Fresh Start?

--February 13th 2022--

The bright lights of Los Santos can be seen in the background, Layla is sat atop a wall of the Observatory, typing things down furiously on a laptop. Enough to think a few of the keys are going to fly off soon if she hits them any harder. The thing itself doesn't look too important, not fairly old or battered, not brand new either. It looks like it's scratched and some of the silver coating has worn away. A folder with a few letters, postcards and random pages...maybe of books...can be seen set down to the left of her. The wind howled past her, however she didn't seem to notice the cold. Too busy with whatever she's writing, a ŕ̴̟ä̵̖́v̷̬̎ę̷̉n̸̜͛ caws off to the right as it lands at the top of the Observatory.

The sound of her phone buzzing pulls her attention away for a split second, she sighs, tapping the phone angrily a couple of times before it slips off of the wall and to the floor below. She hears the familiar c̶r̸a̵c̴k̵ of the screen breaking; a deep, frustrated groan escapes her lips. Beginning to rub her temples with the thumb and middle finger of her right hand she takes a very deep breath. A few moments later she hears the phone buzz again. Now knowing that it at least still works, she shakes her head; "I'll get it later, not like there's anyone else here right now." Mumbled through semi-gritted teeth as she returned to her laptop, resuming her writing.

F̸͕͐û̶̙c̸̬̖̘̉͘k̷̮͋. What a weird couple of days. Or has it been longer than that? Possibly. I'm unsure at this point, time has seemingly run away from me this whole week. I don't know if it's the same week or the same day. Sleep has eluded me, my mind has been far too busy. I suppose writing this down might help...it definitely couldn't h̵̯̋̒ů̵̼̩̅ͅr̷̞̭̳̾t̸̘̭́. Countless phone calls, meetings, people...new and old. Trying to keep things separate is harder than I imagined, but I can do this. I have to do this. It's time I showed people that I can do this. I don't want to be the messenger anymore, I want to do the work. Why does no one seem to think I'm capable of it? I haven't pulled off anything properly since moving here a year ago and quite frankly I'm done with it. The ḟ̷̠̈́̀á̷͍͒i̴̟̝̭͊l̸͍̤̈́͘ṷ̸̧̇̽͑r̵̢̀̿̈́e̵̬̭̓̂̂. I have realized over the last 24 hours that I still have a lot to learn. Part of me thinks the mountain in front of me is too much, but you can bet I'm determined to climb it, no matter how long it takes me to get there.

I don't even know why I'm sitting here writing, I was shown this place by a good friend of mine, I needed the peace and quiet. The city, especially at night, can get painfully loud. I don't need that when my head is as loud as it is already; ideas, worries, fuck ups, flashbacks. The worst part is I can't seem to tell anybody. Everyone I've tried to explain this shit too either tells me I'm c̷̡̳̆r̷͖̣̄̒å̶̠ź̶̩͈͘ẙ̷̗̄ , too sensitive or simply to get the fuck over it. What kind of advice is that?! I'm starting to learn that everyone will screw you over to get one up as soon as the opportunity arises. I'm done with people like that. All my life I've been looked down on, patronized over other people's opinions on my abilities. It got to the point where I believed them, that many people telling you that...has to hold some sort of truth, right? Surely people aren't just that mean. Wait...am I defending them? Yes. Why the fuck am I defending the people that doubted me.

I have made some new friends though...well I'm not even sure you could call them friends yet. Business associates...mentors might be a better term for them both. They're s̷̪͉̾ë̷̢́̅r̸̛̻͛į̶͆̈o̵̻̪͝ų̴̛͍͑s̷͈̮̃͝, know their shit, intimidate the fuck out of me but they mean well. I know they're like this because of the shit that happened to them a few months ago. It didn't seem fair, the business ran away with itself, got too loud, too noisy. Now they need to be incredibly careful about who they bring on board. I'm pretty sure I've already pissed them off with my antics...all I wanted to do was try and i̵͎͛m̴̬̀p̷̭̑r̵̹̈́e̴̤͗s̶̻̒s̷͙̕ them. Try and figure shit out on my own so I didn't crawl to them about information I once knew...fuck my memory for forgetting it. I guess that's on me for leaving this life for so long and trying to go straight. It always comes back around though...always.

They want another meeting with me. I'm sure the meeting will be fine, to be honest right? Honestly is the best thing with these guys...gods I hope it is. Even if they ask something of me, to prove myself. I can do it. Make them see I'm ready to keep my head down, learn the ropes, how they do things. Be molded into what they need me to be and earn their trust. Not sure I'll ever completely get them to trust me, but it surely can't be lower than what it is now. I have to get my priorities straight, I've let myself get too distracted, too often and it's time that stopped. Yesterday taught me that well enough. To say I'm not w̴͉͔͒ő̵̮r̶͎͚͊̍r̴̡͝i̷̙͓͐e̴͎̺͋͝d̵̡̺̈́̑ what happens next would be a lie, I can't show it though; I have to keep myself grounded. I can deal with whatever happens. I have too. These people come with baggage, from before I even thought about contacting them. I don't know the full extent of what I'm walking into, I just hope I'm s̷͖̒͒͜m̶͕̲̀̏ḁ̶̖́̈́r̵͎̎t̸̛͕ enough to either keep myself safe, or get out when the time comes; if I'd even want too.

I'm realizing there's already so much I have written, I can't even trust myself to write everything down. Thanks to paranoia, I turned it into my best friend again. I don't know if I will ever trust writing everything down, at least not digitally. I'm good at protecting this shit, but not as good as some people in this city and that's what puts me on edge. Besides, the more I write down here...if anyone were to get hold of it...I'd be sent away for good. I can't allow that to happen. If I'm being completely honest I'd rather be put down than live a life in Bolingbroke. Pay for the hit myself. You know it's funny, you always think it'll be someone else that takes—

Her attention is dragged away from the laptop to the sound of her radio buzzing, she had almost forgotten she had her earpiece in, radio on her hip. It clicked a few times before the familiar voice of Junior came over the radio; "Alright, I'm all set, Emile, Layla, you know where to meet. 5 minutes, let's go...jobs ready." She sighed, saving the entry on her Laptop, even though it wasn't finished. Placing it away in her bag before hoisting said bag onto her shoulder and hopping down, landing flat on her feet, smirking and rushing off to pick up her phone. The screen was indeed cracked but she wasn't worried.

Glancing back up at where she was sitting, she didn't realize she had been there almost all night, the familiar orange glow of dawn met her eyes and she found herself smiling. Pulling her bandana up over the lower half of her face and placing her broken phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She takes a brief second to pull her gun from the holster on her hip, clicks out the magazine and reloads it for peace of mind. The buzz of the radio can be heard again; "Parks. Time to go. Where the fuck are you?" She sighs and mumbles back over the radio; "I'm good. On my way. 5 minutes out." She rushes off to her car, grabbing the matt black, mirrored visor helmet she always wears, places it on and starts the engine. Proceeding to race off into the city to cause whatever chaos is needed.