The Romance of Nick and Layla (Parts 1-3)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Epilogue

  The Romance of Nick & Layla

  Walk Away

  Sorry

  White Flag

  Crystal Cierlak

  Text Copyright (c) Crystal Cierlak

  The Romance of Nick and Layla is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Walk Away

  Prologue

  I don't believe in love. I think it's a waste of time. You give your heart away once and you're never quite the same. You never get that love back. Maybe, if you were lucky enough, you felt his love for you. I did. But it was gone quicker than it was here. Love consumes you. It envelops you inside its rough grip until you're powerless. But you don't feel consumed in it, just by it. There are no stars that twinkle, no butterflies in your stomach. And you certainly don't feel like your skin is the only thing keeping you from bursting in every direction.

  Instead you're worried sick. You forget to live your own life because you're so scared that his will end faster. You want to take care of him. You want to provide for him and be there for him. Until the day he doesn't need you anymore. Well, he stopped needing me. But I never stopped worrying; I just learned how to conceal it.

  He broke my heart every day. I was powerless to break his. He had a hold over me; I fell in love with him so easily. I always give in to him. And he knows it. Maybe at one point he loved me. Maybe he was just using me for sex and my companionship. It doesn't really matter anymore. Our marriage is a sham, but we're the only ones who know it.

  Nobody even knows we're married, not even his closest friends or his family. But we get dressed up and make appearances just to give people something to talk about. Our faces are plastered in the society pages, in magazines, at televised events.... Everybody loves us together. When you look at us, arms around each other, smiling affectionately into each other, we look perfect. I would believe the lie myself; but I know better.

  I could divorce him. He could divorce me. So why don't we? I can only speak for myself. I love him too much. The son of a bitch.

  Chapter One

  It's 8:09 and I've been banging on the door since eight sharp. Where the hell is Nick? Or at least the spare key? I picked up the welcome mat. No key. I looked in a hanging potted plant. Still no key. Then I checked under the mailbox and there it was, taped to the metal. I tore away at the tape and used the key to open the huge house.

  I was immediately hit with the smell of candles that had burned all night long. Nick's keys lay on the floor in the foyer. A few feet away was a purse. I began picking up the items as I went up the banister and into Nick's bedroom. A pair of Nick's jeans. A micro-mini skirt. The cashmere polo I gave to Nick last Christmas (what a sentimentalist), and a beaded halter top and a bra from Victoria's Secret. And there they were. Nick sprawled out on his bed like a king, naked, and a blonde cuddling up to him.

  I rolled my eyes as Nick moved in his sleep, making the blonde's eyes flutter open like a doe. She took one look at me and practically jumped into the ceiling.

  "Who the hell are you?!" she yelled.

  "The maid. Here are your clothes. Get out. Thanks for stopping by."

  "You can't kick me out!" the blonde protested. Jesus, one night with Nick and suddenly these girls think they live here.

  "Sweetie I'll throw your clothes in the pool and laugh as you dive in for them. Now up and out! Don't worry about Nick he probably doesn't remember your name anyway." I watched with no amusement as the girl slipped on her clothes and ran out of the bedroom.

  I went to the large windows and pulled open the drapes, letting in the morning sun off of the ocean. I blew out the candles on the dressers and in other nooks and crannies. When I turned around Nick was attempting to sit up and open his eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" he grunted.

  "I live here." Technically I lived in the house in Santa Monica, but he probably wouldn’t come back with that.

  Nick looked down at the empty spot where the blonde had laid just minutes before. "Wasn't I with someone?" he asked groggily. God, what'd the guy do last night? Drink himself into stupidity?

  "You mean the blond and, I might add - underage - girl?"

  "Yeah. Tina or something like that? Where'd she go?"

  "She realized that everything looks bigger in the dark and went home."

  "You're so not funny. What time is it?" He looked at the clock next to the bed and cringed. "Layla, get the fuck out of here. I just went to sleep two hours ago."

  "Can't. We have an event tonight and there are a lot of things to do before then. Come on. Get up. I'll make you some coffee."

  "Stop acting like you're my wife," he muttered, rubbing the sleep out of his face with raw fingers.

  "I'm not going to play this game with you today, Nick. We have a lot of things to get done." I was in no mood to put up with his stubbornness. It wasn’t my fault he lacked personal responsibility, and it wasn’t my job to give him any.

  "I have a better idea. Why don't you shut up and get your fine ass into bed with me?"

  I scoffed. "Please Nick. Since when have you ever been interested in sleeping with your wife? You better be downstairs in five minutes or I'm going to use the hose again."

  "What do I need a hoe for when I have you?"

  He couldn’t see my face but if he could have he probably would have only snickered at my expression. I hate it when he says shit like that.

