“Don’t be afraid, Layla. I’m here. Relax, breathe.”
I froze.
Ever since I dropped out of school, I’d developed the habit of skin-picking whenever I was under stress.
At its worst, there wasn’t a single unbroken patch on my hands—sometimes I’d even break skin on my arms.
Back then, Adrian would always do this—hold my hands and tell me, over and over, that he was there.
Now, trembling all over, I used every ounce of strength to shove him away.
“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!!”
“Adrian! How long are you going to keep pretending?!”
Maybe my outburst was too much—pain from the recent abortion flared violently in my abdomen.
I tried to stand; I didn’t want to seem weak before him.
But the pain was too sharp, making me want to vomit.
I couldn’t take it—I crouched down, clutching my stomach.
For once, Adrian’s composure cracked, replaced by panic.
He scooped me up and rushed toward the hospital.
But in the next moment, Bella tumbled out of the car, gasping for air.
“Adrian, I can’t breathe… take me home, I don’t want to stay here.”
Hesitation flashed in his eyes, and a few seconds later, he set me down at the hospital entrance.
“Bella’s having an asthma attack. I’ll take her home first.”