Little Things (Second Chances 1)

Agitated, I turn to her and say, “You want to help? Then leave me the fuck alone.”

I get up from the bed and walk away from her, over to the opposite side of the room.

She growls, “Fine, but don’t expect me to come back whenever you decide that you need me.”

And with that, she exits the room, slamming the door behind her.

A few minutes later, West enters the room and locks the door behind him.

He strolls up behind me and grabs hold of my shoulders.

He whispers, “Don’t do this.”

I begin to cry as my heart clenches, trying to fill the void in my soul. He brushes up closer and hushes my sobs as he wraps his arms around me and squeezes tight.

“Just let it out. It’ll make you feel better.”

As soon as he says that, I stop the waterworks and pull out of his grasp.

I spin around to face him, “Do you expect me to just forget what I did?”

He tries to console me, “It was not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I throw my hands into the air, “Are you kidding me? Yes, this is all my fault! Can’t you see? I’m here because of my actions.”

His brow arches, “What do you mean?”

“I’m here because I ran away from New York, because my mother was murdered, because of me! Me! Both my mom and Layla are dead. It’s my fault!”

“No, that’s what Derrick wants you to think. Don’t fall for his tricks.”

He reaches out for me but I slap away his hand.

“And what about you? Huh? One minute, you’re second in command and the next you’re trying to console me? Is this one of your tricks? How can I trust you?”

West squints his eyes and sternly responds, “You can trust me. I haven’t done anything for you to doubt me.”

I scoff, “That’s what I thought about Derrick but we all know how that went. And if you’re trustworthy, why are you working for him?”

“It’s a long story, but please believe me. I’m here to help you.”

I step back from him and point toward the door, “No, you can go to hell with everyone else. I can’t trust you or anyone else for that matter. Please leave and don’t come back.”

He begs, “Raya, listen—”

“I said get the fuck out, West! Leave me alone!”

He lets out a deep breath and walks to the door, but before he exits, he turns to look at me.

“Just because you no longer want to see me, doesn’t mean I won’t be near you. Know that I’m here, always watching, making sure you’re taken care of and safe.”

It’s been a year since Layla was killed and I honestly try not to think about it. I constantly distract myself with men, drugs, and more men. For the past few months, Derrick has been very pleased with my skills and the clientele keep coming back for more.

I’ve taken on double auction bookings, spending nights with multiple winners, just to fill the void in my heart. But it only works for a short amount of time. On the nights that I’m not working the auction, I cry and cry alone in my dark room.

At least twice a week, I have nightmares about Layla. At times, the nightmares feel so real that I can feel the rush of blood spill down her head or feel the surge of pain in my abdomen. I wake up in violent terrors and cry out her name, begging myself to stop the self-inflicted terror.

I haven’t seen or heard from Trish since the day I kicked her out of my room. However, I still see West lurking through the halls. He’s approached me a few times, before and after auctions. He has this protective nature which, I admit, is admirable, but I still don’t trust him.