I stared at the faint glow of my phone screen, the three words I'd sent Layla still there, staring back at me like a curse. Leave me alone.
I knew I'd been harsh. Too harsh. But at that moment, it had felt necessary. I couldn't deal with her, her excuses, her apologies, her lies. Not after what I'd seen.
The image of her with Maeve was burned into my mind, and every time I closed my eyes, it replayed with gut-wrenching clarity.
Did I regret it? Maybe. But regret didn't change the fact that I didn't want to see her. Not now. Maybe not ever. My chest tightened as I shoved the phone aside, letting it clatter onto the bedside table.
The studio felt oppressive, a place where everything reminded me of her. The director had been sceptical when I called to say I needed time off, citing personal reasons.