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Life really flies by when you have two full-time jobs to occupy your time.
One is a little messier than the other though, and surprisingly enough, I’m not talking about the job that forces me to burn my clothes because the blood and guts on them won’t come out no matter how many times I put them in the wash.
Yeah.
Lately, keeping tabs on Zoey and Layla has become more of an obsession than anything else, and if that isn’t messy, I don’t know what is.
No, that’s not entirely true.
Zoey’s good. The girl is thriving in that wholesome neighborhood she’s shacked up in. It’s been a year since I found the little scarecrow of a girl on the side of an abandoned road and she gave me shit about where I was taking her sister. Every time I check on her, she’s giving two boys, who I assume must be her cousins, hell at the park. She runs circles around them in the jungle gym, and all the other kids in the park seem to prefer her company over her cousins’. She even has a little more meat on her bones and has grown a few inches since the first time I met her.
Yeah, that girl is going to be a handful when she becomes a teenager, but right now, she’s kicking ass and taking names.
The only time I get worried about her is when Layla shows up at the park after her cousins call her, telling her that Zoey just blew her chunks in some bushes again. The little one has spells of throwing up from time to time. I’m not sure if she eats too much junk food, and that’s why she’s always tossing her cookies, or if there is something else that’s wrong with her.
Maybe it’s her head.
Anytime Layla comes to pick her up after she’s had those types of episodes, I see how she always brings a wet towel with her to clean her sister’s face and then wrap it around her temples.
Aside from that happening occasionally, compared to Zoey, Layla is the one who looks like living in the suburbs isn’t working out for her. She’s also harder to pin down. While I make sure to always keep my distance from both girls, it’s been harder to stay away from Layla, especially because the dark rings under her eyes tells me she’s been working to the bone and getting very little sleep for her trouble.
Since she rarely leaves the house, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that her aunt has her working from sunup to sundown doing chores. For the past year, I’ve also watched Layla take little Zoey and their two snotty cousins to school before Layla rushes home right after, not attending high school like she should at her age.
I mean, how old is Layla now?
Seventeen, maybe?
Hmm.
This is where things begin to get messy for me.
Anytime I start on this path of figuring out how old Layla is, my gaze begins to wander down her body. At first, I tell myself it’s only to see if she’s healthy or if she’s been eating right, but I know all those excuses are nothing but bullshit.
It’s in the way my eyes linger a little too long on the blossoming mounds of her breasts, but my wandering gaze doesn’t stop there. No. The fucker has the audacity to drop to her ass, a tight little ass fit to bounce a quarter off of. On the days she wears skirts, I almost weep for joy when the wind hears my secret thoughts and gives me a little view of the plain white cotton underwear she wears—underwear I could snap off with my teeth.
Thoughts like that can get a man like me in a world of trouble.
So I lie to myself.
I tell myself that I haven’t gotten laid in ages, or felt a woman’s touch for longer than I care to admit, and that’s why Layla summons all these fantasies out of me. Fantasies about getting out of this car, putting my hand over her mouth, and finding a hidden spot where I could sink my cock inside her virgin pussy then ravish her for hours on end until she walks home with a fucking smile on her face instead of the solemn frown she always carries.
When I first started keeping tabs on the girls, it was for pure reasons. Well, as pure as a man like me can be. I needed to know they were safe, and it should have ended at that. I should have stopped coming around when I saw that they were living in a nice house, a place where the trauma they went through wouldn’t happen twice, but for the life of me, I couldn’t stay away. I’m not sure why though. Maybe it was the fact that I felt some sort of responsibility for them. I mean, I did save them once. It would be a shitty thing to do to just leave them to fend for themselves after I came into the picture.
Lately, though, I don’t feel like that obligation or even that ounce of responsibility is what drives me to see them every day.
It’s her.
Watching Layla blossom into womanhood has been a guilty pleasure I can’t seem to quit. Just the thought of staying away for a day or two has my chest tightening and the air in my lungs burning me from within.
So I come here and sit in my car a few houses down from theirs just so I can get a glimpse of my girls—ofthegirl.
When the light from a small room in the back of the house turns off exactly at nine P.M like clockwork, I stay just for another half hour to watch over them as they go to sleep, wishing I was in their room to kiss them both goodnight.
Zoey on the forehead.
Layla on . . .
Fuck.
