L.W.T.B.B Copyright © 2012-2015 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

Rewritten version of this chapter posted - July 24th 2015.

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                                  { Chapter 7 } : The Ugly Monster Inside Of Me 

     Layla wanted to talk. 

Her text came precisely an hour after school was out, and while I was in the midst of driving to my little brother's elementary school.

Can we talk? Please, I hate this. Things ended on a bad not and I'm sorry. Let me explain. xx   -L

Currently I was waiting outside the school gates, leaning against my parked Toyota. The scorching end-of-august sun was beating down on me. A bead of sweat trickled between my breasts and, disgusted with myself, I pulled off my trendy utility jacket and shot it in the far side of my backseat. Leaving me in nothing but denim short shorts and a white tank top. I'd even traded my signature boots for a pair of Toms because of the boiling temperature.

I thumbed a quick reply.

Sure. Where do you want to meet? - A

My phone vibrated in my hands with her response.

Meet me at Marnie's Shack in half an hour? Milkshakes on me. xx - L

I had just finished tucking my phone in my pocket when the bell rang and a flow of little kids flooded out through the main entrance. It wasn't too hard to spot my little munchkin; he was the shortest of the bunch and had a golden mop of massively curly hair that was even more curly and golden than my father's had been. 

Michael's blue eyes gleamed in excitement as he ran towards me, hunkered down by the weight of his superhero backpack. When he launched himself at me with a boyish giggle, my hands wrapped around his body and I spun him in several circles. He laughed as I peppered kisses all over his face.

"Anna, stop it!" He still looped his arms around my neck to pull me closer, despite his protests. "You have cooties."

Throwing my head back, I laughed as Michael kissed my cheek. "And who told you that?"

"Kurt did," Michael said in all seriousness. "He told me all girls have cooties - and you're a girl. But that didn't stop Kurt from kissing Olly in the playground."

I ruffled his hair. "Kurt kissed Olly?"

My brother looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Yeah! Now they both have cooties! But since you're my sister, you don't have cooties - right?"

"No, Michael." I smiled and put him back down. "I don't have cooties."

Michael flashed me a toothy-grin. He was so tiny and small for his age that his teachers told me he occasionally got bullied from the bigger kids. I combed my fingers through his curls and ran my had along the curve of his cheek lovingly. 

"Then I don't have cooties either." His smile turned victorious as if he'd just uncovered a giant mystery.

I drove back to our house and Michael filled the silence with his never ending animated chatter. He talked about everything from Kurt and Olly's awkward showdown-plus-kiss in the playground, to his favorite teacher, Miss Nora, to this new girl that he was crushing on. 

My mom was home so I didn't have to worry about Michael being alone. Soon after, I quickly made my way to Marnie's Shack, the place renowned for having the best burgers in town.

Layla was seated at a booth by the window, her head hung low as she typed away on her phone. She hadn't spotted my car in the parking lot yet. Nor had she looked up from her phone when I entered the retro-themed bar-restaurant, the bell chiming above the entrance door catching everyone's attention but hers. 

A friendly waiter behind the counter gave me a wink and I smiled politely, before heading towards Layla.

I sat down and her head snapped up in surprise, recognition dawning upon her features. A sheepish grin curved her mouth.

"Hi." Her voice was low, far from the upbeat tone I was used, too. She actually looked tired as hell.

"Hey."

The silence between us was unbearable until the same waiter from earlier trudged over, presented himself as Bennett, and took our milkshake orders.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out the second he was out of earshot distance, breaking the ice.

My eyebrows hitched up. I had two options: make light of what she told me three nights ago, or give her a hard time redeeming herself. I went with the latter. "What part?"

She ran her hand over her pale face. "Everything. Bringing up Joey Donald, Samuel Adams and the fact that... you're a cold hearted bitch who doesn't give anyone a chance."

I fiddled with the straw of my mango-banana milkshake, before speaking really quietly. "You were right." And I was woman enough to acknowledge the fact. 

Her eyebrows reciprocated my earlier moves and she asked, "What part?"

A wry smile touched my lips. "Everything. About Joey Donald - " It was still hard to talk about him. "- Samuel Adams, and the fact that I'm a cold hearted bitch who doesn't give anyone a chance."

There was no one in the dinner, save for us and an old man reading the daily newspaper by a pink and yellow bar stool. Clatters of plates and utensils echoed in the place. No words were exchanged between Layla and I for a couple more minutes as we continued to sip our respective drinks. Our quiet breathing did the talking for awhile.

"Fuck, Anna." She let out a whistling, defeated breath. "I'm so sorry." 

And I knew she was. Layla'd given me the dose of harsh reality that I was lacking. But I wasn't completely damaged goods, I had to remind myself. That night at Joshua Brown's party, I'd spoken to that cute guy Troy. It was a small, safe attraction I hadn't felt in a very long time, reminding me that I wasn't exactly emotionally unattached.

Just to guys who brought out my flirty, rebellious and reckless side. I wanted to - needed to - stay away from them.

"I know you are, Layla," I sighed, giving in and letting her off easy. "And I was closed off. After him and my dad... things shifted inside of me and my priorities changed. I'm a different girl than the seven year old you and Gabby became friends with. And I'm also a different girl than the sixteen year old you and Gabby used to drink and party with."

"It's true," Layla whispered with a sad look and her voice took on a far-away tone.

"And I definitely will never commit the mistakes that sixteen year old Anna committed." I held her gaze, conveying with my eyes what words couldn't. "But I'm still me, Layla. No matter how much I've changed."

And that meant kicking to the curb my unholy attraction to Samuel freakin' Adams, because he reminded me too much of my initial mess to begin with.

