For the Love of Layla

by Callie Moss

oh, fucking fuckity fuck.

Oliva scoffs, touching his arm lightly as he hands me my battered laptop. He jerks his arm away from her as if she’s garlic and he’s a newborn vampire.

This is husband stuff. Let you put it in my butt level sweet.

“People wear many faces, Layla. If you leave it up to them to show you the difference between them, you’ll always be in the dark.”

I’m one spilled glass of milk away from a fucking breakdown.

Last thing I want tonight is a pair of grippy socks.

Layla feels like an angel dripped in fucking sin.

Stop it, Layla. Not killing your dog is the bare minimum. You shouldn’t be grateful towards him.

fucktastrophy

I did…only because the ramifications of disobeying him range between playful psychological torture to homicide.

When this is all said and done, please know it was done from love. Every moment has been because I cannot and will not live without you.

Utterly oblivious to her dad going full on Joe Goldberg.

“If you’re ever fortunate enough to find someone that loves you so ferociously it turns your world inside out with napalm skies. Never let them go.”

I can’t seem to pull my eyes from the dark wood line. The same way I’ve gotten stuck here every single time I step outside. I stare so long I begin to see what I want in those shadows as the sun lowers behind the trees. A tuff of copper hair, the silhouette of a tall man ducking behind a tree.