Grainy dirt between my toes, cattails tickling my bare legs as I make my way down an unmarked road. Flashbacks of the last few days flood my mind. All of her. Her long hair that mimics the sun, her widened smile, and her reaction when I told her how I felt. But she didn’t feel the same. Who knew the devil could be disguised as an angel? I guess the old preacher man in this hick town was right, the imagery of the Bible is all around us. With my tattered lacy white dress, I could never be the girl of her dreams. Just the other day, in front of everyone in the halls at school she called me a worthless piece of shit. I’ve just should’ve known that to Layla all I would ever be is that dyke who is too chicken shit to go shoplifting. Reasons why I’m walking down this unmarked road to an old barn house. With a matchbook in hand I’m ready to set my past in blaze, and finally take control of my life.
White paint chippings and green moss splatters, this old barn house has been abandoned for some time. The 2x4 planks covering the windows have wood rot, and the nails are rusty. The steps to the porch creak, splinters pierce my feet still I do not care. Lying down in the middle of the room the floors have bloody claw marks like this place was once a torture chamber. The vintage wallpaper that is peeling is cover in dried blood. This is a piece of art that is almost worthy of being called a mural. I rip a piece off of my dress and start playing with the matchbook. The small tongue of the flame burns into the matchstick, leaving what was once this simple wood, into a charred nightmare. I dropped the old matchbook on the floor and lit the piece of fabric I tore off. The flames danced and I placed the dancing flame fabric underneath the ripped curtains. There the performance grew and grew. Making my way over to the bloody claw marks I lie down. This is where I felt at peace with myself and the world once again. The heat is radiating and begins to engulf the abandoned sanctuary. I close my eyes, and the last image I ever remembered seeing was Layla’s face—the whiteness over took me and I was freefalling into an abyss.
Waking up in a fog made what I just went through a bad dream. Still, something didn’t seem right—I didn’t seem right. It takes me a while to realize where I am. Peeling wallpaper covered by posters, stains on the carpet, the heavy smell of cigarette smoke, and long flowy blonde hair. This was not my house, and I wasn’t even myself. Somehow I was who I always wanted to be—the girl of my dreams, Layla. She was the kind of alluring that you find yourself asking every atom that composes her body once made up stars, galaxies and planets. She was the kind of person that could captivate you in every single way. She was beautiful in the elegance in how she spoke to everyone. Well, except for me. Now I have the power to cause chaos in her life. Chaos like she pushed me into the darkness that was eating at my soul.
Once I started to feel somewhat normal and not dizzy, I walked into the bathroom. I took a razor and started using it to cut and shape Layla’s long blonde hair into a short saggy mess. Clashes of metal can be heard downstairs. Oh great her mother is up. More loud clashes can be heard in the kitchen. Heading downstairs I tripped over a missing step half way, tumbling down. My ribs stung more than they should. I lifted up my shirt and saw large bruises on Layla’s ribs—my ribs. Then it hits me, the visions of padlocks and drunken slurs. Suddenly it becomes even harder to breathe. This place is a special kind of hell. Bare cinderblock walls and everything’s a mess. No wonder Layla started distancing herself two years ago after her father died. It seems like no one could handle the tragedy. “Good m—moring,” oh my god her mother has become a complete mess. Her hair was all matted and she wore see-through lingerie. I can barely look at her, but I must say something. “Good morning,” I say hoping that she doesn’t notice a difference.
“What?” She scowls and then reaches for the half empty tequila bottle on her side. She takes a swig and continues to look at me as if I was a disappointment. “What, no fuck you mom?” To say the very least I’m in shock. I guess I’m not the only one Layla treats like shit. I look through the cabinets for something to eat. There isn’t anything except for booze and a moldy loaf of bread. I look back down at the floor and Layla’s mom is passed out, having the remainder of the tequila spill into a puddle that the dust bunnies could lounge around in. I never expected that her mom would turn into this. Layla always seemed happy and never let this dark cave out. I can’t say that I’m totally surprised though since she only leaves her place for school nowadays. No wonder her favorite pastime has become shoplifting; she has no longer anything to lose. Even death would save her from this tragic nightmare of broken dreams and despair.