Layla's expression held the understanding I needed. "You'll always be our best friend, Anna. No matter what happens, or what has already happened."

Good thing there was at least one kind of constant in my life.

                                                                              *     *     *

All lights were turned off when I arrived home.

I figured my mom and Michael were getting ready for bed, so I entered quietly. Careful not to make too much noise as I took off my shoes and deposited my keys on the nearest surface.

Michael's door was closed all the way, but the little blue light seeping through the crack under his door - courtesy of his shark night light - told me he was sleeping.

My feet stayed rooted to the floor when I finished ascending the stairs. Much to my surprise, my mom's room was ajar and I could just make out her silhouette, moving across the room.

I headed for her door and gently popped my head through. The door creaked. "Hi," I hushed, smiling.

She paused amidst of releasing her hair from the top knot she had it in. Mom chuckled lowly, her voice tired. "Hey, sweetheart. Almost scared me there."

I closed the door shut and padded to her vanity, leaning against it with my cocked hip. "How was work?"

A rough exhale escaped her lips and she rolled her eyes as she began tying the knot on her pink bathrobe. "Long."

"Tell me about it."

"Hah." She reclined back against the propped pillows and I noticed that she sat down at the exact same spot where my dad used to sleep. I stopped breathing. "For starters, I took Tiffany Rinaldi's shift - again - so I'm very exhausted, and now she's presented me with a new problem."

I wasn't paying attention. My eyes followed the movement of her fingers as she absentmindedly drew a pattern on my father's favorite black comforter set. It felt like there was a rock lodged in my throat, preventing me from swallowing.

My mother kept talking, her eyes dancing animatedly, but I wasn't paying attention. Blood rushed to my face. With anger or extreme embarrassment, I didn't know.

But the photo frame next to her hip, the one that carried a picture of my parent's wedding day, nineteen years ago, haunted me.

I couldn't breathe with the guilt climbing up and seizing my windpipes in a vice-like grip.

"-And she asked if her son could come live with us. Of course, he'd pay rent for the few weeks, but I feel terrible asking an eighteen year old money to even start with."

Tears were filling my eyes and making my vision blurry.

"Anna?" My mom's voice cut through another one of my self-loathing episodes.

I sniffled then swiftly laughed forcedly, trying to play of my lack of attention as zoning out.

"Sorry, mom. Who's son?" I blinked quickly to dry out my tears before they fell. 

Mom watched me with a skeptical look. "Tiffany's son. He's going to be living with us for three weeks - maybe more, if her trip gets extended."

I couldn't care less about Tiffany's son. What I cared about was the happy couple pictured dancing during their wedding reception. A happy couple who's happy ending I ruined with my selfish actions.

My head hurt. As I looked around my mom's - no, my parents' room - I was ridden with a tremendous amount of disgust. Disgust aimed at myself.

There were pictures everywhere and all sorts of reminders of my father. His favorite freshener scent lingered in the air, his stupid, stupid massage chair that'd been broken for years but he claimed still worked like a charm, and his most-loved game of chess was decorated on a small table perched beside the TV.

My hand knocked against the accessories on my mom's vanity and I was mortified at the sight of a half-filled bottle of his favorite cologne. The one I'd gotten him two years ago as a birthday gift.

My head wasn't just hurting, it was spinning now. I pushed away from the table, scampering towards the door - my exit, my escape from this nightmare.

A nightmare I wish I could just wake up from. As if one day I'd finally jerk awake, realizing that it was just a bad dream. My dad would be downstairs sipping his coffee, my mom cooking and Michael playing outside.

But it wasn't a dream. It was real. And the truth? I couldn't reverse the clocks and go back in time to stop myself from making the biggest mistake of my life.

My mom's stern tone cut through again, abruptly halting me in my steps. So close. So close to my escape.

"Anna, where are you going ? What is wrong with you?"

I turned around to face the consequence of my actions.

What is wrong with me? What's wrong is that my mind is hurting, my heart is aching and my soul is breaking from the overwhelming amount of darkness and guilt that's trapped inside of me. I'm an ugly mess. 

Once again, I was proven to be selfish when I couldn't look my mother square in the eyes. She was cradling the frame to her heart like it was her lifeline, genuinely confused as to why I was acting like this. It made the wound rip deeper. It made me madder. Sadder. Why couldn't she yell and curse at me?

I took away her lifeline.

Shakily, my hand latched onto the doorknob and I pulled at it. "I-I'm s-sorry, Mommy. So sorry."

I was choking, tears brimming my waterline again. A grave look settled on her face as she understood what I meant. The worry lines on her face deepened and she pressed her lips in a tight grim line, pushing her brown waves aside. 

"It wasn't your fault," The echoed words, void of any emotions, failed to ease my conscious. Salt was being rubbed in my wounds. "None of it was, Jodie."

Jodie. Dad used to call me that. My heart clenched in wrenching pain. 

I was out of the room before she could finish, running back to my sanctuary like the coward I was. Constantly running, running, running. I changed furiously and dropped my clothes carelessly on the floor, before throwing myself onto ,y bed and burying my face in the covers.

I soaked my pillows with silent tears that night.

Because while my mom may have forgiven me for what I did, I hadn't.

His death was on me.

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A/N: As always, hope you guys are enjoying! The original version of this chapter was from Sam's POV and I'm sorry to inform y'all that there won't be any chapters from his POV anytime soon. Right now we're exclusively about Jodanna!

Questions: Let me know what you loved or hated about the chapter! (LOL probably the fact that Samuel wasn't in it?) And why do you think Anna thinks her father's death is on her?