niche

three

layla wasn't layla anymore. she was emma, and she was in fitchburg, wisconsin.

she met jackson in a gas station. he had bought a significant amount of alcohol, and she took notice. they had small talk in the parking lot, and she detected the hurt in his eyes almost immediately.

"what's your life like? are you a drifter?"

he had a weird accent, high pitched and crackling.

emma ended the small talk there usually. "i may be." her lips leaned closer to his neck, and she placed her hands on his chest. he shuddered."if you want me to be." he drove her to his house, and sat her on the bed.

they kissed each other like crazy, leaving marks and saliva all over each other's faces. his pillows smelled like beer and potato chips. emma accidentally got her lipstick on them. she reached down to take his shirt off, and he flinched noticeably. she looked up cautiously, studying his face. they stared at each other for a minute, and then she nodded, leaving his shirt on.

jackson rocked into her, his jawline poking out of his face like a crowbar. emma's hands gripped the sheets, unmaking his bed with the force. they collided perfectly, their hips moving lazily to their own rhythm. his stomach glided against hers, and he suddenly lifted her back off the mattress, flipping them over.

she dug her hip bones into him, feeling everything. her hands subconsciously slipped under his shirt to feel his chest, and she stopped. everything was still until he started crying. his skin felt jagged and dried up. he was heaving, sobbing as he lied under her. she picked up the fabric, revealing hundreds of tiny cuts living on him, taunting her as she listened to him wail.

she leaned down, kissing his lips once again. his hips bucked up, and she pulled away.

"don't ever believe what they tell you," she whispered onto his face. he noted that her breath smelled of cigarettes. "they're wrong."

jackson went to work the next day.

"stop running."