kiwi. [tag; charlie]

November 2001

NPC; Layla Fitzroy

I think she said "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business."

Outside a building, a tall blonde cast an imposing shadow. Stood beneath a lamppost, the harsh yellow light cast her pretty face into high relief, picking out the sharp planes of her face and her overly bright eyes. The streets were damp, puddles pooling in the cracks of the worn pavement as London town recovered from yet another torrential downpour. It was late, past eleven at night as she made her way up the small flight of steps to the front door of the rather inviting Georgian townhouse.

The street it was situated on was quiet. The houses were all large and uniform, three storeys and guarded by pretty wrought iron gates. The smooth steps were flanked by two cute miniature potted trees, one of which suffered as she dropped her still lit cigarette into the glazed ceramic pot, burning the leaves as it fell.

Her bright blue eyes, so much like cat's, flicked over her shoulder to check the coast was clear before slipping her wand out of the back pocket of her jeans and she unlocked the door was ease. She slipped inside quietly and closed it behind her, not bothering to turn on the lights as she made her way up the stairs, the wood creaking beneath the block heels of her boots.

Though she'd never been invited here before, she knew the layout pretty well. Why was that? Because this was the third time she'd broken in.

This place wasn't Charlie, Layla believed. It was very…aristocratic, miles away from his strong and proud northern heritage. This is her doing, she thought darkly as she climbed the stairs and headed directly into the ensuite bathroom as if she owned the place. It was the fault of that nasally, squeaky and permanently cheery bloody American, trying to make him conform. The country already had a monarchy and there was no need for another prissy princess to come barging in from across the pond.

She needed her hair. Layla had made and drank three lots of polyjuice potions in the last month and she was all out of it now. Flicking on the bathroom light, her nimble fingers began to carefully pull out some that had been caught on a wooden hairbrush before stuffing them into her pocket quickly. She didn't even like being Kate. Her body felt funny. When using her face, Layla had to shrink half a foot, gain a shitty accent as well as what felt like seven or so bright shiny teeth. It was all worth it, though, because she got Charlie.

Kate wasn't hard to imitate and she was pretty boring and she lead a boring life which made memorising her schedule easy, too. Layla went to every single one of Charlie's gigs, hanging out in the back, admiring his work. They'd slept together once, months ago but due to her new face, she was seeing a lot more of him and his talents.

Did she feel guilty? Hell no. Charlie was hers. He was meant to be with her. They were so alike and she knew she could treat him better than his current "girlfriend". Kate (or Waity Katy as she referred to her because he was never going to put a ring on it) wasn't for him. If she was, then he wouldn't be sleeping around with other women, excluding herself. If he was really in love with her, then he wouldn't stray. To Layla, this wasn't deceit. At the end of the day, they both got what they wanted. She didn't care that she wasn't herself because everything would be revealed eventually and Charlie would realise the person he wanted to be with was her all along. Simple.

The last few times she'd transformed, she'd been worried Charlie might guess. After all, Kate was dull as dishwater and she imagined their sex life was drier than the Sahara Desert. But Layla wasn't stupid and she gave him no chance to talk.

Turning the light off again, she stepped on to the landing. The street lights filtered through the rain soaked window panes and shone on a picture hanging on the wall. Turning her head, Layla's bright eyed gaze focused in on Charlie's smiling face and she found herself smiling back. He looked handsome, like he always did. It was clearly after a gig. He looked sweaty but happy, his dark hair slicked back and his mouth wore that gorgeously cocky smile. She drew close and extended a finger tip to trace his jaw line through the glass. It was taken around six months ago and she remembered the date because of his dark tee shirt. She was in love with him so she remembered everything he wore and she catalogued it away in her brain. She was obsessed. The only problem with that photograph was that he had his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder.

Like the flick of a switch, Layla's smile dropped. Her pretty face grew dark as it contorted, her lips pulled back to reveal a flash of her teeth as they formed a snarl. Seeing Kate there, all smiles, all close, too close to her soul mate made her blood boil. "Cheeky bitch," Layla hissed to the smiling photograph of the girl before she tilted her head and smiled, slightly manically at them both. "Soon," she told photographic Charlie as she pressed her lips to the snap before yanking it off the wall and throwing it on the floor with a smash, sending shards of glass splintering around her.

