been thrown in the spotlight.
She was spiteful, to say the least.
So I became what I hated.
The man before Layla.
Before my son.
Every newspaper, every magazine, every talk show was on her.
They blasted her, they really did.
She was ridiculed and taunted because I'm an asshole.
Because I was out with these women while she took care of my son.
All we did was fight.
That's all we ever did.
I thought back to fight we had before I left the house.
·•·
Two hours ago...
"Layla,"
"Who me?" She asked sarcastically.
I roll my eyes.
"No you," I reply.
"f**k you Sebastian," she said flatly.
"I could if you let me in your bed," I smirk impishly.
She snarled at me, stalking away. I follow her into the kitchen with a grin.
"C'mon, baby—"
"Don't," she snapped. "Don't 'baby' me. As a matter of fact, why don't you do spend time with your actual baby?"
Pain and guilt tore through me like a bullet.
"Sebastian go. Leave. Do what you want. Just leave."
Now I'm angry. I just wanna to talk her. Just have a civilized conversation.
"Why are you still here?" She said softly.
"I just wanna talk to you,"
"Well I don't want to talk to you. So go."
"Layla." I call her. She plays deaf.
"Layla!" I shout.
Still, no answer.
"What the f**k is wrong now, huh? What's the drama about now?"
"Drama?" She scoffs.
Then she throws a plate at me.
"What the f**k?" I glance between her and broken glass in disbelief.
"I'm sick and tired of this. I'm done."
"Lay—"
Another plate careens into the wall a mere few inches from me.
"Why are you talking?" She yells. "Did I ask you talk? Shut the f**k up?”
I do.
Tears stream down her face, each one stabbing me. Accusing me. This is your fault.
"I'm done. I did not fight my way to freedom to be locked down again. I'm not doing it! I'm sick of this s**t!"
I'm sorry, I want to say, but I know it'll mean nothing.
I'm past sorrys. Past flowers and chocolates and bears. Past reconciliation.
"You leave me alone with our son day after day, night after night. I didn't come here for shits and giggles. I came here so my son could have father.”
Another plate smashes into the wall centimeters away from head. Shards of plate fall on me.
I don't have that disbelief anymore.
"But if I'm going to be a single mother, I'm not going be one in this house. You don't get a wife with no ring, a son with no attention and a w***e whenever you want!"
"I'm not playing house with you anymore. I'm a grown ass woman and I will not be disrespected while sit your ass content that you have it all."
"Well guess what? You don't anymore. I am taking my son. I am taking my s**t, and I'm leaving."
My mouth gaped, open and closing in disbelief. I mean she always said that, but she never left.
"And you can try to stop me, just have 911 on speed dial. Cause I will rip a hole in you, Sebastian. Don't try me."
"I didn't escape one abuser to cry myself to sleep at the hands of another."
She left the kitchen then, went to pack.
I begged her to stay. I pleaded with her. Tried everything I could.
Nothing.
To make matters worse, an ex came by, hoping for a good f**k.
She kissed me.
As soon as her lips met mine, I heard a scoff. Tearing myself away from the woman I tried to explain.
"It's not what it—it was an accident." I stammered.
"How do you accidentally kiss someone? Did you trip and her lips broke your fall?"
"N-no. It just—"
With a shake of her head she tuned her back to me, walking away.
"Just like you, Sebastian."
"Layla," I called desperately. "Love feels like loneliness sometimes, right?"
She turned away, and I nearly expired from relief.
"I was wrong. Love shouldn't feel like loneliness. There's no point in sharing a bed when you're sleeping alone."
"No sense in sharing a house that I'll never call home. Remember?"
I did. She wrote a song and she sang to me. It was one of the few happy times we had.
Now, I realize even that was overshadowed with pain.
"If I'm going to feel alone, Sebastian I'm going to be alone."
With that last sentence, she walked away from me.
Out of my kitchen.
Out of my house.
Out of my life.
So I walked out of the door, knowing when I came back I would have to sleep in the bed I made.
·•·
Present...
AND THAT'S THE SparkNotes version of how I ruined my life. I push the woman off my lap.
What was her name?
Courtney?
It didn't matter.
I staggered home, mentally praising myself for being smart enough to go the bar down the street.
The house was empty when I arrived. There was no laughter, no yelling, no life.
I sapped the life out of my house.
Usually, if I got home early enough, I could hear Addison asking Layla to read him a bedtime story and sing his special song.
When he was younger, about two, he'd wait at the door for me, and when I came in from work, he would barrel into my arms and grin real big.
And he'd say, I missed you Daddy. And he'd tell about his day, and show me the pictures he drew.
Layla would just give me a tight smile for Addie's sake.
As he got older though, I think he realized I wasn't good at my job.
I wasn't a good father.
I wasn't a good husband.
I should've married her, and didn't, so you see how I sucked at that job.
He stopped talking to me. He never really acknowledged my presence unless Layla forced him to.
It was okay though, I understood. I understood, but I didn't change.
Eventually, we were all just roommates who didn't really know each other, didn't really want to.
We awkwardly tried to avoid each other.
I failed.
I let this happen.
I made this happen.
All because I was hurt and spiteful. And I wanted to prove to her, to myself, that I didn't need her.
That she didn't control me, she couldn't leash me.
That s**t turned out great.
Leaping into bed, I stared at the ceiling.
"You should join an Olympic arena b***h you'd do greaaaaat!" I laughed at myself.
The bed I made was cold.
It was empty.
But it was mine.
I made it.
So I slept in it.
- Writer
