Chapter 15

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The bottle sat half-empty on Bella's kitchen table, the amber liquid catching the low light as she poured another shot. Her hand was unsteady, and a small splash hit the countertop, but she didn't care. The warmth of the alcohol in her veins was the only thing keeping the aching void at bay, numbing her thoughts just enough to blur the edges of her pain.

It had been hours since her last session with Layla. Hours since those words—*he makes things easier*—had cut deep enough to leave her reeling. Bella had spent those hours going in circles, her mind racing with memories, doubts, and regrets.

She downed the shot in one quick motion, the burn searing her throat, but even that wasn't enough to drown the gnawing ache inside her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Layla's face, her bright eyes and soft smile, the warmth that had always been there between them. But now, it was tainted with something else—something that didn't belong to Bella.

Bella leaned back in her chair, eyes glazed over as she stared at the empty wall across from her. The room felt too quiet, too still, except for the faint hum of the fridge in the background. Her thoughts drifted, slower now under the haze of the alcohol, but no less painful.

*What does he have that I don't?*

The thought slithered its way into her mind, unbidden, and Bella clenched her jaw against it. She didn't want to think about him—this faceless man who had somehow managed to worm his way into Layla's life. Into Layla's heart. Bella had seen them together, had heard the way Layla talked about him with a lightness that Bella hadn't been able to give her.

And yet... it hurt. It hurt more than she could admit, even to herself.

She reached for the bottle again, her fingers trembling slightly as she poured another drink. Her gaze flickered to the phone sitting on the edge of the table. Layla's name had been flashing across her thoughts all night, urging her to pick up the phone, to call her, to *say something*. Anything.

But what could she say?

*I'm forty. You're twenty-eight. What could I possibly offer you?*

The age difference had always lurked in the back of her mind, a quiet, nagging voice she'd tried to ignore. She had convinced herself it didn't matter, that the connection they shared was stronger than numbers. But tonight, with her thoughts spiraling and the alcohol loosening her inhibitions, it felt like a chasm—a wide, gaping void between them that Bella didn't know how to cross.

Bella lifted the glass to her lips, hesitating for just a second before taking a smaller sip this time. The burn wasn't enough to chase away the unease twisting in her gut.

She couldn't stop thinking about Layla's laughter, her youth, the brightness she carried despite the weight of her trauma. Bella had always admired that about her—how she could still find joy in the smallest things, how she could still *want* something from life even after everything she'd been through.

And then there was Bella, sitting alone in her kitchen, drinking herself into oblivion because she didn't know how to deal with her own feelings. Because she was scared. Scared of losing Layla, scared of wanting her, and more scared of the possibility that Layla would never see her the way Bella saw her.

She picked up her phone, the alcohol numbing the part of her brain that would have stopped her from doing something reckless. Her thumb hovered over Layla's name in her contact list, and before she could talk herself out of it, she hit *Call*.

The dial tone buzzed in her ear, each ring a sharp reminder that this was a mistake. That she was drunk and spiraling and had no business pulling Layla into her mess right now. But she couldn't stop. The thought of hearing Layla's voice, of reaching out, was too powerful.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the call connected.

"Bella?" Layla's voice came through the line, soft and a little sleepy. It was late. Bella knew that, but she couldn't stop herself now.

"Layla..." Bella's voice was slurred, thick with the weight of the alcohol. She ran a hand through her hair, gripping it tightly at the roots as she struggled to find the words. *Any words.* "I— I just..."

There was a pause on the other end, and Bella could almost hear the concern in Layla's silence. "Are you okay? You sound... different."

Bella laughed, a bitter sound that didn't feel like her own. "Different, yeah. That's one way to put it."

"Bella, are you drunk?"

"Maybe," Bella admitted, her heart pounding in her chest. "But that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Layla asked, her voice softening, gentle in the way it always was when Bella needed it most.

And suddenly, the words slipped out before Bella could stop them. "What does he have that I don't?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Bella closed her eyes, her body tensing as she waited for Layla's response, for anything that could fill the void left by her confession.

"Bella..." Layla's voice was hesitant, unsure.

"I see the way you talk about him," Bella continued, the words spilling out like a wound she couldn't close. "The way you look at him, how he makes you *feel* something. And I just... I don't understand. What does he have that I don't?"

There was another long pause, and Bella could feel the weight of her question settling between them, heavy and fragile.

"Bella, I—" Layla's voice was strained, like she didn't know what to say, and that only made Bella's heart ache more.

"I'm sorry," Bella whispered, her voice breaking. "I shouldn't have called."

"No, it's okay, I just... I didn't know..." Layla's words trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, hanging in the air like a loose thread.

Neither of them said anything after that, the silence stretching on for what felt like forever.

Finally, Bella took a shaky breath. "Forget I said anything. Please."

Layla didn't argue, didn't push, but the quiet sadness in her voice was unmistakable. "Okay. We'll talk later."

And with that, the line went dead, leaving Bella alone once again, the weight of her own question suffocating her.

She slumped forward, the phone slipping from her hand as the tears started again. The truth was out now, and there was no taking it back.

And Bella wasn't sure if that was the beginning of something... or the end.

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