She got what she came for and she turned to place one foot on the top stair before she heard the front door open and she froze. Fear flooded her system as Layla recoiled and slunk back into the shadows, looking around for somewhere to hide before finding the nearest room and throwing herself into the darkness. No one was meant to be home tonight, she'd made sure. She'd gone to Charlie's gig and left early. He often partied well into the night.

With her back against the wall near the door, her breath came in ragged little puffs as her heart hammered hard and fast against her ribcage and the sound of the blood pounding in her ears drowned everything out. Maybe he'd gone into the kitchen first. Holding her breath, she very slightly opened the door and waited.



@Charlie Baker

The collar of Charlie's leather jacket was popped up to protect his neck from the damp London chill. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders hunched forwards a little against the cool night air as he walked down his street. He'd just left the gig, for once not opting to stay late and party with the rest of the band and crew. Kate was going out with a friend tonight and he liked to be there when she got home, or if she needed him before then. Since figuring out how telephones worked she had developed a propensity for finding the nearest payphone and drunk-dialling their home address, because apparently even a few hours out without him was too long. He'd taught her this muggle skill for emergency purposes – if she got lost from the group and didn't know how to get home, or was too inebriated to apparate safely, she just had to call and he'd come and find her. That had only happened once so far. Every other time had just been because she'd 'missed his voice'.

He turned off the footpath and slunk in through their gate, hopping quickly up the couple of steps to the front door. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, retrieving it and sticking it in the keyhole, turning and-- the door was unlocked. That.. didn't seem right. He frowned. It was possible they hadn't locked up in their haste to make it out the door, but both he and Kate were usually very pedantic about making sure everything was closed properly. Shrugging it off, he turned the knob and crossed the threshold. His hand reached for the lightswitch, half-expecting to see the place having been ransacked by burglars given the lack of deterrent, but no -- they appeared to be unscathed. Perhaps criminals knew better than to bother in this neighbourhood, assuming (correctly) that the inhabitants of this particular post code would take security seriously.

Relief washed over his features as he took stock of the room; nothing obvious was missing. Kate wouldn't have blamed him to his face, but realistically it was him who would have forgotten to lock the door and he'd have felt terrible. He shirked out of his jacket, revealing a black t-shirt beneath, moving silently to the liquor cabinet and pulling out a bottle of Jameson's and a crystal glass. He poured himself a drink and set the bottle back down on the counter, his fingertips still wrapped around it, dark eyes darting to the phone as he took a gulp of the amber liquid. Mm, no little red light indicating messages waiting – that was a good start.  He could have a quick shower and hopefully there’d still be no light when he got out.

Gripping the bottle again he headed back to the hall, flicking the lights off as he passed the switch he trudged up the staircase in the dark. His long legs reached the top landing quickly and he began walking down the hall to the master bedroom, finding his way partly by the light cast in through the windows from the street but mostly through sheer habit.

Crunch.

Charlie's eyes widened and he looked down, frozen to the spot, the unmistakable sound of little panes of glass clinking against one another as his boot lifted slightly, the smaller chunks crunching underfoot. His brow knitted together in confusion as he took a step back and crouched slowly, just making out in the dim light the glint of the picture frame. Rather than risk cutting himself by fumbling around with no light he stood back up, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the darkness, trying to see if anything else was awry, his ears straining against the silence, desperately trying to hear if there actually was an intruder and they just hadn't left yet.

Nothing. Except his own blood pumping furiously. Maybe it had just.. fallen off the wall. He’d clear it up before Kate got home, but he wanted to check... The glass tinkled again as he stepped forwards and off it, continuing towards his and Kate’s room — he paused, gripping the neck of the bottle tighter in his left palm and transferring the whiskey glass to his fingertips, freeing his right hand to push open the door, which had been left slightly ajar. His hand reached out automatically to find the switch but instead of finding cool, flat wall, he touched on something soft and warm.

“Fuck—“ he turned quickly, stepping back and tripping over some shoes Kate had left on the floor in her rush to get ready. With a soft thud he landed on the floor, his left hand expertly raising to avoid spilling his drink as he did so, a soft groan escaping his lips. After a moment he remembered why he’d flinched, his eyes scoured the gloom for what – or, more likely, who – was there.

