NCT Ten | Mafia

Myself and I

Layla's P.O.V

I tuck my dark brown hair behind my ears, and lift my sunglasses to stare at the large three-story house, surrounded by barbed wire, that's situated right on the side of the highway. This is the address I was given. Apparently, this is where my father spends most of his time. I see a lineup of shiny Harley Davidson's out the front, all sitting together like they've been perfectly placed. I can hear music booming from the large, red-brick home that looks like it's seen better days. Is that a smashed window? This should be fun. I walk to the gate and rattle it – padlocked – of course it is. I look to my left and see a bundle of old stacked pallets. Grinning, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and saunter over.

When I reach the pallets, I climb on top of them and grip the fence with one hand, using the pole beside it to hoist myself over. I end up in the dust, on my ass, but completely proud of my breaking and entering efforts. After I pull myself to my feet, and dust off the light brown specks of dirt covering my jeans, I walk towards the large house. When I get to the oversized front door, I knock loudly, but nobody answers. Giving up on the house, I walk around the side until I find an old shed that voices are trailing out of. When I get close enough, I see a small door to the left. Taking a deep breath, I walk over and grip the metal handle, opening it.

When I step inside, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to my surroundings. When I am able to focus more clearly, I turn my gaze to four men sitting around a wooden table. Two are smoking, all are drinking beer. One of the men stands as soon as he lays eyes on me, and I realize as he begins walking towards me, that he's my father. I know because I see myself in his face, and I quickly realise where I got my dark brown hair and brown eyes. He's tall and muscular. He look like Idol for real life. Me?I'm tiny and petite – that seems to be the only difference between us. 

I'm not sure what I expected when I saw my dad again. I don't remember him, so I had no idea what it was I actually thought would come from this moment. I guess knowing he is a biker or some shit, I expected a fat, ugly, smelly man with a beer belly. Not the handsome, well-groomed man sauntering towards me. My mother, God bless her trashy heart, had such poor taste in men that I have to wonder how she snagged him. I am sure my mother was once beautiful, but all I remember was the scraggly haired woman with rotting teeth and a foul temper.

"Layla?"

My father's voice is husky, deep and...well...fatherly. I'm pissed at him though, I mean, how can I not be? He never tried to contact me. He never tried to see me. He never made an effort to pull me from the life I was stuck in. I don't know if I can ever forgive him for that. He left me to live in hell. He doesn't know what my life was like, with those men she used to bring home. The dealers, the junkies, the trash off the streets. His life...the biker life...would have been a damned walk in the park. When he stops in front of me, I meet his gaze. For a moment, we just stare at each other, taking each other in, figuring out what we can say. Hey, I just can't remember at all.. am mean I can't even remember what he look like.

"Bambam," I say. It's the only thing that comes to mind.

His mouth twitches. Did he really expect I'd call him Dad?

"You look just like your momma," he breathes as he takes me in.

My eyes widen and I feel a pinch deep in my chest. Forcing the feeling away, I cross my arms and snap, "That's an insult, you do know that right?"

He tilts his head to the side, and his gaze narrows. "How so?"

I ignore him, I refuse to spell it out for him. Instead, I turn, looking around the large shed. "This is your life, huh? Very...interesting. Where's my room?"