Playing With Fire

Chapter Forty

                                        Recap 

          Considering the fact that I had been expecting much worse news, I hesitate to gather the correct reaction—well, the reaction that Layla is expecting. As an ironic sense of relief washes over me, I look down at the carpeted floor while I gather the appropriate emotions. Instead, it feels as if one heavy burden has been released from my shoulders.

            “Oh…” are the brilliant, emotionally captivating words that escape my lips when I glance back up at Layla.

               She falters and raises an eyebrow, “Oh?”

               I frown, “Yes?”

               “Mood kill,” She shakes her head and mutters in exasperation, “I’m going to get some water.”

            “Okay.” I reply as she moves to get off the bed and past me towards the door. She takes her phone with her and then disappears in a few moments time.

              The instant she’s gone, the hopeful atmosphere I had managed to create drastically drops to a level of none. The small smile that I held in Layla’s presence vanishes and is replaced with an intense furrow that I had been fighting the entire time.

               In no time, I pick myself up off the floor and make my way out of the guest room. With my sight trained on Travis’s slightly ajar door, I walk towards it, completely intent on sorting this entire situation out right then and there.

                 “Travis.” I call as I push past the door, “We seriously need to talk.”

             Only, when I turn around after shutting the door closed behind me, I catch sight of his mom sprawled across his bed—completely and utterly wasted. 

                                        Chapter Forty 

           My heart lurches in my chest as I stare stupendously at the woman before me. Oblivious and shaking with heavy snores, his mother shifts in her position, rolling towards the center of the bed.

            I take a cautious step back, wondering if Travis even knows that she’s here—in this house. As she shuffles around again, making a guttural sound in the back of her throat, I think of my own mother.

               Did this dormant woman, harmless and clueless in appearance, turn violent when intoxicated? Travis had mentioned before how his father had a habit of meeting several women in one night. Perhaps there is an anger building in her system, begging for release in the same deadly way as my own.

             What about Mason—is he okay?

          Is this the reason why Travis and him got thrown into a spiral of gang related activity in the first place?

          There are so many questions floating in my head as I stare, that I nearly fall backwards when my foot hits the door. A dull thud echoes within the room, and I clench my eyes shut, my fists following suite.

            Silently, I pray that she doesn’t stir. I turn quickly, realizing that she has moved a hand up, to slip out as quickly as I had entered. My hand twists the knob with a slightly excessive and urgent force. Perhaps the sensation of intrusion encourages me to fumble with my movements.

             “Cassie, baby?” I freeze in my spot as she calls out in a raspy voice, “You’re here?”

            As I remain facing the door, my palms begin to sweat as confusion infused with an unknown sense of sympathy enters my system at the sound of her hopeless tone. I hear shuffling behind me, and a little bit of increased breathing in the process.