𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝘿𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐀 [ 𝐥𝐢𝐞-𝐥𝐚𝐡 ]

"Heard your friend was coming over today."

Layla scrutinised the woman in front of her, curling her lip at the bright pink lipstick smudged across her mouth. She recognised her as Vanya, what with her eyebrows that heavily resembled sperm cells and her pale, pallid skin. Her nails were stained yellow with the tobacco she smoked, the whites of her eyes holding that same yellowish tinge. Layla wrinkled her nose.

"Where'd you hear that from, Vanya?" She asked dryly, taking a sip of water.

They sat at the main communal area, eating from plates that had been previously cracked and glued together. It was awfully quiet for a Saturday morning, but maybe she was just nervous. She didn't know why Vanya had chosen to sit with her, for she had never once before made an effort to talk to anyone. But she had to admit that out of all of the rats that resided in this place, Vanya was one of the few that she respected. Maybe respected was too heavy a word, but she was definitely someone she tolerated.

Vanya crossed her bruised legs, her white boots matching with her white, winter dress. It had a fur hood as well, and Layla had to admit she pulled off the ensemble quite well. She could only describe it as Winter whore, and she quite honestly loved it.

"Oh, you know." Vanya gave an indescribable shake of the hand, waving a lit cigarette. "Heard it from Leonard and such."

"Gross." Layla scowled, shoving a spoonful of oats into her mouth. "Don't know why you'd even want to be associated with that failed abortion, but you do you."

"He's not that bad." Vanya laughed throatily. "Just very ugly."

"That's exactly why he's bad." Layla snorted.

Vanya shrugged as she took a long drag and exhaled in the opposite direction. She fumbled for something in her pocket, pulling out a compact mirror to check her hair. It was painfully fried, straightened every day until it was pin-straight and dead. It closed with a snap, and she fixed a look onto Layla.

"What?" She raised a bored eyebrow.

"Heard you were leaving us." Vanya glared. "Leaving for that friend of yours."

"That's the plan." Layla shrugged, eating more.

"Traitorous bitch." Vanya said without venom. "Can't believe you would abandon us for that Hugo cunt."

"You honestly can't believe it?"

The other woman paused while she inhaled deeply from her cigarette.

"Well, I guess I can." She sighed. "It's not too shabby there on the upper east-side. At least that's what I've heard."

"It's better than this shithole." Layla droned, emptying her glass.

"So, when's he coming over?" Vanya smirked, resting her square chin on her fingers.

"So many questions." She replied, shaking her head. "I don't know, he didn't tell me."

The room fell silent, and they paused their conversation. The entire room had turned to the stairs, eyes glinting with malice and danger.

"Speak of the devil." Vanya said slowly.

It was as if the room had been leached of its warmth. Thick, black boots slowly walked down the stairs, the individual thumps threatening and intimidating. Her heart leapt into her throat as he slowly came into view. The black cargo pants covered in holsters and pockets, a thick zipper glinting in the dim light. His black shirt was covered with a black windbreaker jacket zipped up to the neck. His face was covered with a black mask, but she could recognise that bone-white hair anywhere.