With Layna.
“Are you on drugs? Because if that’s what’s going on, I’ll find someone to help you.”
Tate and Stan pretended like they weren’t listening. But I knew they were. Assholes.
“I’m not on drugs.” I sounded dead. Unbothered.
I sat down at my bench and picked up a piece of steel wool.
What was I supposed to do with this?
I held it for a few seconds and then dropped it on the worktop. I rested my hands on the smooth piece of wood that lay there, untouched in weeks.
What was it supposed to be?
I couldn’t see the picture that had, at one time, been so clear in my head.
George pulled up a chair and sat down beside me. I barely noticed him. He didn’t matter.
I ran fingers along tools, trying to think of what to do with them.
Sand and stain. Cut and saw.
“If drugs aren’t the issue, then please tell me what’s going on. You’ve been working here for three years. Three years, Elian. That’s a long time. And I’ve never seen you act like this. The guys tell me you’re with some chick. If she’s got you tied up in something—”
“Enough, George,” I threatened low. I threatened loud.
He blinked at me in surprise.
He didn’t know me.
Elian Beyer didn’t live here anymore.
“Whoa. This is what I’m talking about. The complete attitude change. What the fuck is up?” George was angry.
I didn’t care.
The clock ticked on the wall. Tick. Tock.
I stared down at the wood in front of me, willing it to make some sort of sense. This had always been my passion. Something I was good at.
I was losing absolutely everything.
But Layna.
I always had Layna.
“I need someone who’s dependable. I need an employee that won’t flake when I have a piece that needs to be done. You’re never here anymore. I try to call and you don’t answer. You can’t expect to keep your job when you do shit like that, Elian.”
I picked up the wood and thought about hitting George in the face with it. Smashing his nose and letting the blood run.
I felt sick.
The vomit rose in the back of my throat. My vision went fuzzy and a humming filled my ears.
“Elian, are you even listening to me?” George demanded.
I scraped my fingers down my face and ran them over my scars.
My scars.
They were me.
“I think you need to pack your stuff and get out of here. Maybe when you get your head together we can talk about you coming back. But right now it’s clear you’re not all here.”
“You want me to leave?” I asked, taking deep, deep breaths.
“I’m sorry, Elian. You’ve always been my best employee. But something’s not right with you. I think you need to sort yourself out.”
“Sort myself out,” I repeated.
His eyes met mine and I thought I was drowning.
Drowning in coal black eyes.
“Yeah. Look if you need someone to talk to, you know I’m here. But maybe you should go home for a little bit. See your folks. Hang out with your nieces and nephews. Get some distance between you and whatever has brought this on.”
Go home.
Go home.
Home was with Layna.
That was all I knew.
“I’ll go home,” I told him. Wanting him to leave. And he did. George said something else but I didn’t hear him. Then he was gone.
I sat at the bench and picked up the piece of wood that at one time was supposed to be a guitar. What had I seen in this chunk of material? Where was the vision? Where had it gone?
“Elian?”
Tate said my name a few more times but I ignored him.
We weren’t friends.
Never had been really.
I had been deceiving myself in thinking that my life in Brecken Forest was anything worth keeping.
Not until Layna.
And her horrible, horrible secrets.
Layna Whitaker.
The devil’s blood.
“How did it all get so messed up?” I asked to no one in particular. I didn’t expect an answer. There was none to give.
“I think she’s bad news, man.”
I looked up at the sound of Stan’s condemnation. He looked at me with fear.