All I want is to be forgotten. I want them to forget everything.
-

Layla

The sun's light interrupts my slumber. Its rays break through my lids and I wonder why I didn’t close my curtains last night. The idea of feeling so exposed to sunlight so early in the morning hurts me to a point of no return. I flutter my eyes open, only to be greeted with the presence of direct sunlight on my face.

I take in my surroundings, absorbing the weight of the previous night. The grass beneath my bum and the swing set in front of me makes me think that I am in my backyard, but why? Did Mom think this is my punishment for drinking?

“Okay, joke’s over! I’m awake. ”

I struggle to stand up, wiping my eyes.

“C’mon, come out, Mom.”

Nothing but the sound of birds chirping greets me. My bones are brittle and weak, my muscles complain of any movement. A pounding headache has consumed all of my thoughts, putting a strain on any clarity I could possibly have. I get a sudden blood rush to my brain as I stand up too fast. My jean jacket is tattered and torn; my skin is exposed underneath it.

Calum.

I swallow at the memory of last night. All I can think of when Calum comes to mind are the numerous insults I could easily throw at him. I still feel his skin burning the surface of mine. I try to reserve any mediocre memories with his touch as far away as possible in my mind.

One thing is obvious: I need a shower immediately.

Walking towards the back door, I know my parents keep it unlocked for Ariel. She comes by here and walks in as if it is her own home sometimes. I try to open it, but it is locked. The key is in my back pocket and I go inside, expecting one of my parents to pop out with a camera and snap pictures to keep forever. There is an impending silence in the house. I'm worried.

“Mom?” I cry out, “Dad?”

Nothing.

Tiptoeing to the upper bathroom, I catch a glimpse of my sleeping parents. I don’t even bother stopping by my room, all I need is fresh water on my skin. Soon, I’m undressed and under a hot trail of water. It cleans what is left of Calum’s trace on my skin, but even scrubbing it a hundred times doesn’t make the faint idea of his hands on my skin fade away.

I sigh and shut the water. I grab the nearest towel and dry my body with it. The old baseball shirt that got too small on my Dad is hanged up; I try to remember when I ever put it there. But still, I put it on. I smooth down my jeans from last night and pat away the dust before sliding them on as well.

There is ruckus outside, I can hear footsteps. Really? They had to wait for me to shower to make fun of me? Nothing makes sense, I twist the doorknob and open it, drying my hair with a small white towel at the same time.

The sight in front of me is terrifying.

My mom is holding a baseball bat, dressed in ratty old pajamas. “I’m going to ask you once and only once. Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house and in this shirt?”

Beside her, there is a tall boy. He has dark blue eyes that are familiar to me. His hair is blonde and sweeps over his eyes. He is undoubtedly handsome, and his features remind me of my dad. He wipes crust away from his eyes, and blinks thrice. Then, he grabs the baseball from Mom and stands in front of her.

“Mom, I got this,” he says, and then turns to me: “what did you steal?”

Anxiety is seeping in my cells, “I live here. Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“Are you drunk?” he asks, lowering the bat just a bit.

Mom puts a hand on his shoulder, “Dominic, be careful. You don’t know what she can do.”

“Wait—what? Mom, why are you talking like you don’t know me? And Dominic, he’s still a baby!”

The boy’s eyes darken and he steps closer. “I swear to God, if you don’t get out right now, I will not hesitate on hitting you.”

“Mom!” I protest, putting two hands up, “What is going on? The prank isn’t funny anymore.”

Her hair is in a bob. I wondered when the hell she cut it. I had once told her that her long hair was beautiful; she never cut it since. Her features show fright and worry. The joke had lost all its humor a long time ago. I am losing my sanity, slowly.

She points a finger at me: “Look, girl. I don’t know what you’re doing here, or why in the name or god you’re calling me “Mom” but you need to get out right now and tell me what you’ve stolen. Or else, I swear I’ll call the police.” She reaches to the coffee table and grabs the phone in one hand.