NPC; Layla Fitzroy

"Oh, shit the bed," Layla whispered to herself with wide eyes as she listened in the gloom. While she was very good at manoeuvres in the dark, they usually involved no clothes and a mattress, not hiding in a townhouse. The tinkling of glass beneath a foot sounded pleasant, like an ice cream truck but rather than being served a '99 with a flake, she'd get a prison sentence.

It could be someone else; security, his parents, Hell, even Kate but she didn't care. Whoever it was needed to leave. Layla had gotten what she'd come for and now she needed to leave. Her bright eyes flicked to the bedroom window as she made a quick calculation of the drop. It was high but not scarily so. If she had the trajectory right, she could miss the stone steps and roll and take off running down the street. This wasn't the sort of place that suffered break  ins often, so that was a bit of an issue.

The tall blonde shirked and backed up as the door was opened, holding her breath and recoiling, her back flat against the smooth wall and she held herself stiffly. It would all be fine but Charlie's fingers brushed her arm clumsily. Despite no skin-on-skin contact being made, it didn't stop the goose bumps rising on the skin of her arms as the delicious warmth flooded her system. And down he went.

Like a recently felled tree, he'd hit the deck and she watched with wide eyes. Oh heck. What was she meant to do now? This was going to be the first time in ages  they'd encountered each other when she was wearing her real face. She hadn't noticed just how…twee this room was. Why would she? Fake Kate had been way too busy ripping Real Kate's boyfriend's clothes off. It was very pristine, pale pinks and creams with splashes of crystal glass and despite herself, Layla couldn't help but roll her eyes; this was not Charlie at all. It was making her mad the longer she stood there in the shadows. That soul-sucking harpy was draining him of every shred of uniqueness and rebellion he had in him. She was disappointed in him.

With a soft click, she reached out and closed the bedroom door and twisted the handle to lock it. She knew her way around Charlie's home just about as well as she did her own. She knew what brand of toothpaste he used and where he kept his deodorant (second shelf in the left bathroom cabinet) so she knew all of the ins and outs but unfortunately for him, she was blocking the only exit.

The mix of moonlight and streetlight cast a chink of light that filtered through the large window and across the thick cream carpet. Layla took a step forward, revealing a long black denim clad leg as she came closer. Her deeply pink lips curved upwards in a smile as she stood over Charlie. Her attention was diverted to the glass in his hand. Irish whiskey, she remembered the taste of it on his lips the last time that they'd kissed.

The light picked out her bright blonde highlights in her hair, which was now looking a little bit wild. Layla perched herself on the foot of the bed, her long legs crossed at the knee like she owned the place as her pale fingers stroked the soft satin-y material of the bedspread. Layla looked at the left side of the bed, her side of the bed with a dark scowl. It was Kate's fault that she'd had to leave before sunrise and that she couldn't stay curled up in bed all night with him.

What annoyed her more, however, was the fact that her plans weren't working. Layla had screwed over Kate a number of times; she'd cancelled her taxis home, she'd set up meetings across the country where no one turned up, just to get her far away from London. She'd messed around with Kate's paycheques, she'd stolen her purse in hopes of leaving her stranded but no. That spawny little troll had always managed to get home on time and ruin her fun and to be honest, her patience was wearing thin.

"Hi Charlie," Layla said in a lilting sing-song voice as she smiled again, tilting her head so her blonde curls obscured one eye from vision. "Looks like you've fallen for me," she joked with a tinkling giggle that bordered on sounding a bit deranged. Swiftly, she leaned over him, dipping low so her face was close to his as the ends of her hair just tickled the edges of his face. "Sit up," the tall blonde told him, running the pad of her thumb across Charlie's lower lip. "We need to have a little chit-chat."

Half-propped up on one elbow, his neck craning forward, Charlie's eyes slowly readjusted to the gloom in time to see a pale hand softly shutting the door, twisting the handle to lock it. He swallowed in anticipation.

As she stepped into the moonlight he pressed his lips together in a hard line, a frown of concentration forming on his sharp features. A tall, leggy blonde emerged. He hadn't exactly expected a burly, muscled man with delicate hands to pop out from the shadows, but nor had he been expecting her. From what he could see in the dim light she was very attractive, vaguely familiar even, but there was something about the way she was approaching that unsettled him. Who was this woman? Why was she in his house? In his bedroom? He was frozen in place, his brain clunkily piecing together the unlocked door and smashed glass. He was not an unintelligent man, but the surprise of finding a stranger in his house had blindsided him just as if he'd been clouted around the head.

