The therapist secret

Chapter 10

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Bella's grip tightened around the glass in her hand, the cool surface doing nothing to calm the heat that simmered inside her. She had come here—this dimly lit bar on the edge of downtown—hoping to escape. To drown out the relentless thoughts of Layla that consumed her every waking moment. But no matter how much whiskey she swallowed, no matter how loud the chatter of the crowd grew, Layla's presence lingered in her mind, a shadow she couldn't shake.

She raised the glass to her lips again, the burn of the alcohol offering a fleeting distraction. The soft hum of music from the jukebox filtered through the air, but Bella barely registered it. Her gaze was distant, lost in her own spiral of thoughts. How could she let this happen? How could she fall so deeply for someone she was supposed to help?

Her phone buzzed on the bar, but she ignored it. Not now. She couldn't deal with anything right now. She just needed to forget.

But then, as if summoned by the very thoughts she was trying to drown, Bella caught a glimpse of someone at the other end of the bar. She blinked, her eyes narrowing as she focused. It was Layla.

Her heart lurched in her chest.

Layla was laughing, her head tilted back as some guy leaned in closer, his hand resting on her arm. Bella's stomach twisted painfully as she watched. The guy's body language was unmistakable—he was flirting, and Layla, with her slightly swaying stance and glazed eyes, was giggling in a way that made Bella's throat tighten.

Layla was drunk. Too drunk.

Bella stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She wasn't even sure why she was moving—whether it was jealousy, protectiveness, or the unbearable sight of Layla in the arms of someone else. But before she could think it through, her feet were carrying her across the bar.

"Layla," Bella said, her voice tight, the sound barely masking her emotions.

Layla turned, her eyes unfocused for a moment before recognition dawned. "Bella!" she exclaimed, a wide, unsteady grin spreading across her face. She wobbled slightly as she took a step toward her, her hand reaching out to grasp Bella's arm. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," Bella replied, glancing at the guy who was still standing too close. "You okay?"

Layla shrugged, the smile never leaving her face. "I'm having fun. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

Bella's jaw clenched. She could smell the alcohol on Layla's breath, could see the way her body was swaying, barely holding herself upright. "You've had too much to drink," Bella said gently. "Let me take you home."

Layla's face fell for a moment, a flicker of something like disappointment crossing her features. But then she smiled again, leaning into Bella's side. "Fine, fine. Take me home, then."

Bella threw a glance at the guy, who seemed to be debating whether to argue or not. But one look at Bella's stern expression and he backed off, shrugging before walking away.

Layla giggled as Bella guided her out of the bar, her arm wrapped securely around Layla's waist to keep her steady. The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside, and Bella tried to ignore the way her heart raced with every step they took.

The ride to Layla's apartment was quiet, the hum of the car engine filling the space between them. Layla was quiet now, staring out of the window, her head resting against the seat. Bella stole glances at her, the conflicting emotions inside her rising like a tide she couldn't control.

She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't feel this way. But the more time she spent with Layla, the more her feelings tangled into something deeper, something she couldn't simply push away.

By the time they reached Layla's apartment, she had sobered just enough to walk without stumbling, but Bella stayed close, her hand lightly on Layla's back as they made their way inside.

Once they were in the dimly lit apartment, Layla turned to Bella, her eyes heavy-lidded and filled with something Bella couldn't quite name. "Thanks," Layla murmured, her voice soft, her hand brushing against Bella's arm as she stepped closer. "You're always taking care of me."

Bella swallowed hard, her breath catching as Layla's touch lingered. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be this close. But before she could pull away, Layla's hands slid up to her shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of Bella's shirt.

"Layla..." Bella began, her voice shaking, but she couldn't finish. Layla's face was so close now, her breath warm against Bella's skin.

And then, before Bella could stop it, Layla leaned in, pressing her lips softly against Bella's.

Bella froze. Every part of her screamed that this was wrong, that she should pull away. But instead, her body betrayed her. Her hands found their way to Layla's waist, pulling her closer as their kiss deepened, a slow, intoxicating blur of want and need.

Layla's lips were soft, her kiss sweet but urgent, and for a moment, Bella let herself get lost in it—in the feeling of Layla against her, in the warmth that radiated between them. She had wanted this for so long, craved it in ways she hadn't allowed herself to admit.

But then, reality crashed back in, cold and sharp.

Bella pulled away, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "We can't..." she whispered, her hands trembling as she released Layla. "We can't do this."

Layla's eyes were glassy, her expression unreadable in the low light. She didn't say anything—just stared at Bella for a moment before stepping back. "I'm sorry," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Bella shook her head, panic rising in her chest. "No, don't apologize. It's just... it's complicated, Layla. You're not thinking clearly."

Layla didn't respond. She just nodded, her gaze distant now. Without another word, she turned and headed for her bedroom, the door closing softly behind her.

Bella stood there in the middle of the living room, her heart pounding in her chest, her lips still tingling from the kiss. She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the closed door, wondering how everything had spiraled so far out of control.

By the time the morning light filtered through the apartment, Layla was already gone.

Bella found a note on the kitchen counter—a simple, short message that felt like a punch to the gut:

*"Thanks for last night. We'll talk later."*

But Bella wasn't sure what they would talk about. Or if they even could. Because whatever lines had been crossed the night before—there was no going back now.