“B—but, I, you’re my mom! Dad can tell you. I promise, I’m your daughter. Where’s Dad?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you freak!” she exclaims, cowering from me. “The only two people who live here are my son and I! Just leave, before I call the police and they take care of you," she yells at me with the sound of a son growing in her throat.

I walk towards her, taking the smallest steps. I speak to her gently. “I’m Layla, your daughter? Born on the 12th April, 1998. At sunrise, I think. You named me Layla because you love Arabic words and your friend Ameera told you it meant night. Please.”

“Fucking bitch, you looked at my student card or something?” snaps the boy. “I’m born on the 12th of April, 1998. Get out now.”

I focus on my mother, “Do you remember?”

I need her to remember.

But she dials the three numbers and I hear the sound. She reports a thief in her house, my blood freezes in my veins. Is she serious? I am probably dreaming, or rather having a nightmare. Reacting by instinct, I run towards the stairs, unlock the front door and leave as fast as I can. There are shouts behind me, but all I’m able to hear is the sound of wind swooshing in my ears. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, but is slowly drying. My lungs and joints are burning and complaining from the sudden exercise.

I stop before Ariel’s house and hope for my sake that I am having a nightmare, because everything feels all too real.

But then my best friend shuts the door in my face and tells me to get lost, with her original black hair and dull eyes. She doesn’t recognize me; not even when I told her that we had grown up together. She nearly hits me when I call her Ariel, which shocks me.

I can feel my heart slowly pumping blood into my body, but the blood seems poisoned. I feel like I'm letting out crimson coloured tears, heaving through my burnt lungs. I’ve always thought that the ones I love would always be there for my beating heart, but they are gone.
-
24 hours later
“Morning,” yawns Aiden, pouring orange juice for himself. He rubs his eyes and blinks at me, giving me a dazy smile. “Did you sleep well? Did you eat?”

His parents left an hour ago for work, so we’re the only ones in his house. I bring up the piece of pancake on my fork towards him letting him know that I'm eating. I munch on my breakfast waiting to swallow before talking to him. I have to remind myself that even if it’s Aiden, the same guy I’ve known for a moderate amount of time and whom is my friend, he doesn’t see me as he once did.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I crinkle my nose at him, “who drinks orange juice in the morning?”

“Me?” he frowns, “you’ve never tried it?”

The thought of it gives me negative goose bumps, “and I never will.”

“Layla, try it,” he says, sliding me his cup, “c’mon.”

“No.”

“Will pressuring you work?”

“Nope.”

He sighs, “fine, never mind then. You ready for today?”

“Nope,” I repeat.

We made a small plan last night. There are exactly two parts of it. The first is for me to function as a new student at school, only changing my last name. (We chose Grey as a nickname. Aiden’s choice.) Then, we would (or I would) look for the bitch-Witch who cursed me and make her undo whatever juju she placed upon me.

Aiden smiles at me, “you’ll be fine. I don’t know you all that well, but I know that you can handle your shit.”

“What if I slip up in front of Ariel?” I say.

He makes a grimace, “who’s Ariel?”

There’s that pang to my heart.

“Alexandra,” I repeat, “the girl with black hair?”

“Oh, the one who attempted suicide last year?” he says nonchalantly, finishing his juice.

I freeze. “Suicide?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “she overdosed sleeping pills. All I know is that she used to be friends with Marnie, Jill and Kylie, then when she did what she did, no one talks to her.”

My best friend attempted suicide. Yet in this twisted world, she doesn’t know who I am. The idea of her being upset to the idea of almost death tugs on my feelings, tears gather in my eyes. I push the thought away; I have to get my life back. For my mom, for my dad, for Ariel, for the little Dominic.

“Alright,” I take a deep breath, and ask the next question that haunts my thoughts: “you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I heard you, um, scream last night. I think you were having a nightmare.”

A memory flashes in his eyes, “something like that.”

“You okay, now?” I ask.

He forces a smile, “I’m fine. It was just a weird dream.”

“Did you know that I once dreamt that I got eaten by a turtle?”

Aiden throws his head back and laughs, my heart smiles at the idea of being the reason for that genuine laugh of his. He covers his mouth, eyes me suspiciously and says: “have you ever recovered?”

