1 year later
☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆
LAYLA FRASER
"Breathe, Layla."
"Breathe -"
"....Layla?"
My glassy eyes make the world look like a kaleidoscope of color.
I blink once, trying to ignore the thudding in my chest that rings in my ears. My exhales wooshes around me, and I'm feeling so cold.
Blue. Purple. Green. Red.
I focus on Grace's red sweater, blinking away the tears.
"Laylie? Babe, it's okay... Please just breathe for me -"
As gentle as a leaf falling on grass, her hand touches my shoulder, and I break down crying.
The guttural sobs that leave me are ugly. So ugly that I'm so embarrassed they escape from me. So ugly, that I believe they are mine. So ugly, I know they are mine.
"It's going to be alright. It's all going to be okay."
Her voice is so calming. Her touch is so soothing. And her presence is so warming.
Gracie Reed.
I look up at her, meeting her bluebell-colored eyes full of worry. It pains me. I don't want her to worry.
"Grace, I'm fine. Don't worry about me, please," I mumble as I hastily wipe the tears from my eyes. The makeup she had spent hours playing on my face had probably been washed off with all my tears. I probably looked like a mess.
I was allowed to look like a mess, but I doubt he would have wanted that for me.
He wouldn't have... He would have wiped the tears off my face while probably telling me to always remember he loved me and that just cause he wasn't physically here didn't mean he wasn't looking down at me from the stars.
I would wish on a thousand stars to bring my grandfather back to me.
"Of course, I worry about you. Your attacks aren't getting better," She sighs as she rubs a hand over my back to calm me down. I'm hiccupping, and I feel like I'm hallucinating. Random memories and thoughts flood my brain. it's as if I might just malfunction, scream, and die.
I don't want to die... but I might.
I think Gracie sees me spiraling because then she's grounding me. Two firm hands on my shoulders gently shake me so that I look up at her. My head lols before meeting her fiery gaze.
"Hey, hey, hey, snap out of it. Focus on your breathing. Focus on me. Look at my burgundy sweater. It's so soft, right? Focus on the floor -"
"It's so cold..." I mumble as I push my hand flush against the bathroom tiles.
"It's probably disgusting as hell as well, but don't focus on that," she says, and I snort out a laugh. "I'm trying not to at least."
YOU ARE READING
Past The Mistakes
Teen FictionShe didn't want to get close, but that was too bad because closer was all he wanted to get. ☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆ So deeply intertwined in the sorrows of her past, 17-year-old Layla Fraser had spent the last few years of her life living alone with her gra...