Still trapped by his own thoughts, in a daze he watched her sit on the end of the bed, his mind absently noticing that it was as if she was familiar with the surroundings.

"Hi Charlie,"

His eyes widened. The frown melting away to be replaced by a look of slight terror. She knew who he was, should he know her? He'd seen her face before somewhere. He was sure of it. A small voice in the back of his head told him he knew exactly where he'd seen her before -- he'd slept with her months ago. He couldn't remember the details, he rarely remembered details. He was usually drunk, or otherwise inebriated. Afterwards, his mind tended to block out names and faces, as if not knowing these intricacies made it less terrible that he had cheated in the first place. He couldn't even remember where exactly they'd fucked, or if it had been good. He blinked away snippets of tiled walls and a mirror.

How did she know where he lived? He'd never brought anyone back here. He wasn't that stupid. As she giggled his concern crept up a notch -- she'd managed to make her joy sound threatening. It dawned on him now: she'd locked that door for a reason. Charlie tried to discreetly glance around the room, but there was no other exit except the window, and he didn't fancy the drop on the other side. He'd much prefer not breaking his legs, perhaps he could just hear her out and somehow get her to leave.

He'd had some pretty intense fanmail over the last year or so, but this was entirely different. He'd never been confronted face-to-face with... a stalker. Is that what she was? She could hardly be a spurned lover, he made it pretty clear that one night stands were exactly that: one night. He can't have been with her recently -- he hadn't strayed in the last couple of months. He usually cheated when Kate was away, and her business trips had been cut short lately or cancelled last minute, which he hadn't complained about -- he'd much rather she was home, with him. His fingers gripped a little tighter on the bottle and vessel in his hand, the glass clinking together as he did so. He didn't want to hurt this woman, maybe she wasn't right in the head, but if it came to it... 

Charlie wracked his brain for a name, or even just a time when they'd spoken. Some kind of detail he could use to endear her to him. His thoughts were interrupted, however, as she leant in close. He flinched involuntarily, her hair tickling on his skin sending a shiver up his spine and goosebumps raising the hairs along his arms. He felt like he'd been cornered by a wild animal -- he was very conscious of his movements, not wanting to spook her. Slowly, obediently, he sat up, his nostrils flaring as her thumb touched on his lip. The intimacy of that gesture surprised him. His frown returned, his brandy-coloured eyes looking up at her under his brow, trying to keep his voice even he finally spoke, "About what?"

NPC; Layla Fitzroy

He seemed…disappointed to see her.

The corners of her plump lips turned down to form a frown that creased her pretty face. Why wasn't he pleased that she'd made a house call? Was he not thrilled that she'd come all the way from Norfolk to see him? Her frown darkened as he seemed to scramble away from her and she couldn't miss the flicker of distrust that clouded his handsome face. Layla wasn't some common, run of the mill criminal and she was offended that he thought she was.

Unlike Charlie, she remembered everything in minute detail. Six months (just a fraction under twenty six weeks ago, actually), he'd finally noticed her. It was in one of those dive bars, the ones with no health and safety legislation, cheap liquor and no fire exits; her favourite. They'd stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. There was the rip of her dress as they both fumbled to remove it, the shock of cold on her back as he'd forced her against the mirror as he hoisted her to sit on the edge of the row of sinks. The music was thumping through the walls, the bass so loud that it felt like it was shaking the very foundations of the building. His hot breath on her neck, as well as the bruises on her lips, stayed with her for a long time and she was now absolutely furious that he'd seemed to erase her completely.

Layla stared at him, now so close. His eyes, tawny and topaz, seemed so much larger in the dark room and she thought it was the flattering moonlight, not the adrenaline coursing through his veins that made them look like that.

As he acquiesced, she dropped to the floor too. With care, she sat down cross-legged, like she was attending a casual summer picnic. Their knees were close and she reached out to place her palms on his kneecaps as she leant in, in a rather intimate gesture. "You don't seem pleased to see me," Layla said gently. Her tone was light, almost teasing but there was a definite granite undertone.