“I’m still trying to,” I exclaim in a dramatic voice.

His gaze lingers on me, “Did you change your shirt?” he asks.

I look down to the flowery, loose top I put on. I wear the same jeans from yesterday, but Mrs. Ozim is kind enough to lend me one of her shirts and thankfully, she has wonderful taste in clothes. Aiden gives me a bizarre look, as if he sees me for the first time.

“Yeah, why?”

He gulps, stands up and puts his glass in the sink. “Nothing at all.”

“No, tell me.”

“You look really nice, that’s all.”

I smile, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s go to school, okay?”

Grabbing the backpack on the ground containing nothing but one notebook and a single pencil, I stand by his side. “Let’s.”
-

“Layla Grey?” the receptionist says raising an eyebrow.

I grin, “that’s me!” I clear my throat instantly compensating for the fact that my words come out as if I’m on a sugar rush.

She eyes me too long and I think she might have recognized me. But all my hopes are gone when she says: “Alright, here are your forms. Take a seat and fill them out.”

When I’m done, she hands me a timetable and I realize my next class is Math, where both Aiden and Ariel are. I missed first period because of the time I spent filling out forms and working everything out, but I walk to my second class of the day with shaky legs, my stomach growling with anxiety. I chew on my gum frantically causing me to accidentally swallow it. I take this as a bad sign; gum and I are inseparable. This is the first time in almost a year that I swallow my gum by accident.

I knock on the class door, identifying Mrs. Cole speaking about geometric theorems. She opens the door, smiling widely. I know it is as artificial as her chest, but I return it. After all, she doesn’t know me. Two days ago, Mrs. Cole hated my guts with a fervent passion. I guess we have a clean sheet now.

“Hi, Layla, right?” she says, beaming. She turns to her class, “Guys, this is Layla Grey, our newest addition! Why don’t we give her a round of applause?”

Feeble attempts at clapping are heard. Ariel’s eyes and mine meet; she freezes in her chair, averting her eyes from me. Aiden is giving me an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. A few of my male classmate’s eyes are checking me out; one of them sent me a wink. I grimace.

“So, what brings you here?” says Mrs. Cole.

I clear my throat, “I live close by, but my p-parents decided to let me come here.”

“So you’ve been homeschooled?”

“Something like that.”

“Alright!” she puts her hands together, “take a seat and try to follow with what I’m saying, okay?

Come by my desk after school so that we discuss where you’re at in the curriculum.”
I walk through the rows of desks, noticing that the only empty seat is beside Ariel. I put my books on the table and sit. She twitches, flinching away. I tap her shoulder, gathering my courage in two hands.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I say. “I must have mistaken you for someone else.”

“Fuck off,” she replies.

I grit on my teeth, “Ari—Alexandra, I really am sorry.”

“Apology thrown down the drain,” she mumbles drawing away in her notebook. “Now, leave me alone," she adds not lifting her gaze from her rather beautiful drawing.

I turn away, praying to have enough mettle to survive this day. We sit in silence for the rest of the class and before it ends, I’m called on the speaker box, interrupting my almost-slumber. Listening to Mrs. Cole talk is like trying to concentrate on a white dot drawn on a white paper—impossible.

“Can you send Layla Grey to the guidance counselor’s office, please?” says the school secretary, and I get up with Cole’s permission. I deny any need for help, because no one understands that I know this school like the back of my hand.

Walking downstairs, I turn to the left and knock on the counselor’s office. A female voice invites me in. It throws me off, because I expect to see Mr. Reagan, the guidance counselor slash psychologist in the school.

“Hello, Layla,” says the woman sitting in a chair.

My nerves are alert, sending screams to my brain and pointing to the woman.

She has the same captivating almond purple eyes, yet her coal colored hair cascades to her stomach in perfect curls. She pulls pink lips into a smile, as if she knows something I don’t. Fury and chagrin burst inside of me as the memories threaten to make my mind explode, I have to resist the urge to strangle her.

