Forever Yours (Forever Series) by Kar Alla

Author:Kar, Alla [Kar, Alla]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Alla Kar
Published: 2013-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Layla

It feels like someone poured cement down my throat. I can’t speak. Each breath takes extra work. The trees make my head dizzy as I watch them from the passenger seat. Each finger is wrapped around the handle on the door. I can’t let go, I need to feel something solid because my stomach is flip-flopping.

“Are you okay?” Taylor asks from the driver’s seat.

Nodding my head, I intertwine my fingers on my lap. “I’m fine, just nervous, that’s all. I haven’t been here since I was moved out of here to my grandparents’. I could never make myself go. It was always like a stab to the gut.”

Taylor grips the back of my neck and forces me to look at him. His gray eyes are light, and watching me closely. “Are you sure you want to go now?”

I nod. “Yes, I don’t want to go by myself.”

Taylor squeezes and slides his hand down my arm to grip my fingers. “I’ll be right here, hustler.”

The trailer park is still there. Oak Hills Trailer Park. It was where the rough heathens grew up. The drug dealers, the hustlers, the low-lives’. At least that’s what the rest of the town said. I never looked at it that way, of course. I thought of it as my home. Now, I frown. It isn’t the best part of the town by any means, but my trailer was filled with so much love. So much warmth. I don’t think it mattered if we were in a mansion or a trailer, I was loved either way. “Here.” I point toward the last trailer on the right. The beige paint is faded, the porch is still standing and the green roof is now almost white. Tears pool in my eyes as I watch the rundown place sit in silence. Not one door has been opened in years. No one caring that this was my life. That this was where I rested my head every night. Or that my parents’ lives were taken here. It’s just an old trailer to everyone else. Taylor pulls in and puts the truck in park.

I stare at the rundown trailer. My rundown home. My rundown memories. Every memory surfacing, running against my mind, bringing tears down my face. Trying so hard to crumble the walls I worked so hard to build. Grabbing the door handle, I step out and onto the gravel driveway. The blinds in the trailer next door pull down and a set of eyes are staring out at me. Then the blinds snap shut.

Old Mrs. Chaney can’t still live there. No way, it’s been too many years. I always hoped she would get out of here. She would watch me when both of my parents had to work. We’d watch Andy Griffith and drink hot chocolate, with the best home-made cookies. Taylor’s fingertip trails down to my elbow. “Baby,” his voice is rough. “You okay?”

“Yes, let’s go inside.” I listen to the gravel crunch beneath my feet. It feels almost normal.

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