A few days pass and everything become a blur. It seems as though Layla’s presence is starting to take over again. Her desires have overridden mine. We even have conversations with one another. I run her fingers through her hair.
“What the fuck did you do to my hair Strawberry?”
“Don’t you think it looks cute?” I grimace hoping that Layla will finally drop this conversation.
Layla is becoming stronger each second, but who knows for how long. She turned my grimace into a frown and forced my eyes to roll. “I also want my body back,” Layla demands. I cannot help but to chuckle and little bit and tuning her high pitch voice out until it mimics the humming of a fan.
The next thing I know I’m cold and a male voice is persistent. “Layla? Layla?” A calming male voice persistently calls. “Would you like to tell me why you’re here?”
“What?” Slouched in the plastic chair, dressed in an orange uniform as the others keep to themselves. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t even understand why I’m here.” The man lowered his gaze towards me and began to speak but abruptly stopped. There is a slight pause as he just studies me with his eyes before I speak once again, “what did I do sir?”
“You stole a car,” he says softly. “You stole a car and killed someone. Then when you came here you attempted to strangle your roommate.”
I could not believe what I just heard. It took me a few minutes to rearrange the thoughts in my head. My brain scattered as I tried to recall the last 24 hours but all I could remember was a fire and a tattered, lacy white dress. “Was there a fire sir?” I had to know and maybe this strange man knew the answer. The man removed his glasses and polished a lens against his dress shirt. He starred at me intestinally for a few moments, and then said “so you remember what happened a year ago, but you do not what remembered yesterday? Do you now—do you now remember who I am as well?”
“Very interesting. Well, I’m Dr. Wallace your psychiatrist. And I’ve known you since you were nine Layla.”
“If you don’t mind doctor I would like to go back to my cell to process all of this.”
“Before you do—do you remember anything about the fire Layla?”
“Jus the fire raging. How did I get out alive?” After I asked that question Dr. Wallace closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding what I assumed to be my file in his lap.
“When you first told me this event three years ago, you told me someone else took over and you walked out the backdoor. However, when you were nine you neglected to mention this, and your response to this was that whoever took over wanted to protect you until you were thirteen.”
“Good day Dr. Wallace.” My voice shook as I said this. This piece of the puzzle was all new to me and Layla allowed me to be present.
For the rest of the day I said nothing, I was all alone and then I heard her. I could not ring myself to tell Dr. Wallace I wasn’t Layla. Still if he knew me since I was nine, then he would know that she was not in control. All that night Layla would try to talk to me, I just ignored her and began to remember the real reason I went to the old barn house a year ago.
I relived it all. I relived why the old barn house had to burn. I was just nine years old playing in a nearby cornfield that cattails were beginning to overtake. Then this creepy old man who looks like a demonic redneck Santa Claus snatches me from behind, stuffing me in a burlap sack. He chains me up and starts whipping me. I try to scream but the stings of the bullwhip quiet my fragile lungs. One day the man took off the chains and I limped towards the door. He drags me across the room. I try to stop him by clawing at the door. Before more memories flooded my mind I wake up in a cold sweat with one of the worst anxiety attacks I ever had.
Out of the darkness her voice rose again. “Strawberry, you remember now—don’t you?” At first I ignored Layla. I have to do is regain my balance, and stop from losing myself even further. Even when it’s all over, I think—I think it just comes back in flashes. A kaleidoscope of memories until it will happen all over again.
“Did I ever exist Layla?”
“No, not physically.” For the first time Layla sounded sincere in her voice.
“Was I the only one?” For some reason I had to find out the answer. I could only remember the parts of Layla’s life that I lived through.
“I don’t think you were Strawberry. Shit I can’t say for sure. I just haven’t always been in control.”
As Layla finished speaking I began to understand why I existed and why I could do no real harm to her. I was her innocence, the childlike wonder that had died on that dreadful night, and was brought back to life when she needed it the most. My presence was fading as I fought to exist. I want to help Layla. I want to be there for her. Now she no longer needs me that she has chosen to confront her demons herself. Everything felt so real. I felt so real. Life as I knew it has been an illusion. But she will never be.