  "Oh come on, baby. You know I’m just messing with you. Come on into bed with me."

  I turned around, my face contorted into disbelief. "As if you were at all appealing right now. Why don’t you put that thing away before you embarrass yourself?" Like I would get into bed with someone when the sheets were still warm from the woman – no, girl – who preceded me.

  "You never seemed to mind before."

  "Like I said sweetie, everything looks bigger in the dark. Five minutes!" And with that I left. I walked out of his room, into the second floor hallway, down the stairs and turned right into the rest of the house. I loved this
house. Still do. Hell, I helped decorate it. I helped to make it everything Nick wanted it to be and more. I loved pleasing him. I loved the looks he got on his face when he discovered something in the house that was meant for only the two of us to understand. The moments were brief and excusable, but I saw them nonetheless and they made my heart tingle. Those were the moments that made all the crap almost bearable.

  You see, the thing you have to understand about Nick and me is that while our relationship is very dysfunctional, it’s actually based on something real and concrete; a foundation: Insanity. But besides insanity, love. Love in the sense of I-can’t-get-enough-of-him-want-to-be-around-him-all-the-time. And that’s exactly how we were. But those days are gone. What happened and when did it happen? I’m not sure. It was just a sudden change in the wind. Or maybe it was subtly happening over time. Whether the change was microscopic or macroscopic I’m not sure, but, looking back, I can definitely see the gap. I hate thinking about it.

  I was so surprised at how clean the house was considering I came over to clean it a week ago. Usually Nick adds his own personal touches five minutes after the cleaning supplies are under the sink. A shirt thrown on this couch. A shoe tucked in that corner. A condom or two under the bed. Stuff like that. But it was like he hadn’t even been here. So then where had he been if not at home?

  I made some coffee and looked around the house, listening to the put-tut-tut of the machine sucking up the water, then dropping it in through the grounds and into the pitcher. God I missed this place. So many happy memories. So many unhappy memories. In retrospect I miss them all.

  Nick appeared at my side a moment later. He was pouring coffee into a mug and looking at me concentrating on the house.

  "What’s up with you?" he asked before taking a long sip of the steaming drink. He liked his coffee black. Don’t know why.

  "Just thinking about you and me. The times we’ve shared," I replied.

  "This place does have a lot of memories," he agreed. I nodded my head. "I’m gonna miss it."

  I looked up at him, confused. What did he just say? "Say that again?"

  "I’m selling the house. Thinking about buying a new one."

  Is he crazy?! "What the hell for? This house is perfect. We built this house from the ground up together!"

  "I need a change," he shrugged. His nonchalance was infuriating.

  "When were you planning on telling me?" I asked. Another classic Nick Hudson move. Make decisions without first consulting the wife.

  "I’m telling you now, aren’t I? What do you care? You have Santa Monica," he spat. I didn’t need to be reminded.

  "Yes, but this is our place," I stressed, hoping he would understand.

  Nick shook his head. "This hasn’t been our place since you moved out."

  He was seriously not going there. "Do I have to remind you why I moved out in the first place?"

  "Maybe. You might. I mean, you stopped having sex with me. You stopped doing all wife-like things you had been doing for me. You stopped talking to me."

  "First of all, you were sleeping around; In fact, you were having more sex than I was! Secondly, maybe if you appreciated my wife-like things in the first place we... Just shut up Nick! I can’t believe we are having this conversation again. After a year... I don’t know why.... UGH!" Calm down, he’s just being himself. The same self you fell in love with. "And can you blame me for not talking to you?"

  "Yes, I can!" he yelled back.

  "Oh, get off it Nick!" I rolled my eyes, snapped off the coffee machine and grabbed his mug from his hands. I tossed the liquid into the sink and slammed the mug down in the basin.

  " I was drinking that!"

  "Handle your hangover your own way!" I retorted. "And for the love of God Nick why isn’t this place a mess?"

  Nick’s eyes increased an inch in diameter. "Excuse me?"

  "You usually trash this place after I clean it and I cleaned it a week ago! So you must not have been home if it’s still clean!"

  "Did it ever occur to you that I might have kept it clean myself?"

  "No! Since when have you ever done that?" Shit, okay Layla, deep breaths. Deep breaths. Think of calming images. The ocean. Yes, waves calmly breaking against a sandy shore. Yoga on a sunny day. Kissing your husband passionately. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

  "Calming images?" he asked, clearly amused. It took everything in me not to smack him.

  "Why do you want to sell this house Nick? Why when you know how much it means to me?" My eyes were pleading. I needed an answer. How could he just throw it all away?

  Nick exhaled deeply and shook his head. "Because it... It just reminds me of what we don’t have anymore."

