the ordeal of being known

Layla

Layla thought about the fact that there were only two weeks left of the agreed six weeks, while she waited for her friends. She never anticipated that she might like having roommates that much.

Layla to the audience: Yes, I liked having roommates, but do I constantly wish they weren’t men? Also, yes. 

Amir’s diner was less crowded than usual, so she took the opportunity to go behind the counter and help. Amir didn’t question it. He handed her the apron and let her help, knowing she needed to keep herself moving while she sank into the depth of her thoughts.

She thought about the day she found her apartment; how happy she was that she was going to decorate the place however she pleased. She was content for a while but then her life became too quiet. She realized suddenly on a random Monday, when it rained, she didn’t love it as much as she did when she was younger.

She realized how every color in the world had dulled, how it has been dull for such a long time and she couldn’t remember the last time she felt anything positive.

The sunset wasn’t as pretty as it used to be, but she was in denial, so she painted it hundreds of times to convince herself that she could still feel its beauty.

So much indifference, so much emptiness.

When she chose her apartment, Layla made sure it was not very big, and then she filled it with so many things. She always disliked minimalism, so she was pleased with the result, the colors, the fullness of the room, but still nothing could have prepared her for how monstrous the loneliness would be.

The first rainy night when she ate dinner in bed with only silence for her company, or the many other days when the place was so quiet, she kept the TV on to have some form of noise in her space.

“Hello.”

Layla was taken back to reality—taken back to her trembling hands—as Celia called her name. A petite form behind her waved; she left the apron and went to them.

Mia Miller looked like an icon from the seventies; she was a couple of months younger than Layla. Mia had been acting since she was a child, and the media had a very strange obsession with trying to make sure she stayed a child.

She was shorter than Layla. Her blond hair, as usual, had a lot of volume, which made her look a bit taller. She’d done a movie a couple of months ago that had a brief make out scene that caused people to say nasty things about her team. They were outraged that an ‘innocent girl’ could be put in a role like that. Layla personally loved the character; she was sexy and funny.

Mia expressed how crushed she was to get those reactions when she was so desperate to play a mature, complex woman. She looked so desperate not to be seen as a helpless child anymore.

Layla met her when she had been working on a couple of commissions for a known club. The commissions were mostly nude. Mia was photographed going out of it the same day she was photographed leaving. She had randomly found her DMs filled with people cursing her and calling her a bad influence. Mia reached out to her to apologize, and they ended up agreeing to meet.

Layla liked her very much; she was like a breath of fresh air. She felt a bit bad for her, though. Mia seemed so used to having shallow relationships with people to the point where she would be genuinely surprised when Layla asked her questions about herself and listened.

Despite her attraction to the other girl, Layla never dared to make the first move. She knew why; the little voice in her head was a bit hard to ignore.

Don’t act too desperate, Layla.

When Layla was in high school, she didn’t have friends. It wasn’t something she thought about, really. One day, instead of taking the bus home, Sharon came early to pick her up.

Layla was talking to a girl—her name was Tahani. She was one of the popular cheerleaders, and one of the few people Layla didn’t actually dislike. She could remember laughing at something Tahani said. She remembered wanting to touch her hand, and just moments after, she felt a burning gaze on her.

In the car, Sharon was quiet in a way that made the hair on her neck stand. It was loaded silence. Layla had avoided making friends or dating in general because she knew her mother would use it against her, that they would soon turn into her punishment instead.

“Who was that girl?” she had asked tightly.

“Just someone in my class; we’re lab partners.”

“Oh?” she said. A pause, then, “You were looking at her in a certain way. Your whole face changed.”

She had, unfortunately, a very expressive face.

“It’s unattractive to act like that, you know. It makes people uncomfortable. I don’t think a girl like that would want anything to do with you. You aren’t really charming or welcoming.”

“I—”

“Don’t act so desperate,” she snapped, backhanding Layla on the mouth. “I saw you reaching for her.”

She didn’t flinch. She learned that staying still was best when it got physical. If she moved, Sharon became more agitated. If she tried to get away, Sharon became more agitated. She just wanted it to be over, so she stayed still. Whenever she was in close distance to her mama, her body became more alert than usual. It took a toll, but compartmentalizing helped, most of the time.

She says the word multiple times, to make sure it stuck.

Desperate.

When Mia kissed her months ago, it was her first time with anyone. She was stiff when their lips touched; she had been so lonely.

Layla kept most of her clothes on. She asked Mia not to explore her skin too much. She was so scared Mia would tell her to just fuck off. She could never thank Mia enough for giving her that moment. She made sure Layla was comfortable—it felt so strange to be touched by someone else. So real, but so good.

When they were finished, Layla asked, “Do you want to piss some people off?” and Mia grinned.

She opened the balcony of the hotel and kissed her outside. Layla was wearing a big shirt, and Mia had the sheet wrapped around her. It was simple but effective, and they both knew the pictures would look nice.

A few hours later, they were trending, and Layla was being called a bad influence again. It was funny in her opinion.

“I’m thinking of getting a new place. Something bigger,” she told them.

There was a pause, then a shared sigh. “Thank god,” they both said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“Honey, that place is so cramped, and you need some more space,” Mia said gently.

“I like it that way,” she replied defensively.

“We know,” Celia said, “but some more space wouldn’t kill you, and you’d be able to have people over now that you actually have friends.”

Mia giggled; Layla didn’t find it funny.

“Would either of you consider living with me? Staying with Matty made me think about it, but I don’t want to live with a man.”

“I don’t like having roommates,” Mia said.

“I’m in!” Celia exclaimed. “Oh! You could fill the apartment with so much artwork, and we could have mom over—she loves your work—and it would be easier to have Matty over. Yes, it would be so fun.”

Celia went on and on about how great it would be. She couldn’t wait to start looking for apartments. The girls talked a lot, and when they finished their food, Mia insisted they go shopping, because this was her chance to get honest opinions. By the time Layla made it back to Mateo’s, she was insanely sleepy.

She found Jess, Kione, and Mateo on the couch, with iced tea in their hands, watching the Real Housewives. As soon as she walked in, Jess’s head turned and their eyes met. She said hello to everyone and made her way to her room. She was barely in when he pushed his way in and threw himself on her bed.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Jess nodded with a very serious look on his face.

“How was your date?”

“I wasn’t on a date,” she told him.

“No?”

“No,” she said.

When it was apparent that she wasn’t going to say anything else, Jess signed, “You said you were with Mia, though.”

“And Celia. I said Mia and Celia—and Mia and I are just friends.”

“Oh, I must have missed that.”

“Mhmm.” She expected him to leave, but he just rolled around in her bed.

“So you were never dating?” he asked.

“We tried, but it was never really serious.”

“That’s very unfortunate,” he signed, beaming at her. “Anyway, when are we going to New York?”

She stared at him.

I prefer writing as a form of communication, she thought.

She didn’t realize how intense his stare was until then. 

“This weekend would work for me.”