*ੈ✩‧₊˚
IRL
*ੈ✩‧₊˚

↳ ❝YOU'RE ACTING
LIKE A
POMPOUS BITCH.❞

Layla has always been known as the 'bitchy' friend. She doesn't just wear the 'bitchy' title; she embraces it, there's an unabashed glint in her eyes conveying that she doesn't give a fuck about judgments. She's bitchy for a reason. It's a no-nonsense approach that's been ingrained into her since she was a kid.

No child envisions a life with divorced parents. Most grow up thinking their parents are meant to be, their love eternal, their bond unbreakable. That notion of everlasting love felt absolute when she was younger, until the day they sat her down and gave her the speech about how they still loved her, but sometimes, parents grow apart.

At first, she believed it. She believed her parents loved her unconditionally, and that their separation was somehow a part of that love. But then her mother remarried and moved away, leaving Layla with a gnawing sense of abandonment and isolation. Her mother's departure shattered the illusion she clung to, the one that promised her parents' love would remain the same despite the physical separation.

Caleb Rose, Layla's father, assumed full custody of her without much resistance from her mother. He was a man of success in his career, but in her life, he embodied a stern and unyielding presence. His expectations towered impossibly high, casting a perpetual shadow over Layla's life. She felt the weight of those expectations in every aspect, from her academic performance to her social circle; nothing she did ever seemed to measure up.

Her heart's desire was simple: to be deemed "good enough" for her father.

In her pursuit to meet his expectations, she chose to major in law, a decision that her father ardently supported. Caleb insisted that a legal career was the only route to a secure future, declaring that any other choice would be "foolish" and "pointless." As he shattered her dreams of studying English, he would dismiss her aspirations with the phrase that had come to haunt her: "I know what's best for you."

These experiences had forged Layla into a fiercely opinionated individual. She had learned early on that life wasn't always fair, and the world was rarely a forgiving place. In this environment of high expectations and demanding scrutiny, Layla developed a resolve to be heard and understood.

While she was called 'bitchy' for her outspokenness, it was a trait she welcomed, but primarily when interacting with her peers and in her social life. It was her way of asserting herself in a world that constantly judged her worth. However, when it came to her father, a different dynamic existed. Layla had learned that openly challenging her father was akin to pushing a boulder up an endless hill; it was an exhausting and ultimately futile endeavour. So, she reserved her opinions and her no-nonsense attitude for situations where she could maintain control over the conversation. With Caleb, silence became her armour, her way of minimizing conflict, as she recognized the impossibility of changing his unwavering opinions.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

While it might be a surprise, Layla met Levi first. Well, 'first' is a relative term considering she met Lovette hours later.

As Layla stood by her locker at Harvard-Westlake, the memory of her latest confrontation with her father lingered. She had been the new girl for a couple of months now and hadn't exactly made a ton of friends. Her reputation as the girl who spoke her mind, no matter what, had preceded her. Today was no different.

The crowded hallway buzzed with teenage life, a stark contrast to the stern atmosphere she was accustomed to at home. She watched students shuffle through, their hushed whispers and hurried steps, and it took her back to the evening when she had laid her report card on the kitchen table. Her academic achievements, straight A's and praise from teachers, should have been a cause for celebration, but here, in the shadow of her father's unyielding expectations, it was just another performance review.

As she expertly turned the dial, the memories of her last confrontation with her father surfaced, like ghosts she couldn't banish. The echoes of his words, "I know what's best for you," reverberated in her thoughts, a mantra she couldn't escape. The vivid memory made her fumble with the combination lock as if trying to unlock her father's approval. Layla couldn't help but wonder if there was ever a combination that would satisfy him.

Just as frustration started to creep in, Layla noticed a guy with an easygoing grin rummaging through his backpack a few feet away from her. He exuded an air of calm, a stark contrast to her own relentless energy.

Layla raised an eyebrow, her tone cutting through the busy hallway. "You know, it's usually more effective if you put things in your backpack, not take them out."

The guy she was addressing, looked up, surprised by her audacity. But instead of being deterred by her words, he smiled.

"Well, you've got a point there. I was looking for my book for English, and I swear it was in here just a second ago."

Layla tilted her head, her curiosity evident. "Who do you have for English?"

