𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘 ﹙peter maximoff﹚

𝒗𝒊𝒊𝒊. beat that, maximoff.

CHAPTER EIGHT ;
beat that, maximoff.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

MARCH 1972

IT WAS UNFORTUNATELY Thursday afternoon, meaning Layla had about fifteen minutes left before her demise. The girl had planned several scenarios in which she either died tragically or went missing with absolutely no warning, praying to God that one of them would actually happen and she wouldn't have to attend. But alas, she had been ignored and now she had to go, or face suspension. 

For once in her life, she wished her last lesson would go on for longer, and that's saying something, because she absolutely hated science, and on a normal day, would prefer violent torture. 

At the start of the day, she had thought 'This day couldn't get any worse'. She was wrong, though, as the boy she hoped got severely ill and lost the ability to move showed up everywhere she went, and sat behind her  in every class they had together just to annoy her. And despite her friend trying to convince her it was a simple coincidence, she knew it was not, because there were plenty of open seats.

Anyways, as she looked up at the board, her teacher called out for everyone to pack up their stuff. The girl let out a pained groan, hanging her head low and slowly sliding her books into her bag, wasting as much time as she physically could.

"So, you excited?"

Oh you're kidding.

Layla slowly turned around, an irritated glare on her face.

"Do not talk to me." she muttered, before grabbing her bag and storming out the room, leaving a highly amused boy stood where she once was, staring after her.

The brunette stormed over to her locker, grabbing her coat and throwing it over her arm. Luckily for her, the couple who had lockers either side of her weren't here, so at least she didn't have to wait for them to finish their little make out session. She slammed the door shut and shoved through the crowds, not bothering to apologize to anyone her bag may have smacked.

Once she was out the stuffy building, she reached into her bag and pulled out her lighter and cigarettes, pulling the last one out the box and dropping the empty box on the floor. The girl leaned against a wall, light the cigarette and took a drag, staring at the floor.

After about five minutes, the girl realized she was later than she was supposed to and quickly dropped it on the floor, stamping it out and picking her bag up off the floor. She pulled the note out her pocket and read the address. 

After a relatively short walk, she stood in front of a perfect suburban home, with a nice car in the drive and pretty bushes trimmed to perfection. She walked up to the porch after a deep breath, and knocked on the door. There was no answer for a few seconds, but then the door opened to reveal a middle aged woman with long, ginger hair and glasses and a small smile.

"Layla, it's great to finally meet you." She greeted, already sounding rather cheerful. "I'm Mrs Cooper. Come on in, Peters already inside."

Layla followed her in, looking around at the paintings decorating the wall. One painting in particular caught her eye, one with who she assumed were her husband and kids. They all looked to happy and peaceful, it was sweet.

Mrs Cooped led her to a table in the front room, where Maximoff was already sat, clearly having been there for a while since there was an open box of twinkies in front of him. The boy looked up with a cheeky grin, holding one up to greet her and taking a bite. Layla grimaced, taking a seat at the table as far away from Peter as she could.