Layla can be found sitting at her desk in the apartment, a blank entry is seen in front of her as she just stares at the screen, her eyes heavy due to lack of sleep. If you were to look closely, it seems as though she's lost weight, not enough to notice at a small glance though. Forcing herself to sit up in her chair, she rests her tired hands on the keyboard. A deep shade of red coats her palms and fingertips, as well as the sight of bruised and cut knuckles on both hands. She began typing, unsure of what to write or how much longer she could force her eyes open and stay awake.
"You'll find your purpose. You're strong. I know you will." - O.M
If anything could sum up my last few weeks it is that ^.
I have opened up to people only to watch them repeatedly stab me in the back. Cut people off I should have kept close and watched people walk away from me because I'm still not good enough for them. I agree. They deserved better. It cuts deep every time but I continue on with the brave face people know.
My eyes can barely stay open. I feel like I'm losing my mind. Pulled in a billion different directions and right now I really don't know what to do.
Whatever route I take I doubt I'll make it out alive or intact. So I might as well have fun with it, right. At least I know my fate now, I made my bed; time to lie in it.
The only thing that matters to me right now is keeping myself alive long enough to write these damn letters and make sure my family is safe. If I can get that done then I'm happy. I just ask they give me enough time to sort that. Then I'll go with them, in whatever way they decide.
I am broken. That much is clear, I have lost myself in the chaos and I have no clue how to reach out to her anymore. The Layla I once knew feels dead in the water and I can't yet bring myself to accept this new person. Do I try one more time to reach her? Or do I simply give up and let her go?
The scariest part is I honestly don't know.
She manages to write a fair amount before exhaustion finally claims her; lack of sleep and no nutrition is one hell of a kicker when it's now day 4. At this point, she knows it's a risk. Letting her head drop onto the desk her mind wanders to the people she knows, those she's spoken to over the last few days, and a few tears roll down her cheeks. The battery on her still broken phone shuts off and the PC screen goes black as she succumbs to an unknown amount of sleep.
--June 13th 2022-- Scrambling to find a seat at a tiny Café in LAX, in her classic black and white Bagueurs shirt and Tan colour cargo pants. Her usual braid resting over her right shoulder, instinctively tucking the stray piece of hair behind her ear. The only part of her outfit missing is the dual shoulder holsters - Duh, it's an airport. She brings out a tablet from her black backpack and sets it up on the small table. The waitress starts to walk over but she waves them away, placing a face mask on and immersing herself in her writing. Moving again. Fucking brilliant. I swear one of these days I'll actually be able to stay somewhere for more than a year. That's the record. 1 year, 2 months, 14 days. The fact I still know that is stupid. Let it go g̴̯̎ī̴̢̱́r̵͉̍̄l̴̜̇. You need too, for sanities sake. One more move, that's all I have in me I think. Whatever happens here, time to actually deal with it. I'm still sure no one actually figured out it was me that set t...
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