Only you | Derek Morgan

You look so good in orange

L A Y L A ' S   P O V

I do not look good in orange.

The saying is a classic, if you do the crime you do the time but I didn't do the crime, so why am I sitting in a jail cell right now?

I was booked and processed at the local district police station a few hours ago and as you could probably guess, once the officers found out I was being arrested for the murder of another police officer, they didn't take too kindly to me.

My fingerprints and mug shot was taken right before my absolutely humiliating strip search before I was shoved into four by four grimy cell I'm sharing with a cracked out prostitute.

How lucky am I?

I like to think I'm not that high maintenance, but I draw the line at peeing with a complete stranger two feet away from me while she sexually propositions the guards at their desk on the other side of the bars.

I want to curl into a ball and cry, but I just sit here silently, waiting for the time to pass and hope to god Derek has found something to prove I didn't do this.

-

"Layla Evan's?"

I don't know how long has passed but the morning light is pouring through the small window and I draw my attention away from it when an officer calls my name.

Like the good prisoner I am, I stand up. I have to laugh or I'll cry.

"Your attorney is here," He says, unlocking the cell. "Come with me."

I'm then walked down a narrow hallway and when the door opens, i've never been more relieved to see Hotch in my whole life.

"How are you?" He asks after the guard closes the door behind me.

I sit down at the desk across from him. "Never felt better."

Hotch nods sympathetically. "The quicker we work, the quicker we get you out of here." He whips out a manila folder. "Ready?"

I nod and look at the files as he lays them out on the table between us.

"The police were tipped off last night about a body in a freezer in a storage unit in downtown Chicago," Hotch says, sliding a photo across to me.

I look at the lifeless photograph of my ex boyfriend and I feel nothing but sadness and anger for him. He cheated on me. Big whoop. He did not deserve to die. Period. Especially because who he chose to cheat with turned out to be a psycho bitch who couldn't handle rejection.

"There was multiple hairs found on the body," Hotch slides another photo of his bloody hand, clutching dark brown hairs like they were pulled from the root. "The dna matches you."

After I found Jake cheating I went back to the apartment we shared once, while he was at work. I took most of my things that were sentimental to me, but I also left a lot of things. I knew I was moving to DC at that point and some of things were easier to buy new instead of moving them half way across the country. Socks, some clothes, my hairbrush..

"My hairbrush," I say, sliding the photo back towards him. "That's how she got my hair and put it on the body."

Hotch presents me with a photograph of me and Jake from my brother's wedding. The necklace I'm wearing is the same necklace that he's clutching in his other hand in the next crime scene photograph.