Four Walls (Book One) ✔️

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jose parks his car outside of a rundown diner that looks like it's in desperate need of a remodel. I expect him to get out, but he doesn't move. He doesn't even unbuckle his seatbelt. We sit in uncomfortable silence, just as we did the entire drive here. He's the one who wanted to talk. Why is he saying nothing?

Finally, the stillness between us becomes too much for me to bear. With a roll of my eyes, I exit the vehicle and lean against the hood.

I'm hit with the memory of our first kiss, but I quickly shake it off. That was a magical night, but a lot has changed in a year. We aren't those people anymore.

Moments later, I hear Jose's door close. He stands beside me and shoves his fists into his pockets. He doesn't speak, but some of the tension has dissipated.

"This is fun," I mumble, hoping to get a rise out of him.

"If by 'fun', you mean awkward as hell, then yeah, it's fun," he says with a chuckle.

"Let's just rip off the band-aid," I suggest. "What did you want to talk about?"

A deep sigh escapes his lips. "Look, this isn't easy to say, but I wanted you to hear it from me before the news spread around town," he begins. "I'm... I'm sort of seeing someone. It's not serious yet, but I figured you should know."

My heart ascends into my throat, choking me. Around me, the world spins. I wrap my arms around myself, praying my face doesn't meet the pavement.

"It's not a girl at school," he says, as if that is supposed to lessen the ache in my chest.

"No, I'm just chilling with Ramira."

"Who's Ramira?"

"Family friend. She's like a sister to me and Mariana. We actually had Thanksgiving dinner with her family."

"Oh." My chest tightened. I took a deep breath to loosen the knot. "Well, um, I'll let you get back to her."

"It's your friend from Los Angeles, isn't it?" I realize.

The guilty look in his chocolate brown eyes confirms my suspicion. I don't wait for an explanation. He doesn't owe me one. We're broken up, after all.

I grab my book bag out of Jose's car before making a beeline out of the parking lot. I cross the street to a gas station, where the cashier lets me borrow the phone.

Five minutes later, Damian meets me around the back of the building. He holds me in his arms as I sob. I cry harder than I did the night Jose broke up with me. I cry because of the finality of it all. He has a new girlfriend. Any hope I had of reigniting the flame between us is gone. It's over. Forever.

And the worst part is that if I had just been honest with him, if I had told him the truth about me, about my family, about Hank's relentless abuse, then we'd still be together.

Damian takes us to Castelul. He stays with me until the start of my shift, cradling me against his chest as he rubs my back, and offers to pick me up after.

"Margo is going to drive me home," I tell him, "but thank you. Thank you for everything."

I suffer through my four-hour shift, barely aware of what is happening around me. I lead the privileged, too-rich-for-their-own-good customers to their tables. I inform Bradley of new requests for VIP memberships. I smile and nod and put on my best performance, but on the inside, I feel broken.

When it's time for me to leave, I say goodbye to my boss and wait for my grandmother to pick me up. Before she arrives, Bradley joins me outside, sitting down on the curb beside me.

"Are you alright, Layla? You seem awfully down," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

Instinctively, I recoil from his touch, putting another three feet of space between us. I see the hurt flash in his eyes and regret pushing him away, but I can't help it. It's a knee-jerk reaction, a consequence of living with an abusive parent for over a decade.

When Margo's beat-up sedan pulls up in front of the club, I mutter a hasty goodbye to Bradley and get in the car. My grandmother stares past me, her eyes glued to my boss as he makes his way back inside.

"Layla, who is that?" she demands.

"That's Bradley Bishop. He owns the place."

"That's your boss?"

"Um, yes...?"

"You need to quit," she declares. I wait for the punchline, but her expression is void of humor. "You can't work for that... that man."

"How do you even know him?" I ask, bewildered by her hatred for someone who has been nothing but decent to me. "I know he's filthy rich, but Mr. Bishop is a good—"

"His name isn't Mr. Bishop," she cuts me off, still glaring at the spot where he once sat. "That son of a bitch is Anson, my ex-boyfriend."

I shake my head. "Margo, that's impossible. Bradley is the same age as Hank."

"Yeah, that's the part that concerns me," she murmurs. "He looks exactly the same. The motherfucker hasn't aged a god damn day."

A/N:
Thoughts? Feelings?
Thanks so much for reading! Love you all! ❤️