  "Well... I mean, we’re still together aren’t we?"

  "You call living in separate houses being together? Come on Layla. You know better than that."

  "Nick, you’re the one that can’t keep his dick in his pants. Why should I sleep in your bed when you’ve been sharing it with other women? Is that fair to me?"

  "That’s the point, Layla. You won’t come anywhere near me. How are we supposed to connect and be intimate when you can’t even touch me without..."

  "How am I supposed to be intimate with you when you don’t seem all that interested in saving our marriage?" I cut him off. His incessant need to screw anyone but his wife was not my problem. I wasn’t going to let him blame me for our problems.

  Nick scoffed and shook his head again. He did that often. He turned and started to walk away. He did that often, too. That’s just the way he was; running away from his problems every chance he got. "You already know I don’t want to be anything but married to you, Layla. So give me a break already."

  I followed him back up the stairs and into his bedroom. "And why is that Nick? Because I give you a sense of security? Because you know that I’m always here for you and that I love you forever? Or am I just your default plan when something else doesn’t pan out?"

  Nick turned around and stared at me incredulously. "What?!"

  "You heard me! You used to come home to me whenever one of your female conquests wouldn’t put out and I welcomed you with open arms because you’re my husband and I didn’t know any better. You said to me, ‘Layla, marry me because I can’t imagine ever being lonely with you by my side.’ And I’ve been there for you Nick! I’m the glittering accessory on your arm when you go to an awards show. I’m the ‘will they or won’t they’ girlfriend that all the blogs gossip about. I’m your little trophy for you to cart around whenever you feel like you need a companion." Saying the words to him out loud felt good, but just made me feel even more like a doormat.

  "No, that’s not it. You’re the girl I fell in love with two years ago. The girl that I’ve always loved no matter what."

  "Then that’s our problem Nick. Love isn’t supposed to be ‘no matter what’! It’s supposed to be forever because we both know that we’re fucked up and insane and crazy yet we still have to breathe the same air in order to survive because we need to be around each other that much. Not no matter what."

  Nick scrubbed his face with his palms and fingertips. Already he was developing dark circles under his eyes. I hope his makeup person can cover them up before the show tonight. Those babies would look bad in the publicity photos.

  "Layla, obviously we have drifted apart," he said finally.

  "Yeah I’d say so." I crossed my arms over my chest and looked up at him, feeling at a complete loss. How could I love him so much after everything he put me through? "But what’s going to remedy it? You’ll tell me that you’ll stop sleeping around. I’ll move back in with you and in a month everything will fall apart again."

  "It doesn’t have to be like that."

  "But you make it like that, Nick! Am I not devoted to you? Don’t I do your laundry and clean your house and do all the other things a wife is supposed to do for her husband, whom she loves more than she loves herself?"

  "So then what do you want to do? Do you want to get
away together? Go to some secluded beach and try and reclaim what we once had?"

  I closed my eyes. "In other words, ‘Can’t we just put a band-aid on it Layla?’ I don’t think so Nick. Not this time. You’re going to have to let me know why you need me, because honestly I love you to death, but I’m not going to be your backup anymore. I love you and I’m worth more than that. I hope you feel the same way about me."

  Nick’s face fell. His eyes watered up and I could see his blue eyes liquefying like melted ice as he cupped my face in his hands and held me close to him. "You know that I do. You know that I need you, Layla." He didn’t cry, but his voice was dry and broken. Yeah, I knew. But I was still worth more.

  "Don’t make me this promise again Nick," I cried. I put my hands over his and wrapped my fingers around them. "Don’t promise me that you’ll try to be better because every time you do you end up breaking it. You end up breaking my heart. And I can only take that so many times before I want to just give up."

  Nick took control of my lips and I felt lost again. The way he ever-so-slightly tugged on my top lip in between kisses had always driven me mad, and this time was no exception. I could feel his warm tongue, taste the girl he was with earlier. I pushed him away, putting my hand on his chest and kept it there. "I don’t believe you’re trying to do this with me, especially after I caught you in bed with another woman minutes ago."

  "What? I’m not allowed to kiss you now?" Jesus, he really didn’t get it.

  "Not when you were just with someone else!" I argued. I smoothed my hands over my shirt and then through my hair, straightening it back behind my shoulders. I took a deep breath and pulled up a calming image into my mind. "Why don’t you jump in the shower and I’ll fix us up some breakfast okay?" I felt tears running down my face and I was powerless to reach up and stop them.

  I could feel him staring at me and I wanted nothing more than to reach up and kiss him. But not with the taste of another woman still in his mouth.

  "Layla..." His hands were in my hair, moving in circles across my scalp until my eyes were starting to droop.