Too Far

03: Her

It was unfair. I was a horrible person, inside and out. I watched the strands of hair around me, at least fifteen inches long, all falling to the floor at my feet. Simultaneously, I felt as though I could feel the hair leaving me. My head was lighter. When I was finished, I couldn't feel the hair on my back and neck. I looked in the mirror to see my face framed by a board-flat, chin length hair. It shone in its straight glory, thankfully not tapering under.

I didn't know why I cared about that; I stayed hidden for much of my life. I had a few connections and found someone at Auburn who could cut hair. Of course, she called me Layla. That was the name I went by mostly, now, rather than Louise.

In the dark, I slipped out and found a greasy guy by the name of Gus waiting in the alley next to an old café. He slipped me a ticket for a flight out of the country and I smiled, but there was nothing there. The only thing that kept me somewhat sane—without sociopathic tendencies—were visits to Emmett's dorm. Of course, I usually let him drink quite a bit before doing so; he couldn't know I was alive.

No one could. I was Layla to anyone who talked to me. That was a very limited number, too. Mostly people who could get me undetected through flights, people who could treat any medical problems, or a few amateur people to keep me from looking totally ragged. I had to look normal. I paid those people a good amount of cash, though; I had an almost endless cycle coming from a few different people.

Of course, that was just another reason I couldn't be found alive. Obviously dealing drugs could get me into even more trouble than I'd already be in.

But I was alright if I didn't do the drugs, right?

I had to leave the country because I couldn't keep visiting Emmett. I watched him every day; though I wasn't registered for classes, I found myself in the back of a few with colored contacts and a wig or sunglasses. No one even paid attention to that weird girl wearing sunglasses, surprisingly enough.

I kept an eye out for him. I was torturing him with those drunken visits and it had to stop. I couldn't keep being selfish and I knew it; he would have long since moved on had I not been paying him these visits. I saw him take that girl back to his dorm and frowned when I saw her face.

Did she look just like me?

As much as it felt like I was being stabbed, I left him well alone and called Robbie, my source, for a plane ticket. He could move on and be happy knowing I died. Would he believe I died? After hearing that conversation with his parents through some open windows—what idiot kept every window in the house open?—I threw his ring in. I don't know what possessed me to do so; he was supposed to think I was dead.

Of course, I'd paced in the woods surrounding while telling myself how stupid I was. I almost got the message through, but Robbie called with the tickets and said my flight left early the next week. I'd ignore the infernal thoughts of how much it would hurt to leave the only thing I had left, which was seeing Emmett and watching him go through life every day, for a life in some city I'd once dreamed of going to.

Now, there was no other place I'd rather have been. But alas, I would be arriving in Europe within a week or so and had to go. Robbie was sending supply via intestines—don't even ask, because I still don't know how they got those tubes into their body—and I'd still be making great money.

Better than anything I'd made when I was alive.

I raked a hand through my insanely short hair, feeling the soft waves fall back into place without the weight to hold them back. Growing frustrated, I shoved half of it into a bun and left the other half hanging down straight.

Biting my lip, I looked at an old, crinkled picture of Emmett and I I'd napped from Emmett's dorm. It was candid, snapped of him looking at me while I hoisted a snowball atop a few others for a snowman. The corners were rolled and the edges frayed, as I'd played with it over and over for the past few years. Sometimes, I wondered if it would have been better for me to have died. There would have been a body as proof and Emmett could have moved on, and I wouldn't have to live like this.

It wasn't even too late to die anyway, but I wanted Emmett to see that I was dead. The marks on my arms were proof enough that I wanted death but didn't want it like this. Those scars were the only reason I'd found someone who could fix me up under the radar.

Biting my lip, I glanced out of my car window to see Emmett watching a red Volkswagen leave. He had this lopsided grin on his face, the same one he'd give me in class or at some unhealthy, fast food restaurant after school. I felt jealousy shoot through me and tears prickle my eyes, but I shut the door to emotions before any could trickle through too permanently.

Yes, I was the shell of a girl who used to be an emotional mess. It was as obvious to me as it was to anyone else, but I managed to make myself a life hidden in the darkness of night and the sketchy alleyways I'd avoided a few years ago. I looked down at my sneakers, worn out and with several holes in them. I'd worn them for too many years to count and could easily get new ones, but I refused.

Driving away, I found my apartment. It was registered under a fake name and I.D., and was more luxurious than I even wanted. Robbie paid for most of it, as it was where he stored several of his "supplies."

Sleep came easily, as I'd had a long day. I mean, sneaking in and out of dorms and classrooms could be tricky business.