As if nursing a hangover wasn't enough. I now get to live with the shame of my peers knowing I went to jail. My dad made that very clear with the flag that he had trailing from the back of his truck on the way to school. I couldn't sink far enough down in my seat.
"I love you Hays!" My dad shouts as I slam the car door shut and pull my hood over my head.
I feel someone's arm sling over my shoulder. "What's up criminal?"
"Not in the mood Jackson." I snap at him.
"Explains why you didn't text me back about the pick up, your ass was in the clink. Kidding... but I do have what you asked for." He says pulling out a small paper bag from his hoodie pocket.
"J, I don't have any cash on me right now." I say barely above a whisper.
"Don't worry about it, I know you're good for it. Pay me when you can criminal." He covertly hands me the baggie and gives my shoulder a playful nudge.
As twisted as Jackson is, he really is a good person. I can't say the same for myself. I shove the baggie into one of the pockets on my backpack and head to class.
History class isn't all that interesting to me, until a folded note appears on my desk I look around to see who put it there, but nobody makes eye contact with me. I open the note.
Was it true?
What the fuck? Was what true? That I'm into girls and no one has outed me at school? That I landed in jail for being gone for too long? Or that I'm mentally unstable? Because all of those are true. I scribble down an answer and leave the note on my desk just as the bell rings. I turn back just as I reach the threshold and the note is gone. I'm not sure who took it.
The school day passes relatively uneventful but the drive to my therapy appointment is completely and utterly silent. That is, until my dad drops me off.
"I'll be right here when you get out of your appointment." He says with a slight smile.
"Ok..." I brush him off as I hop out of the truck.
"Hayden?"
'Yeah?' I breathe out, my tone evident that I'm annoyed.
"I love you." He says, his eyes soften and I can tell he means it.
Doesn't mean my teenage brain doesn't want to rebel and be spiteful. Instead of answering him, I simply slam the truck door and make my way to my appointment.
I knock on Layla office door and I enter once I hear the words 'come in' being muttered from the other side. I plop down on the couch, tucking my legs to one side.
Layla tips her head to one side like she's micro analyzing me. "What happened last week? I missed seeing you, I was hoping to hear that you had started using the sketchbook I gave you." She asks.
"I did start using it, nothing more than little doodles here and there. A lot of them are... dark. Last week was, shitty." I confess.
"And why is that?" She asks as her pen scrawls across her notepad.
I pick at the tiny hole in the fabric of the sofa. "My mom called the cops on me and I was essentially arrested and detained. My dad was the one that picked me up and is now publicly shaming me with a giant flag that says 'thief' on it... I got all my privileges taken away. No car, no phone, no friends, definitely no Morgan. Fuck, she's gonna be so pissed because I haven't been as blue to answer her texts... yet she's the reason I'm in this mess." I ramble on.
"Sounds pretty eventful. Why are you worried about Morgan's feelings towards you if she's the reason you're in trouble?" She presses.
"Well she's my girlfriend, I'm going to care what she thinks and feels. Wouldn't you care if Zave voiced his feelings towards you?" I retort.
"Yes, I suppose I would, he's my husband." She states matter-of-factly. I can see the light blush that tints her cheeks when she says the latter part out loud. It's cute seeing her blush. I wonder if I could make her blush like that.
I clear my throat to disrupt my own thoughts."Ok then." I say as I nod my head. Layla raises her brow and I can tell she's micro analyzing me again. "See anything noteworthy?" I press her.
"You smirk a bit when you're thinking, I haven't figured out what's on your mind, but I know if you want me to know, you'd tell me." She explains before continuing.
"And your ears..." she says tapping her pen against hers. "The tips of your ears turn red when you blush. Most of the time it's when you're thinking. But like I said, I'm not sure about what."
She's figuring you out.
Don't tell her about us.
Keep quiet.
Aww she's paying attention.
She really does care.
It's nice to see someone care.
Keep picking at the hole in the sofa.
It's almost big enough to fit the pinky inside.
Pick.
Pick.
Pick.
"Yeah, my mind tends to wander sometimes." I explain, trying to remain vague.
"Fair enough. So you mentioned your sketches have been a little dark? Care to elaborate?" She changes the subject.
"Oh, uh, I've been drawing eyes a lot lately. The last one had blood instead of tears..." I explain.
"Ok and do you have any repressed emotions or feeling like you're dealing with some sort of sacrifice in a sense?" She asks.
"Not necessarily... I mean kind of. My feelings have been torn into different directions lately, and to be honest, I feel like Morgan and I are just using each other. I don't think either one of us cares about one another, it just feels so superficial and I'm tired of putting up a front just to please someone else." I admit openly.
But we like to people please.
It benefits us.
Give us serotonin to make people happy.
"So you don't feel like you're being honest with Morgan?" She presses.
"Layla we're basically fuck buddies with minimal communication. She gets pissed when I don't answer, which results in me being punished in some fashion. Whether it's not letting me cum, or not letting me come down from a high... the punishment is buried in there. I can't tell you the last time we had a genuine conversation. It's always 'hey is your mom working' or 'let's meet up' with that cringey tongue emoji which basically means all she wants is to fuck." I grit through my teeth.
Once I realized what I've unloaded, I come to the realization that I don't love Morgan. I haven't been loving myself for letting her have so much control over me, my free time, and my body. Because when I look back on our 'relationship' if that's what you can call it, she never loved me.
a/n: how are you bubbies doing today?
Thank you for being patient.
I love you bubbies 💕