Layla heaved a melodramatic sigh as she picked up his crystal glass and took a sip of the shining amber liquid, careful to place her lips directly onto the faint smudge that his own had left on the rim. She shrugged off her jacket as though she was making herself at home, leaving her in her jeans, boots and a faded tee shirt that sported the logo of an unusual and underrate band. She smiled at Charlie again, warmly this time as she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees with a tilted head. "This is nice," she added softly, her artic blue eyes flicking back and forth across his face. "Me and you. Just us."

He wanted to know what they were chatting about. "Us," Layla said cheerily,  her pale blue eyes seeming ever so slightly unfocused as she drank more of the whiskey before placing the glass down beside her and wriggling her backside a little to sit more comfortably on the plush carpet. "Well, not just us," she said with a laugh and a roll of her eyes, flipping a hand through the air nonchalantly. "It won't just be you and I for long. Not until the baby comes," she added casually as she looked around the room. "We're going to need to change that duvet, though," she added, reaching up and flicking her fingers at the sheet. "Pastel pink is such a hideous colour~"

Charlie’s entire body was tense, the veins in his arms pulsing and castling light shadows. He could try to incapacitate her, but his spellwork was rusty and had never even really been that good to begin with. Besides, she’d see him reaching for his wand, and undoubtedly she’d have no qualms about using hers on him first. His only chance seemed to be a peaceful resolution, or else getting her to a point where he could restrain her physically somehow until he could get help.

The blonde was close enough now that he could feel her breath warm on his lips. He couldn’t take his eyes away from hers, an innate fear that if he broke the eye contact first she might snap.

As she slunk off the bed to sit across from him the lunacy of this situation was ringing alarm bells – there was definitely a screw loose, if not a few rattling around in there. The warm touch of her hands on his knees was unexpected, his thighs twitching slightly in their urgency to want to get away. “I—” He started, stopping himself before he said something out of turn. It felt strange to be scared of someone who looked so delicate, but it was the apparent lack of sanity that intimidated him. He wet his lips with his tongue slowly, giving himself time to craft an inoffensive answer. “I’m just surprised you’re in my house.” He responded finally, truthfully, the frown never leaving his features.

The brunette watched her as though in an out-of-body experience as she took his glass, his fingers relinquishing it slowly into her grasp. As she lifted it to her lips he realised how dry his own mouth was. His dark eyes roamed over her body as she removed her jacket. If this had been under an alternative circumstance he’d have been unable to look away for decidedly different reasons. As it was, he was still trying to remember her name. Did it start with an ‘A’?

She shifted again. He was watching her every movement, barely blinking in case he gave her an opportunity to pounce. He raised an eyebrow at her, unable to hide his distaste. “Us?” he replied, his voice a little more confident than before. His eyes followed the glass as she drank again, thankful for a reason to finally avoid her penetrating gaze.

As her next words met his ears, his eyes flicked up to meet her gaze quickly. His brows knitted together suddenly, his stare intensifying as he looked at her in horror and disbelief, his mouth hanging open. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut; a heavy, constricting feeling filled his chest. His heart was beating more rapidly now than it had when his fingertips had first brushed on her shoulder and his ears were full of white noise.

“What?” he said incredulously, his mind unwilling to accept he’d heard her correctly. He leant back away from her, his eyes widening, shifting his legs from under himself. He didn’t even hear the comment about the duvet. His mind was already racing: Was she really pregnant? How was that possible? He hadn’t slept around in months and—he glanced down at her stomach— she wasn’t showing any sign of being heavily pregnant. But, what if he had and he just couldn’t remember it because, as usual, he’d been blackout drunk? Was that really so improbable? ... No.

He pushed himself back along the carpet, wanting more than anything to distance himself from this, from her. He was looking down at the ground, dismayed. He felt sick. What would Kate say when she found out? It was bad enough that he’d cheated, let alone had knocked someone up. Someone whose name he didn't even know— what if she didn’t have to find out? If he could convince this woman to keep it a secret, or get rid of it, Kate would never need to know. Except, he highly doubted getting rid of it was going to be an option. Whoever she was, she seemed to think he was going to leave Kate to play happy families.

Slowly, he lifted his head to look at the blonde woman. His sharp features full of confusion as he quietly asked “When? ... How?”

NPC; Layla Fitzroy

Layla tilted her head, blinking her big eyes as he scrambled away. Rolling her eyes, she sighed heavily as her slender shoulders sunk in dismay. "For Christ's sake, Charlie," she said with a shake of her head, causing her golden locks to whip her cheeks with the sheer ferocity. "I'm not a leper. I'm not going to bite," she added innocently. She was upset that he seemed Hell-bent on trying to escape her before she realised that he was just playing coy. Again.

