Walk Away, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 1)
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Authors: Crystal Cierlak
Walk Away
The Romance of Nick and Layla, Part One
By Crystal Cierlak
Text copyright© 2012 Crystal Cierlak
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are either the products of the
author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
I don't believe in love. I think it's a
waste of time. You give your heart away once and you're never quite the same.
You never get that love back. Maybe, if you were lucky enough, you felt his
love for you. I did. But it was gone quicker than it was here. Love consumes
you. It envelops you inside its rough grip until you're powerless. But you
don't feel consumed in it, just by it. There are no stars that twinkle, no
butterflies in your stomach. And you certainly don't feel like your skin is the
only thing keeping you from bursting in every direction.
Instead you're worried sick. You forget to
live your own life because you're so scared that his will end faster. You want
to take care of him. You want to provide for him and be there for him. Until
the day he doesn't need you anymore. Well, he stopped needing me. But I never stopped
worrying; I just learned how to conceal it.
He broke my heart every day. I was
powerless to break his. He had a hold over me; I fell in love with him so
easily. I always give in to him. And he knows it. Maybe at one point he loved
me. Maybe he was just using me for sex and my companionship. It doesn't really
matter anymore. Our marriage is a sham, but we're the only ones who know it.
Nobody even knows we're married, not even
his closest friends or his family. But we get dressed up and make appearances
just to give people something to talk about. Our faces are plastered in the
society pages, in magazines, at televised events.... Everybody loves us
together. When you look at us, arms around each other, smiling affectionately
into each other, we look perfect. I would believe the lie myself; but I know
better.
I could divorce him. He could divorce me.
So why don't we? I can only speak for myself. I love him too much. The son of a
bitch.
It's 8:09 and I've been banging on the door
since eight sharp. Where the hell is Nick? Or at least the spare key? I picked
up the welcome mat. No key. I looked in a hanging potted plant. Still no key.
Then I checked under the mailbox and there it was, taped to the metal. I tore
away at the tape and used the key to open the huge house.
I was immediately hit with the smell of
candles that had burned all night long. Nick's keys lay on the floor in the
foyer. A few feet away was a purse. I began picking up the items as I went up
the banister and into Nick's bedroom. A pair of Nick's jeans. A micro-mini
skirt. The cashmere polo I gave to Nick last Christmas (what a sentimentalist),
and a beaded halter top and a bra from Victoria's Secret. And there they were.
Nick sprawled out on his bed like a king, naked, and a blonde cuddling up to
him.
I rolled my eyes as Nick moved in his
sleep, making the blonde's eyes flutter open like a doe. She took one look at
me and practically jumped into the ceiling.
"Who the hell are you?!" she
yelled.
"The maid. Here are your clothes. Get
out. Thanks for stopping by."
"You can't kick me out!" the
blonde protested. Jesus, one night with Nick and suddenly these girls think
they live here.
"Sweetie I'll throw your clothes in
the pool and laugh as you dive in for them. Now up and out! Don't worry about
Nick he probably doesn't remember your name anyway." I watched with no
amusement as the girl slipped on her clothes and ran out of the bedroom.
I went to the large windows and pulled open
the drapes, letting in the morning sun off of the ocean. I blew out the candles
on the dressers and in other nooks and crannies. When I turned around Nick was
attempting to sit up and open his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he
grunted.
"I live here." Technically I lived
in the house in Santa Monica, but he probably wouldn’t come back with that.
Nick looked down at the empty spot where
the blonde had laid just minutes before. "Wasn't I with someone?" he
asked groggily. God, what'd the guy do last night? Drink himself into
stupidity?
"You mean the blond and, I might add -
underage
- girl?"
"Yeah. Tina or something like that?
Where'd she go?"
"She realized that everything looks
bigger in the dark and went home."
"You're so not funny. What time is
it?" He looked at the clock next to the bed and cringed. "Layla, get
the fuck out of here. I just went to sleep two hours ago."
"Can't. We have an event tonight and there
are a lot of things to do before then. Come on. Get up. I'll make you some
coffee."
"Stop acting like you're my wife,"
he muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his face with raw fingers.
"I'm not going to play this game with
you today, Nick. We have a lot of things to get done." I was in no mood to
put up with his stubbornness. It wasn’t my fault he lacked personal
responsibility, and it wasn’t my job to give him any.
"I have a better idea. Why don't you
shut up and get your fine ass into bed with me?"
I scoffed. "Please Nick. Since when
have you ever been interested in sleeping with your wife? You better be
downstairs in five minutes or I'm going to use the hose again."
"What do I need a hoe for when I have
you?"
