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I follow Layla up to her room and check her blood sugar as it’s been a while since she ate dinner. It’s a little high still, but it’s trending down, so she should be okay. I’ll check again in an hour, and I know she will too.
Layla stops at her room. “I’m going to work on homework now. You can go relax, or do whatever you like.”
“Okay.” I remember the promise her father extracted from me tonight—the promise to do my job well. Of course I have every intention of doing that.
As I leave her to her own devices and head to my room, I’m uncomfortably aware of the fact I’m already missing her. I enjoy her company, which is a good thing, as we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. But I’m starting to wonder if I enjoy it a bit too much.
Chapter 10
Layla Alexander
After dinner, I shut myself up in my bedroom and e-mail my professors to let them know I won’t be back to class for another week yet and ask them to let me work from home until then. They know what happened to me. If they didn’t catch it in the news, they certainly heard it from the university administration and the disabilities office because my parents notified the school that I’d be missing some classes. The last thing I wanted was to fail this semester.
I change into pajamas to get comfortable—flannel shorts and a white tank top—and head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror because the bruises—especially the ones around my throat—are reminders of the worse experience of my life.
You can’t show your face at school. You look hideous. Ugly.
I ignore her.
Unfortunately, my mom’s concerns about me returning to school tomorrow are valid. Showing my face in public right now isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to talk about how I got the bruises, and I really don’t want to talk about Sean.
Sean’s death was reported in the news, and it’s likely many of the students at my university saw the story. He was shot right in front of me, and that’s only going to lead to more questions.
Sean’s dead because of you.
That wasn’t my fault!
Of course it was. If it weren’t for you, Sean would still be alive.
I check my laptop to see if any of my professors have replied to my e-mail, but no one has. It’s evening, though, so they’re probably busy with their families.
You’re going to fail the semester.
No, I’m not.
Yes, you are. You’re going to fail. Because that’s what you are—a failure.
I’m not.
Your parents know it. Your brother knows it. And soon Jason will know.
Stop it!
I stare at the laptop screen, willing one of my professors to reply, to tell me it’s okay if I work from home for another week. But my e-mail inbox remains unchanged.
Failure.
I jump up from my desk and grab my earbuds, shoving them into my ears in hopes of blocking her out. She knows how to get to me. She knows my deepest fears—that I’ll fail. That I’ll let my family down. That I can’t cope, can’t manage.
As I listen to the music, I pace my room. And as I pace, my anxiety grows. What if my professors won’t let me work from home? What if I fail all my classes this term? What if I get kicked out of school?
Failure.
I am not.
You are. Just imagine how embarrassed your parents will be.
My parents love me.