He'd said he was surprised and she shrugged lightly. "You weren't answering my letters," she replied casually. She'd sent a lot, at least three per week but they'd all gone unanswered. She'd sent them via owl mail, via Muggle mail with stamps and hand delivered them, too. She assumed her correspondence had gone unanswered purely because he didn't want Kate to know that he was writing back, which she could appreciate.

Oh, he really hadn't seen that coming, had he?

She grinned and shifted her weight, twisting to sit back down cross-legged in the lotus position as she watched Charlie's minor stroke with glee. "Surprise," Layla added brightly. She was expecting elation and joy but she got…frowns and confusion. Her pretty face hardened swiftly as she turned her aquamarine eyes on him sharply. Charlie wasn't looking at her face and she felt righteous indignation grow hot and swirling in the pit of her stomach.

How? Layla laughed, high and tinkling as though he'd told her a funny joke. She tossed her head back, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she admired the intricate patterns the shadows formed on the ceiling. "Well, Charlie," she said warmly. "When a man and a woman get together," she joked as she focused on him once more. "You know perfectly well how," Layla snapped sharply. She was both offended and annoyed that he'd erased their night together completely out of his memory. How could he? Had she meant absolutely nothing to him at all? She refused to be another one of Charlie Baker's girls. If he was going to ruin her life, then she was going to ruin his right back.

She met Charlie's eye easily as they flicked back and forth across his handsome face. Even though the baby wasn't real, it felt real. It wasn't the first time that she'd thought about starting something special with him. Kate wasn't right, she knew it and knew it, too. She was boring. She was cookie-cutter. She was all hair and teeth and she was trying to change him. Layla loved the band's new album but there were too many love songs on it. They weren't dedicated to her on paper but deep down, she knew they were. It made her mad. Couldn't he see he was losing himself completely?

Layla crawled towards him slowly on her hands and knees to close the gap, stopping close to him with a slow smile. "Didn't you ever wonder why Kate was acting differently lately?" The blonde asked with an arched eyebrow. Fake Kate was different and surely he'd noticed her sudden increased sex drive and brand new lingerie.

Layla had had a rummage through the bedroom drawers and almost gagged when she'd seen all of the plain white cotton undies that looked like they'd been made straight from her grandmother's doilies. In their place, she'd worn black lace and hints of leather, bright pink with bows and not a bit of cotton in sight. Layla had worn Kate's hair differently. Gone were the efficient high ponytails in in their place had been tousled curls, like she was wearing right now. She was sure Charlie had been too enamoured to notice any of his girlfriend's personality changes because Layla hadn't given him any chance to ask.

Gently, she placed her warm palms on Charlie's thighs again and leaned in carefully. Her tee shirt slipped off her shoulder a little to show the unusual strap of her bra. It was black and dotted with cute little bows and diamonds and he'd complimented it on the last time she'd pretended to be Kate. Layla closed the gap once more and hovered in front of his face, her lips ghosting across his. "Think about it," she whispered softly. Layla drew back, her face cast into shadow as she offered a sinister smile as she chewed her lower lip, shaking her head slowly.

She placed a long index finger on her lower lip to try and stifle the giggle that was threatening to escape them before lowering her voice into a whisper. "It wasn't Kate," she concluded, her eyes overly bright as she bounced on the spot excitedly like a small child on Christmas morning. "Whoopsy daisy."

The familiarity with which she addressed him hit a nerve. She didn’t know him. Who was this person? How dare she just come in and drop a bombshell like that, then treat him like an old friend?

Letters? “That was you?” His frown deepened, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. Kate had mentioned to him that one particular fan had been sending him multiple letters per week, but they’d decided together that it was probably best he didn’t respond in case it just encouraged her further. The fact that she’d addressed them to their home had concerned them a little, but it had been outweighed by the ridiculousness of it all. They’d sat and read one or two of them, laughing at how delusional she'd sounded, and from then started just binning them without opening them when the return address had become familiar. The idea that someone could spend that much time writing to him – it seemed mental. Clearly, it was. Christ, what was her name? Kate had told him so that they could listen out for her in case she approached him at a gig. It was on the tip of his tongue...