The unnamed boy paused his search for a moment, looking up briefly. "Mr. Sullivan."

"God, his take on The Great Gatsby sucks," Layla remarked with a scowl, her disdain for her English teacher clear. "Fitzgerlad practically dissected the American Dream, revealing its hollowness beneath all the glitz and glamour. And what does Sullivan do? He reduces it to a love story gone wrong! It's sacrilege, I tell you.  I've half a mind to lend him my copy with all the essential parts highlighted, just to save the poor man from embarrassing himself further."

The boy's grin grew wider as he listened to Layla's passionate rant. He appreciated her fiery enthusiasm, even if he didn't fully share it."You must be Layla, right? I've heard about you."

Layla responded dryly, "All good things I hope," earning a laugh from the boy.

"Yeah, new girl who doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks," he replied with an amused glint in his eyes.

Layla shrugged nonchalantly, inwardly surprised that he wasn't put off by her frankness. "That's me. Diplomacy and I haven't been on speaking terms lately."

The boy, still rifling through his backpack, gave her a curious look, acknowledging her straightforwardness. "Yeah, I can see that. Makes life more interesting, though. You don't waste time on the small stuff."

Layla looked at him with interest, a flicker of surprise that he was engaging with her so amiably. She watched as he seemed to admit defeat at finding the book. Before she could overthink it, she reached into her locker, pulling out her own copy.

"Here," she said, extending the book to him. "You can borrow mine. Just meet me in the library at lunch to give it back."

He took it gingerly and flipped through the book carefully, noticing the annotations in the margins. Layla felt a mixture of curiosity and a sense of victory. She was used to her bluntness alienating people, but this interaction was turning out differently.

"Thank you," the boy said, waiting for her to provide her name.

"Layla."

"Well, thank you, Layla. I'm Levi." Layla couldn't help but smile, pleasantly surprised by this chance encounter.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

In the quiet solitude of the school library, Layla had found her lunchtime refuge, and that was more out of necessity than choice. The lack of friends had driven her to this corner table, a sanctuary amidst the hushed whispers of students studying around her. Layla claimed her usual spot at a secluded corner table, immersed in the pages of a thick novel. Classical literature, a daily prescription from her father in his endeavour to mould her into his desired image, occupied her lunchtime routine.

Levi entered the library with an aura of nonchalance. His backpack hung half-open, an unruly collection of schoolwork spilling out, half of which is probably due today. He meandered through the stacks of books, his attention divided between the surroundings and his own thoughts.

The entrance of Levi diverted Layla's focus from the classical prose to the unfolding scene. She closed the novel, carefully marking the page with a bookmark, and gestured to Levi's dishevelled bag. "Do you actually find anything in there, or is it a black hole for lost homework?"

"I'll have you know I cleaned it out, just for you," Levi retorted with a grin, delving into the bag's depths.

Arching an eyebrow, Layla responded, "You call this clean?"

Levi, undeterred by her commentary, continued rummaging through the backpack, sifting through stray papers. It was in this moment that Layla's solitary library retreat was destined to be disrupted once again, this time by an unexpected visitor. The library's door opened, and in stepped a girl baring resemblance to Levi with a purposeful stride.

Clutching a copy of The Great Gatsby, the girl scanned the room before spotting the pair. "Levi, you left this somewhere again," she chided, waving the book.

Levi looked up, a sheepish grin forming on his face. "Ah, thanks, Lovette. I was wondering where that went."

The girl's gaze shifted from Levi to Layla, who observed the interaction with a hint of amusement. "Who's your friend?" she inquired, an air of curiosity accompanying her poised demeanour.

Levi, with a grin, introduced the two. "Layla, meet my twin sister, Lovette. Lovette, meet Layla."

Lovette extended a hand, a warm smile playing on her lips. "Nice to meet you, Layla."

Layla reciprocated the smile, appreciating the genuine warmth in Lovette's demeanour. "Likewise, Lovette. Your brother here seems to have a habit of misplacing books."

Levi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guilty as charged. But hey, it led to a new friendship, right?"

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lovette's drive back home, despite the enjoyable time with Chris, was dominated by the impending confrontation with Layla. It seemed Eli had already picked up on her mood; he was always perceptive, a trait perhaps sharpened by losing his hearing at the age of six. Each friend had a distinct sign of distress. Levi nervously bit his lip, Imani's left eye twitched, Mateo's cheerful chatter turned into somber silence, and Layla, well, she would verbally explode  when angered (Eli often joked about her lacking an outspoken setting she could turn off).