Emmeline Laforte is the name on the silver plaque on her desk.

“What did you do to me?” I ask.

She shrugs, “you made a wish, sweetheart.”
My heart hammers against my ribcage. My body begins to tremble and I have trouble hiding it.“But it was out of desperation and anger; I never asked you to fucking erase me from everyone’s lives! I never wanted any of this!”

“Now, now, Layla. Calm down, dear.”

“Fuck you.”

The woman smirks and wants to laugh, but doesn’t. Elegance pours out of her like rivers. She taps her manicured nails on the table, observing me delicately.

“Watch your mouth,” she hums.

I ignore her and say instead: “How does this end? How can I fix everything?”

Witchy lady points to the ceiling and the bell rings in my ears. The rush of students yearning to escape their classes is heard. She gives me a lugubrious smile.

“Goodbye, Layla! It was a pleasure to finally meet you,” she bids. A teacher walks in and chatters with her excitedly. Aiden is standing by the door, with a raised eyebrow. He ushers for me to come with him, but I so desperately want to get the truth out of her.

Grumbling a set of curses under my breath, I walk out and join Aiden. I start walking extremely fast which forces Aiden to jog behind me to catch up. He showers me with questions and inquiries, but all I say is: “It’s her. It’s the woman who took everything away.”

“And?” He expects more.

“Nothing,” I shrug. “I’ll go see her later.”

Aiden nods and takes the sign that I don’t want to talk. We reach his locker and there, Calum is leaning against the one beside his. Hair smoothed down, shirt buttoned up—even if he looks dorky, I want to punch him. Aiden gives him a smile and offers him a props. He glances at me and gives me a look towards Calum.

“Hi, you’re new, right?” says Calum brightly. Any trace of the horny boy I knew last night is gone. He offers me his hand and I flinch, but don’t shake his hand.

I gulp, “yeah.”

“I’m Calum,” he takes his hand away and grins at me. I want to slap him.

“Layla,” I say dryly. “Aiden and I need to talk, do you mind?”

“No, not at all! See ya later, man,” he says to Aiden and leaves.

Aiden is looking anywhere but at me. I punch his arm.

“He’s your friend?” I exclaim, my hands still shaking from the sight of Calum.

“Yeah, sorry bout that,” he scratches the back of his neck. “I forgot to tell you.”

“But—” I take a deep breath and remember that he doesn’t know me like real Aiden does, "Right, sorry. It’s fine.”

And we head to the cafeteria, where we sit with Calum and others. Ariel is alone by the garbage, sipping on apple juice. I remember her once saying that she despised apple juice, because it looks like pee.

But there she is so different than how I once was able to see her without wanting to crumble down with tears. Light is her enemy and a smile is as far away as the sun is to Pluto. I notice a tear streaming down her face but just as I am about to get up, Aiden pulls me back down.

“Give her time,” he whispers.

And the clock strikes 12, it makes a ding-dong sound. I huff in annoyance, it is so loud my ears hurt. Aiden lets go of my arm and blinks at me. I furrow my eyebrows.

“You okay?” I ask.

His expression is blank, yet confused: “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I was grasping onto your arm. I’m sorry again. By the way. I’m Aiden, you are?” he holds out his hand for me to shake.

I blink, “It’s not funny.”

But the forgotten look in his eyes that one only gets when they are meeting a stranger scares me and I think that I’m hallucinating. The only person on my side right now is Aiden, I can’t lose him too.

“What’s not funny?” he says, looking at me as if I’m a lummox. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I shake his hand. “But you’re not funny, Aiden.”

He chuckles, “what’s your name?”

“…Layla? Dude, come on. I don’t need this.”

“Layla, it’s nice to meet you,” he lets go of my hand and smiles. “How’s school treating you?”

And as if by magic, the look of recognition and friendship comes back to his eyes after a few blinks.

“Sit down, Layla. Alexandra is going to be fine," he says sinking back into the previous conversation.

A question running through my mind is hurting my head.

What the hell just happened?

-

written by yas, edited by sarah! (also go check out sarah's story: but hold on!)