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When it comes to Layla, however, my self-control has been slowly dwindling, and I’m not sure how long I can keep my urges at bay. Today was a perfect example of how unhinged I’ve become.
I throw a quick glance over at the diner, hating that I’ll have to postpone my visit until tomorrow.
No.
Fuck that.
Tomorrow isn’t good enough. I’ll go home, take a quick shower, and come back. Why waste time on sleep when everything I could ever dream of is right here for the taking?
CHAPTER9
Layla
Three nights . . . It’s been three fucking hellish nights.
Three nights of holding Zoey’s hair back, wiping her face, hands, and mouth while pressing cool compresses to her back as she heaves over the toilet, moaning in pain. I feel helpless and utterly inept. The medicine isn’t helping. She can’t eat, and she’s barely drinking. My little sister is wasting away before my eyes, and all I can do is just sit here at her side spewing useless words of encouragement.
I promised to protect her, but I’m failing miserably.
I need to do something. Anything. She needs help, help I can’t provide. So despite my stiff muscles and lack of money from having to call in sick, I pack us a bag, some water and snacks, and gently pull her from our apartment. She’s barely able to take one full step, protesting that it hurts too much as her legs collapse beneath her. Before she falls to the floor, I pick her up and hold her in my arms, passing her a bag to keep across her chest in case she needs to puke. I ignore my shaking arms as I take each step down the apartment building ever so carefully. My legs are threatening to give out from lack of food, but I still push on for the precious load in my arms. She’s weighing me down, but I wouldn’t let go for anything in the world.
She’s missed school, and I’ve missed work, but none of it matters as I look down at her pallid, gaunt face. Her lips are chapped and pale too. She looks so little, so young and scared. I move faster. I should have taken her to the clinic sooner, but I knew I wouldn’t have the money for a consultation. Nonetheless, that’s no excuse. I messed up, and because of my fuck up, she suffered for it. Never again. I’ll do whatever it takes to get her better. She has suffered so much in her little life, and I refuse to be the cause of her misery.
Usually, I would walk or catch the bus, but not today. Zoey needs to get there quicker, so even though it pains me, I hail a taxi, already wincing at the fee he’ll charge me. I give him the address of the free clinic, hoping they can help, but deep down inside, I know they will want to send us to a hospital to run tests and scans—scans that cost money I don’t have.
It takes us twenty minutes to get there, twenty minutes of Zoey moaning and heaving. The taxi driver warns her not to get sick in his car, and I glare at him, my seething gaze making him thin his lips instead of uttering another word. When we reach the clinic, I toss my money at him and get out, carrying her up to the bulletproof glass door. I let myself in, groaning at how busy it is inside. I should have known. The old, mismatched chairs in the waiting room to the left are filled with junkies, homeless people, and just poor helpless souls hoping for assistance. They are all waiting patiently—some sleeping, some angry, some eating. The brick walls all have warnings that cameras are keeping a vigilant eye on us, and there’s a security guard behind a glass shield next to the desk.
Hurrying over, my shoes sticking to the dirty floor, I beg the old, weathered receptionist to look up. I’m trying to be patient when all I want to do is scream at her to look at me. She continues to type on the chunky old computer, chewing gum as I narrow my eyes and curse her very existence.
“Excuse me—”
“Fill this form out and wait,” she mumbles, slowly handing over a clipboard. I have to juggle Zoey in my arms to take it.
“Ah, thank you, how long will it be? My sister is really—”
“Take a seat and wait,” she snaps, finally looking up, her eyes compressed into two tight slits. There’s no compassion there whatsoever, so I swallow my retort and offer her a tight smile before I move to sit down. Luckily there’s an open seat in the corner. It’s an armchair, so it’s big enough for me to sit in with Zoey next to me, even if it smells and is partially ruined. She curls up, finally going to sleep as I fill in her information and wait.
Tapping my feet, I look at the clock as the time ticks by slowly. Impatience claws at me. I spot a doped-up guy staring at me and quickly avert my eyes, not wanting to give him the wrong impression. Not wanting to get involved in anything.
An hour crawls by and hardly anyone is seen. I start to get antsy, and when Zoey begins throwing up two hours later, I get up and storm over. I’m done being nice.
“I need to see a doctor now!” I demand, slamming the clipboard on the desk.
“You will have to wait—”
“Can’t you see she’s sick? Very sick! She’s just a kid! Help her!” I scream. Every eye is on me, but I don’t care. The security guard stands, and I hear Zoey weakly calling out for me, but I’m not moving until I get help.
“Miss, I don’t know what your damage is, but unless you’re blind, you can see that there are plenty of people here waiting their turn to see a doctor. You don’t see them complaining, do you?”
I bite my cheek just to keep me from launching at her neck.
Fuck the glass.
Like I used to do as a kid when dealing with my mother’s bitchiness, I count to five and then offer her a sinister smile.
“Listen, lady. My sister is sick. Very fucking sick. Now get me a doctor right this minute or live with the consequences.”
“Are you threatening me?” she blurts in outrage, her ugly muddy eyes going wide in astonishment.