But Lovette's expressions were harder to decipher. Typically stoic, she maintained a calm facade, choosing her words with surgical precision. Yet, when truly angered, all that meticulous control crumbled. As she returned from Chris's house, Eli could sense her fury.The first telltale sign was the clenching of her fist, an unusual sight for Lovette. Then, her eyes, those usually serene windows to the soul, narrowed into furious slits, emotions etched vividly on her face.

In the foyer, her gaze darted around until it locked onto Eli.

"What's wrong?" Eli signed swiftly.

For a moment, Lovette's face contorted, torn between conflicting emotions, but then it settled back into anger. "Where's Layla?" she replied through sign language. "I need to talk to her."

Eli, raising an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic vagueness, pointed her in the direction of the guest room where Layla was staying. The tension in the air crackled as Lovette, propelled by a storm of emotions, made her way to what promised to be a charged conversation.

Lovette stood before Layla's door, her unchecked anger manifesting in the harsh rap of her knuckles against the wood. She crossed her arms over her chest, a visible effort to contain the tempest within. The door swung open, revealing Layla. Her short brown hair was pulled into a casual ponytail, and her frame sported a shirt proclaiming her as part of Harvard-Westlake's Class of 2022.

Why would Layla say those things to Chris? How could she judge him without even knowing him? Lovette's mind raced, Chris is more than Layla sees. He's sincere, caring, and his dreams are valid, no matter what she thinks.

"Hey Love," Layla greeted casually, opening the door wider for her to come in.

Silently, Lovette entered the room, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Should she confront Layla directly?

Layla, unfazed, sat cross-legged on the bed, tilting her head curiously. "Are you okay?"

"I know what you told Chris. What you've been telling him."

"Okay," Layla responded, her voice a monotone devoid of concern. Her body language echoed the sentiment, radiating a relaxed indifference.

Lovette's anger surged again. "Is that all you're gonna say?"

"What else is there to say?"

"Why would you tell my boyfriend that he's not good enough for me because he's a YouTuber?"

Layla shrugged, her demeanour unchanged. "Because it's true."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Lovette asked, more as a rhetorical expression of frustration than an actual question.

"Lovette, what do you think is gonna happen when his career fizzles out? Trust me, I've watched some of his content, and school is definitely not in the cards for him."

Lovette's fist tightened involuntarily, the pressure of her anger coursing through her veins. "You're acting like a pompous bitch."

The words hung in the air, a raw declaration of frustration. Lovette hadn't meant for them to escape, but they erupted, a manifestation of her seething anger. She watched Layla, a flicker of worry creeping into her mind about the potential fallout. However, Layla's response was unexpected — laughter.

"Lovette, please, he's a YouTuber. A YouTuber with commitment issues that'll probably run the first chance you say the L word," Layla retorted casually, as if she were discussing the weather, her focus more on her nails than the brewing storm in the room.

"You don't know him, Layla," Lovette asserted, her voice a mix of frustration and defence.

Layla sighed, an exasperated sound that seemed to mock Lovette's plea. "I know enough. Enough to guess that he's probably moving to L.A to pursue 'opportunities.'"

The revelation hit Lovette like a cold wave, freezing her in disbelief. She hadn't disclosed Chris's plans to anyone yet, especially not to Layla. Her shock rendered her momentarily speechless, but Layla pressed on.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Layla declared with a self-satisfied smirk, her tone implying this was just another one of her intuitive victories. "I usually am."

The room pulsated with tension, the air thick with unsaid words and unspoken accusations. Lovette grappled with her emotions, the unexpected revelation mingling with Layla's boldness, creating a volatile mix that crackled in the charged atmosphere.

Lovette shook her head, her frustration evident. "No, that doesn't mean anything. Him moving doesn't mean—"

"You think the L.A. girls are gonna care that he has a girlfriend? They'll go after him either way."

The accusation hung in the air, and Lovette felt the sting of Layla's words like a slap. Anger welled up inside her, threatening to break free. "I trust him."