He was horrified. He was confused. He had never, in all of his twenty-six years, been so devastated. And she was so pleased with herself. That somehow made it so much worse — like she had expected him to be over the moon. His gaze was directed down at his lap, out of focus, not really seeing. His stomach felt like it was full of lead. How could he have let this happen? Charlie was flummoxed. This woman was clearly off her rocker; how he had slept with her without realising was just... he knew how it had happened. He needed to drink less. Well, he should have. Right now he definitely needed a drink. He felt sick. He absently ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as he gazed despondently at the floor.

Charlie shot her a dark look as she joked – there was nothing even remotely humorous about this situation. He was fucked. It wasn’t just the realisation that he was going to be a father before he was ready. It was being chained to this lunatic. Losing Kate. Everything. Jesus, what was he going to tell Kate? Was there a chance she’d forgive him? Stay with him? Could he really ask her to do that? Scenarios ran through his mind at warp-speed, and all of them ended with Kate leaving and going back to California without him. Distracted by his own thoughts, he flinched a little as she snapped at him. Suddenly reminded (as if he really needed to be) that he was dealing with someone who was unhinged.

Charlie backed up further as she prowled towards him, stopping only when his back hit the wall with a soft thump and there was nowhere else to go. He sat up straight, eyeing her carefully as her face slowly closed in on his, half-expecting her to lunge at him. He frowned, eyes narrowing, angry that she would dare mention Kate in front of him—but the way in which she’d brought up his girlfriend was a puzzle in and of itself. What did she mean by ‘acting differently’?

With his legs stretched out before him, half-bent still from trying to scramble away, he was an easy target for her to lean into. As she did so, her shirt slipped, exposing her shoulder and—Charlie’s brow furrowed again. Kate had that bra. He recognised it immediately. He’d commented on it when she’d worn it because it had been different from her usual style: it was gaudy. When Kate did wear lingerie (because, perhaps surprisingly to some, she sometimes went commando given her petite curves and tendency to wear tight clothes – or that was the excuse she gave him) it was usually understated: classy. Lace in soft, muted colours. Silk in deep tones. Occasionally something a little more overtly sexy, but never anything ostentatious. When she’d come in wearing this particular bra it hadn’t seemed very... her. There’d been one or two other times she’d been wearing sets that had surprised him, but he just assumed she was still finding out what she liked. Or what he liked. Had this girl bought one the same? Or had she stolen Kate's from in her drawers? How many times had she been in his house?

Charlie still couldn’t piece together what she was saying. None of it made any sense. He was still reeling at the idea he was going to be a father. He wasn’t ready for that, not even with Kate—

”It wasn’t Kate,”

Charlie blinked. His initial thought was that Layla was trying to say it had been her. But that was impossible. Of course it had been Kate. It was ridiculous for her to even suggest it hadn’t been. He would have noticed—his eyes widened, staring at her as she practically fizzed with joy. “... What do you mean?” he asked quietly, terrified of the answer. 

NPC; Layla Fitzroy

"Surprise," Layla countered with another grin.

Okay, so maybe she'd gone a little overboard but it wasn't exactly her fault. The powers that be had predetermined her soul mate and that person was Charlie; there was nothing she could do about it. If it was written in the stars, then she had to work through the motions. Gigs were too busy and there wasn't much time to catch his attention or have a conversation.

Charlie Baker was snookered. His back bumped the wall and she stayed close, fencing him in, her knees sinking deeply into the plush carpet. "Sssh," she soothed him gently as she knelt before him, seeing the panic and the stress on his face. "It's okay," she replied gently, her upper class accent sounding honeyed and soft. Layla moved around him to sit next to him, their shoulders touching as she leaned in a little. "I know it's a bit of a shock," she said as she tried to placate him, tracing invisible and intricate patterns on his arm.

Oh! There we go. The penny had dropped.

Layla sighed, growing frustrated with Charlie's apparent slowness on the uptake. Her big reveal hadn't really gone to plan. He'd been too quiet, too dense, too slow to react and way too concerned about his girlfriend. Her pretty face creased again in the darkness, moving away from him a little as though she was annoyed with him. And she was.

Layla had been dying to get to know him intimately and behind closed doors and away from prying eyes. She knew him as this gorgeous, confident and charismatic front man with a smile that could melt a glacier. He was rebellious and dark and deep and troubled. He was creative and magical and apparently, a bit of a wet blanket.