He couldn’t see my face but if he could
have he probably would have only snickered at my expression. I hate it when he
says shit like that.
"Oh come on, baby. You know I’m just
messing with you. Come on into bed with me."
I turned around, my face contorted into
disbelief. "As if you were at all appealing right now. Why don’t you put
that thing away before you embarrass yourself?" Like I would get into bed
with someone when the sheets were still warm from the woman – no,
girl
–
who preceded me.
"You never seemed to mind
before."
"Like I said sweetie, everything looks
bigger in the dark. Five minutes!" And with that I left. I walked out of
his room, into the second floor hallway, down the stairs and turned right into
the rest of the house. I loved this house. Still do. Hell, I helped decorate
it. I helped to make it everything Nick wanted it to be and more. I loved
pleasing him. I loved the looks he got on his face when he discovered something
in the house that was meant for only the two of us to understand. The moments
were brief and excusable, but I saw them nonetheless and they made my heart
tingle. Those were the moments that made all the crap almost bearable.
You see, the thing you have to understand
about Nick and me is that while our relationship is very dysfunctional, it’s
actually based on something real and concrete; a foundation: Insanity. But
besides insanity, love. Love in the sense of I-can’t-get-enough-of-him-want-to-be-around-him-all-the-time.
And that’s exactly how we were. But those days are gone. What happened and when
did it happen? I’m not sure. It was just a sudden change in the wind. Or maybe
it was subtly happening over time. Whether the change was microscopic or
macroscopic I’m not sure, but, looking back, I can definitely see the gap. I
hate thinking about it.
I was so surprised at how clean the house
was considering I came over to clean it a week ago. Usually Nick adds his own
personal touches five minutes after the cleaning supplies are under the sink. A
shirt thrown on this couch. A shoe tucked in that corner. A condom or two under
the bed. Stuff like that. But it was like he hadn’t even been here. So then
where had he been if not at home?
I made some coffee and looked around the
house, listening to the put-tut-tut of the machine sucking up the water, then
dropping it in through the grounds and into the pitcher. God I missed this
place. So many happy memories. So many unhappy memories. In retrospect I miss
them all.
Nick appeared at my side a moment later. He
was pouring coffee into a mug and looking at me concentrating on the house.
"What’s up with you?" he asked
before taking a long sip of the steaming drink. He liked his coffee black.
Don’t know why.
"Just thinking about you and me. The
times we’ve shared," I replied.
"This place does have a lot of
memories," he agreed. I nodded my head. "I’m gonna miss it."
I looked up at him, confused. What did he
just say? "Say that again?"
"I’m selling the house. Thinking about
buying a new one."
Is he crazy?! "What the hell for? This
house is perfect. We built this house from the ground up together!"
"I need a change," he shrugged. His
nonchalance was infuriating.
"When were you planning on telling
me?" I asked. Another classic Nick Hudson move. Make decisions without
first consulting the wife.
"I’m telling you now, aren’t I? What
do you care? You have Santa Monica," he spat. I didn’t need to be
reminded.
"Yes, but this is
our
place,"
I stressed, hoping he would understand.
Nick shook his head. "This hasn’t been
our place since you moved out."
He was seriously not going there. "Do
I have to remind you why I moved out in the first place?"
"Maybe. You might. I mean, you stopped
having sex with me. You stopped doing all wife-like things you had been doing
for me. You stopped talking to me."
"First of all, you were sleeping
around; In fact, you were having more sex than I was! Secondly, maybe if you
appreciated my
wife-like things
in the first place we... Just shut up
Nick! I can’t believe we are having this conversation again. After a year... I
don’t know why.... UGH!" Calm down, he’s just being himself. The same self
you fell in love with. "And can you blame me for not talking to you?"
"Yes, I can!" he yelled back.
"Oh, get off it Nick!" I rolled
my eyes, snapped off the coffee machine and grabbed his mug from his hands. I
tossed the liquid into the sink and slammed the mug down in the basin.
" I was drinking that!"
"Handle your hangover your own
way!" I retorted. "And for the love of God Nick why isn’t this place
a mess?"
Nick’s eyes increased an inch in diameter.
"Excuse me?"
"You usually trash this place after I
clean it and I cleaned it a week ago! So you must not have been home if it’s
still clean!"
"Did it ever occur to you that I might
have kept it clean myself?"
"No! Since when have you ever done
that?" Shit, okay Layla, deep breaths. Deep breaths. Think of calming
images. The ocean. Yes, waves calmly breaking against a sandy shore. Yoga on a
sunny day. Kissing your husband passionately. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.