Chapter 4

Hank left that next morning.

He only packed a backpack, before loading it in the back of Larry’s truck and climbing in.
He waved goodbye, saying he would be back to visit in a month.

I glance at father when the road is empty. Glance and wonder what I will do with him. What I will say to him. In a month.

A month of father.

“I’m going to the pack house.” Father glances at me and steps forward, licking his thumb before rubbing it roughly across my cheek.

I flinch from the contact.

Flinch from the flesh across my skin.

“Hold still, Layla. You can’t go to the pack house with paint on your face.”

I stay still at those words.

It’s father. Just father.

The words are repeated over and over within my head.
Soon he sends me off. Satisfied with my appearance.

And the day goes on.

Staying up late within the night painting.

Waking up and going to the pack house.
Having the females coo over me.

“You know Layla,” Mallie is her name. A strange name in my opinion, but it’s the name of the female who keeps talking to me, “I think I’ve told you this before, but my son is…very interested in getting to know you.”

I try not to flinch and run away.

I didn’t know if mothers acted like this.

Didn’t know if this behavior was usual.

“Oh…really….That’s nice.”

Mallie shakes her head, “Drew is a very nice boy.”

“You must be proud,” I smile. That smile that makes people think I’m nothing but a simple girl.
My blue, bicycle print dress also helps add to the effect.

“I am,” Mallie is looking at me now with critical eyes, no doubt wondering her decision in the first place for why she wanted her son to meet me.

I never realized how much I relied on Hank, until he had left.

Never realized how much it meant to me, when he watched from the porch for me to arrive.

Never realized that I liked him smoothing out my hair and applauding my finished works.

Never realized.

But then he came back.

Just like he said after a month.

I can’t help the squeal that leaves my mouth.
He laughs as I run to him and hug him.

Laughs as he swings me around.
Larry watches from the truck, smiling.

“Hey Layla,” Hank sets me down. I’m to happy in the moment to think, as I smile at Larry, waving frantically at him.
His eyes light up as he takes in my paint splattered white tank and hair that’s pushed back by a red bandanna. My too short shorts.

I don’t have my disguise on.

Hank notices and steps in front of me, smiling at Larry and waving him goodbye, “Thanks for the ride Larry,” his eyes are hard though under that smile.
Leave.

Larry nods and pulls the truck out.
“Let’s go inside Layla.”

“Ya…,” I glance back at the empty road, before following him in.