Layla's retort was swift, a calculated strike aimed at Lovette's vulnerability. "Maybe you shouldn't. Took him forever to have the balls to ask you to be his girlfriend. Shouldn't you be with someone who knows what they want? Who won't beat around the bush 'cause he's scared?"

"He's different now," Lovette asserted, the words carrying a weight of conviction.

Layla scoffed, a derisive sound that further fueled Lovette's anger. "Well, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of that, not me."

Internal turmoil raged within Lovette. The tremors of anger vibrated through her, threatening to fracture the calm exterior she meticulously maintained. Layla's words, though intended to provoke, struck chords of doubt in Lovette's mind.

"Why are you doing this?"

Layla sighed, rising to her feet, determined to breach the emotional chasm between them. "There is no one more deserving of happiness than you, Lovette," she said, reaching out to clasp Lovette's hand. "I want what's best for you—I know what's best for you. I'm doing this because I care, because I've seen how this story ends."

Lovette recoiled, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You really are your father's daughter."

Layla's expression faltered, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through her mask. Lovette pressed on, her words a deliberate strike against Layla's presumed authority. "You'd tell me about how much you hated his expectations. His rules. And now you're subjecting someone else to them. You told me how much you resented him."

"Shut up," Layla snapped, attempting to silence the painful revelation. The accusation hit too close to home, unravelling Layla's carefully constructed defenses.

"You became the person you swore you hated," Lovette continued, each word a piercing arrow aimed at Layla's conscience. The room, once a battlefield of unspoken conflicts, now echoed with the clash of emotions.

The weight of the accusation, coupled with the realization of Layla's transformation, fueled the flames of Lovette's anger.

Layla's eyes wavered, a momentary crack in the confident facade. Lovette seized the opportunity to push back. "You talk about what's best for me, but have you ever considered what I want? Or is it always about what Layla thinks is best?" Lovette's voice trembled, the controlled facade slipping.

Layla's eyes, once defiant, now wavered with a mix of emotions. "I'm trying to protect you, to save her from the heartbreak that's inevitable with someone like Chris."

Lovette seized this vulnerability, pushing back with a ferocity born out of betrayal. "Someone like Chris," Lovette repeated, her words a dagger aimed at Layla's convictions, "God, Layla, what the hell does that even mean?"

Layla believed she was the anchor, the voice of reason that Lovette needed, even if Lovette couldn't see it yet. "The L.A. move, the uncertainties about his future—these are red flags. You deserve stability, someone who isn't chasing after fleeting dreams," Layla asserted, her tone carrying the weight of what she perceived as irrefutable truth.

"I can't believe you right now," Lovette retorted, her words sharp as shards of glass.

"You are blinded by emotions, and someone has to be the voice of reason," Layla insisted, her defense a shield against the storm of Lovette's anger.

"And who gave you that job?" Lovette shot back, her incredulity slicing through the air. The question hung, a challenge to the authority Layla had assumed.

Beneath it all, Layla clung to the belief that sometimes tough love was the only way to protect those you cared about, even if they couldn't see it.

"One day, you're gonna see that I'm right," Layla declared, her words a shield against the storm that raged in Lovette's eyes.

"I don't think we can be friends right now. You can stay till the end of the trip, but after that, this," Lovette gestured between them, "is done."

The room seemed to tense with the finality of Lovette's words, the weight of her decision settling like a heavy fog. Layla, undeterred, pushed back, each word a countermeasure in this clash of emotions.

"You're picking a guy you've known for less than a year over someone who has known you for years," Layla retorted, her tone laced with a mix of hurt and disbelief. Her words served as a poignant reminder of the fractures that had torn through their longstanding friendship.

But Lovette, standing resolute in her truth, shot back with a cutting clarity. "Knowing someone for years doesn't give them the right to dictate my choices, Layla. And you've made it crystal clear what you think of my decisions. I won't let anyone, even an old friend, undermine the person I care about. You're not protecting me; you're imposing your version of what's right onto my life."

The lines were drawn, and as Lovette turned away, leaving Layla standing in silence, it marked the end of a chapter, the closure of a friendship that had weathered many storms but, in the end, succumbed to the tumult of conflicting beliefs.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
hello everyone!

and as i ask every time i update: how do we feel??

this took way too long to write and i am so sorry about that but she's here!

anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed

until next time <3!