I feel Damian's eyes on me as I walk down the hall. I suppose it's odd to feel someone's eyes on you, especially a specific set, but that's just how well he and I know each other. Our bond is greater than friendship. It's as if our souls are intertwined.

That's why he's so defensive of me. That's why I frustrate him so easily. That's why he's the one person who I know will never leave me behind, no matter how hard I push him away.

"We need to talk." His heavy footsteps approach me. "What are you doing after school today?"

"Talking to you, I guess," I reply with a shrug.

"I'll meet you on the quad at two-thirty."

"Sounds like a plan."

Without another word, he disappears into a classroom I know he is not supposed to be in, probably just to get away from me.

I don't blame him. I've been a pretty toxic friend lately.

Perhaps I was incorrect before. Maybe it is possible for me to push him away, after all.

Maybe I already have.

At two-thirty, I meet Damian on the quad as promised. He sits on the grass, his legs stretched out in front of him as he rips a handful of emerald blades from the earth. When he notices me standing over him, he looks up, smiling sheepishly.

"I know you're mad at me," I say, "but there's no need to take it out on the grass."

Chuckling, he gestures for me to sit. I lower myself to the ground, keeping a three-foot distance between us. It feels unnatural to be so far away, but something stops me from moving closer.

"So... what did you want to talk about?" I ask.

"You, mostly," he answers. "Look, I know I need to give you space. I know I haven't given you space. It's just... I don't know. I'm really worried."

"And why are you so worried?"

As soon as the question leaves my lips, I regret it. It's a stupid thing to ask.

"I talked to Haven. She told me why she slapped you," he explains. "For the record, I'm pissed she did that. It wasn't right, and I understand why you quit, but...." He falls silent, his expression grave as the tension between us grows. "Layla, why are you drinking so much?"

"I'm not," I say quickly.

"Please don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"Haven found your miniature whiskey at Gabby's. Jessi smelled booze on you the day we came back to school. Over the summer, I saw all those empty bottles in your roo—"

"You teleported into my room?" I cut in, shocked. "Do you just pop in all the time?"

"Keep your voice down," he scolds me. "No, I don't 'pop in' often. I literally hadn't seen you in months. I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead!"

I let out a tired sigh. Lying is exhausting. Pretending not to care is exhausting.

Being alone all the time is psychologically draining.

"Things were finally starting to look up, you know?" I close my eyes, fighting back tears. "We had finally forced the Bishops out of town. Zane and I had just gotten together. Margo and I... we were supposed to have the most incredible summer ever."

The first teardrop escapes, and it's followed by a dozen more. Damian pulls me into his arms as I break down, sobbing like a child into his chest.

"Now Zane's in Chicago. Margo is gone. I'm... I'm never going to see her again. I know that nothing in life is permanent, but for the first time ever, I was happy... or at least as close to happy as I've ever been."

"Shh, it's okay," he comforts me, rubbing circles on my back with his fingertips. "I think this breakdown was long overdue."

Sniffling, I look up into his bright blue eyes and whisper, "Damian, I feel like I'm never going to be happy again, like I'm... broken."

"That's just not true at all," he assures me. "Happiness will find you again, Layla. I know it will."

"But what if it doesn't?"

"Then you'll have me. Always."

"I want you either way," I murmur, "whether I'm happy or completely miserable."

"I'm never going to leave you, Layla," he vows. "No matter what happens, I'll always be here."

I nod my head, my former worries receding like tidewater.

Damian Forbes is, and has always been, the one true constant in my life.

<><><><><><>

"I need to talk to Gabby. I need to get my job back," I announce, graciously accepting the streaming mug of hot chocolate that Damian hands me.

"I think she'll understand. She knows last year was hell for you."

"It's no excuse. My behavior was deplorable."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Damian says, resting his hand over mine.

The lights in the kitchen are dim, and thanks to Moira's scented candle collection, the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla fills the air. This is the calmest I've felt in months.

"So I hate to ask," he begins, "but over the summer, did anything... did anything happen with Hank?"

I feel the color drain from my face. He must see the change, because he quickly shakes his head and says, "Never mind. You don't have to tell me."

"There was one altercation," I whisper, wrapping Damian's flannel shirt around my shoulders. "It happened a few hours after Margo's funeral. I asked him if I could have a beer, and he said yes, but I was feeling bold and swiped his bottle of whiskey, too." I touch my eyelid, remembering the gut-wrenching pain all too well. "He saw that it was missing, dragged me out of my room, and then... then he slapped me a couple times before giving me a blackeye."

"Layla...."

"It's okay. I'm fine now. See?" I point to my face and flash a smile.

"Nothing about this situation is fine," he whispers.

"We graduate in May. We have just under seven months. I can do it," I say, trying to convince myself more than him. "I have to do it."

"Will you stay here tonight?" he asks, tucking a strand of damp hair behind my ear. "Please?"

"Yes," I reply, "but you're buying pizza for dinner. I'm ravenous."

Chuckling, he nods his head before grabbing the takeout menu off the fridge.

I tuck Layla into bed and tiptoe downstairs to put the leftover pizza in the fridge. I shove the remaining slices into a plastic bag and discard the grease-covered box.

For a girl who was "ravenous," she picked at one piece before claiming she was too tired to eat any more. I believed her, noticing that she was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. She allowed me to carry her to my room, where she passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

That poor girl. She's only seventeen and has already been through so much heartache.

I hear the floor creak and turn to see Mom entering the kitchen. The anxious expression on her face mirrors my own. She takes a seat at the table, gesturing for me to join her.

"Hey, Mom," I murmur.

"Hon, we need to talk," she replies, getting right into it. "Layla is sleeping over, isn't she?"

"If that's an issue, I—"

"It's not. It never has been," she assures me.

Confused, I nod my head silently.

"I love Layla like a daughter," Mom goes on. "Ever since she came over for your first playdate in kindergarten, I've loved her. When she stopped coming around this summer, I got worried because...." She trails off, her eyes glistening with concern. "Damian, I'm going to ask you something. I need you to be honest with me, okay?"

Once again, I nod my head.

"Does Layla's father hurt her?"

"Yes, Mom," I whisper, tears spilling down my face like rain droplets on a window. "Yes, he does."

She bites her lip, as if trying not to cry herself, and says, "I've had my suspicions for years. When you guys were kids, I called Social Services half a dozen times, but they never found anything conclusive."

"He's a drunk—a violent drunk," I tell her. "It's not like he beats her all the time. There are weeks and even months when nothing happens, but it's never gonna stop. I know that, and she knows that, but she refuses to leave. She refuses to get actual help. She's so afraid of ending up in the system, Mom. She's more afraid of that than she is of him."

My mom is quiet as she processes the information. I wait for her to scold me, to yell at me for keeping my best friend's dangerous secret, but she says nothing.

Wiping my teary eyes, I add, "I should have told you as soon as I found out. I'm so sorry. She asked me to keep my mouth shut, and I listened."

"You should have," she agrees, "but I understand why you didn't."

"Does this mean you're going to call Social Services again?" I inquire, sick to my stomach at the thought of my best friend being stuck in a foster home for the next few months.

"No." Mom shakes her head. "It means I'm going to invite Layla to move in with us."

A/N:
Damian and Layla living together. Can't say I'm upset about it ❤️😍