Star-gazing: Eric Coulter

Chapter 14

TW: swearing, alcoholism, violence.

Song: know your rights
Artist: the clash

Layla's pov:

I stare at my naked body in the bathroom mirror, I've put on some weight since I was last standing here. Enough that my bmi is within the normal range but enough that I can see where I've put the weight on. Hickeys cover my neck and collarbone and light bruises are imprinted on my skin from yesterdays activities. As I gaze lower, I see the pinkish scratch marks on my hips. My hips. I swallow the saliva in my mouth as it builds up, it isn't his fault, he probably just forgot. To him it isn't a big deal; to me it means everything. I still have scars engraved into my waist from when I was a child, to me it still hurts. Even though they're healed, they still hurt, they still cause pain: to me, my relationships as well as my everyday life. No matter what happens with this lawsuit, it won't fix what's already happened. Nothing will. Ever.

I slowly pull my underwear up my legs, then my bra over my head. Still being uncomfortable in my own body after all of this time was never the best thing to be doing at Dauntless. I throw on a pair of black cargos and a black T-shirt, before doing a bit of makeup, pulling my hair up and exiting the bathroom.

"Thanks for letting me crash, again." Dylan yawns, grabbing a mug of coffee from my husbands hand. "Can't remember a thing from yesterday."

"Don't worry about it, Dylan." Eric grumbles, although his eyes light up when he notices that I'm finally out of the bathroom.

"Should we talk to him about this now, or wait until later?" I whisper in Eric's ear, playing it off as just leaning into him for a hug. Trying to hint at Dylan's little booze problem.

"Later, don't spoil a man's fun, babe." He says, spinning me back around before yapping to our friend about the game we're all playing tonight with the initiates. Apparently Four and Eric already played the training exercise with the initiates whilst I was away, but now that we are testing them mentally— we need to make sure that they can still win in a physical fight too.

Tying the laces to my black high-heeled boots, Eric comes up behind me and grabs my ass, squeezing it roughly in his grip causing me to let out a small cry. Dylan's head snaps towards us, confusion in his eyes before he realises what has happened— then he just looks away, whilst shaking his head in a small fit of laughter.

"Eric, you sly dog." He giggles, a hand placed on his chest. My husband rolls his eyes again. "I'm so fucking hungry."

We lock the door to our apartment, then Eric throws one of his arms around my shoulders as we start to walk downstairs to visit the initiates in the dinner hall. Dyl is trailing behind us, jumping and spinning himself around in the air like a disco ball.

Eric sniggers at his behaviour, "You sure he isn't still drunk? That isn't sober behaviour." His large, warm hands grab my shoulders, gently shaking me around for affect.

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"....You think there's something wrong with him too, don't you?" Four asks, his voice questioning but his tone all-knowingly. "You think he's drinking too much too."
I nod, biting into a mouthful of crisp toast.
"I mean come on, it's not like he's trying to hide it, is it? He comes back to the apartment most nights drunk as a skunk." Zeke intervenes, scooping up a spoonful of porridge from his bowl.

I sigh, leaning my head in my hands. Zeke, Four and I are sat at the edge of an empty table discussing our little 'Dylan being a massive alcoholic' problem. I understand that everyone has their days but not everyday. He's going to drink himself to death.