Our Last Dance

Chapter 17

I sat on the floor, back against the wall beside the bathroom door, my fingers knotted in my hair.

Sleep had escaped me all night, haunted by the words she uttered.

I bit down on my lip, trying to chase away the thoughts. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

I felt like I was on the verge of losing my sanity.

I thought there was just a guy from my past that I couldn't remember, and now there's a woman too? What the hell was going on here? What are my parents and Esha hiding from me? What could have gone so wrong that they felt the need to keep it from me?

Beside me sat the breather, a lifeline in case I spiraled into another panic attack. Never had I imagined I would need it, yet here I was, clutching it like it was my only tether to sanity.

With frustration bubbling inside me, I struck my head with my right hand. "Damn it, Layla, remember! Why the hell can't you remember?" The blows came twice before I forced myself to stop, leaving behind a sharp sting.

I staggered to the bathroom, desperation driving me. Ice-cold water splashed against my face as I leaned over the sink, each drop a jolt to my senses.

"You can't lose it now, Layla," I muttered to myself, trying to steady my ragged breaths. "You need to figure this out."

But her words echoed in my mind, haunting me. 'You don't have time.' Time for what? What was so urgent that I was failing to remember?

The sensation of her telling me "I don't have time" was as vivid as any memory, but in the labyrinth of my mind, reality blurred with the chaos of dreams, visions, and stress. I couldn't discern whether it was a memory from the past or a product of my overwhelmed brain desperately trying to piece together fragments of my fractured existence.

As I looked in the mirror, the reflection staring back seemed strange, like it wasn't really me. It felt like I was seeing someone else, wearing my face but hiding something deeper inside. Who was I, really? What secrets were hiding behind my memories?

Taking a deep breath, I stood up straight. Today was the day. Today, I would start figuring everything out, beginning with my parents.

*********

After a quick shower, I hastily slipped into shorts and a tank top, running a comb through my brown hair. With my bag packed, I headed downstairs, my mind already formulating a plan.

I knew my parents wouldn't spill anything, no matter how much I begged or cried. So, I decided to play a different game—the one I was good at: manipulation.

"Morning, Dad," I muttered, accepting his kiss on my cheek with a half-hearted smile. As he settled at the dining table, digging into his breakfast, Mom's concerned gaze bore into me.

"What's wrong with you these days, Layla? You look exhausted," Mom remarked, placing a bowl of cereal in front of me and scrutinizing my dark circles. Her hand landed on my shoulder, a silent question lingering in her touch.

I bit back a sharp retort. Did she really want to know what was bothering me? Or was she just fishing for clues to fuel more lies? Anger simmered beneath my surface. Whatever they were hiding, I didn't care. It was my life, my past, and no one had the right to keep it from me.

With a calculated calmness, I pushed the food around in my bowl, feigning disinterest. "Nothing mom, I've been sleeping well," I continued, "But you know? I've been having these weird dreams, lately," I said casually, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. "Dreams are strange sometimes."

Mom's grip tightened slightly on my shoulder, her eyes flickering with concern. "Strange dreams? What kind of dreams, sweetie?"

I glanced up at her, letting a hint of hesitation color my expression. "Just... odd stuff. Like, have you ever dreamt of people you didn't recognize? Or places you've never been to?" I asked innocently, carefully watching their reactions.