"Pick it up, Charlie, come on," the tall blonde snapped, throwing him a dirty look as she moved away from him again, like she was the lioness and he the lame gazelle. She spun to face him, hands on her hips and her icy blue eyes blazing. "You weren't shagging Kate, you were shagging me," Layla said crudely with a roll of her large, expressive eyes. "Remember?" She asked, sounding like petulant teenager as she plucked out the strap of her bra, her pretty face twisting to wear and expression that clearly said duh!

"You didn't twig?" Layla fired at Charlie incredulously. "Not even when I did the things you know she said she'd never do?" She asked with a slim eyebrow arched. From what she'd worked out, their relationship was very…vanilla. Bland. Boring. Cutesy. To Layla, Kate was very one dimensional. She was squeaky and idealistic and to be honest, at times, looked like she was on a massive sugar rush. Her head was wobbly and her hands were everywhere and the way she walked made her seem like she was bouncing on clouds and fluffy puppies. It made her sick.

"You weren't paying me any attention," she told Charlie with a terse, humourless laugh as she paced the room, her hand sliding into the back pockets of her jeans as she moved back and forth. "Letters, gifts. I've been to every single gig you ever did," she spat at him, every word laced with aside as she laughed again and shook her head. "I told myself, over and over again that you were just biding your time," Layla said to no one in particular, her voice sounding a little shrill as her pale cheeks flushed pink.

"I get it," she said suddenly as she stopped pacing and turned to face Charlie. "I do," she added, nodding enthusiastically. "You didn't want anyone to know about us. But I felt it," she concluded with an oddly serene smile.

"We're connected," Layla said, her voice sounding strained and just bordering on unstable. "You and I. Always have been," she added as she stood across the room from him, feet shoulder-width apart with her hands behind her back like some warrior goddess. "Pretty Whisper," she said suddenly, fixing Charlie with a pointed stare. "As the rain leaves trails down my face, I'll walk through the twilight to our hidden place, I'll meet you tonight in the whispers," she recited his lyrics back to him perfectly. "I know you were talking about me," Layla said swiftly.

"I feel our connection a little bit more special now, don't you think?" She asked with a slow smile as she tilted her head and twirled a lock of hair around her finger absentmindedly.

Charlie’s eyes widened a little as she shifted to sit beside him. He felt trapped, mentally and physically. It was like she’d cursed him without him noticing. As her fingertips danced across his arm his skin crawled and he flinched his arm out of her grasp.

He watched her move away, half-expecting her to call his bluff and rush back at him. The feeling slowly came back to his legs and he stood, using the wall to help him to his feet as though he was drunk. In reality, he just wanted to keep as much distance between them as possible. He’d wanted to leave when she’d first locked the door, but now he knew he had to stay and so did she. He had to somehow make sense of this – before Kate got home.

Charlie balked. He had temporarily forgotten the world in which he lived – as much as his brain was telling him that of course it had been Kate, there was a small voice reminding him that not everything was as it seemed in the wizarding world. It didn’t make any sense at all and yet, it made perfect sense. He narrowed his eyes at her as she mentioned Kate again. “Don’t say her name.” He said quietly but firmly, his hands slowly curling into fists.

He tried to ignore the comment about what they’d done – what was it with groupies assuming Kate was some sort of prude? He shook his head, that didn’t matter right now. How could he have not noticed? He looked away and tried to think back, pick out some mannerisms that hadn’t seemed right – but it was no use. He couldn’t separate what was definitely Kate and what might not have been; they had sex so frequently that it all blurred into one. Was digging her fingernails in that hard when he said her name because it had really been Kate and she'd liked it, or because it had been her and it had been an unwelcome reminder? “What the fuck were you thinking?” He asked her finally, angrily, all pretence of trying to calmly resolve this gone.

Charlie felt sick. His skin was clammy and he felt like there was a boa constrictor tightening around his chest. It was one thing for him to knowingly cheat on Kate, which he could freely admit was a shitty thing to do (not that she was aware of him doing so yet, to his knowledge), but it was something completely different for someone to impersonate her, without his knowledge. “How many times?” He looked back at her, frowning. If she really was pregnant, it must have been when he’d been sleeping with... not Kate, but... her-as-Kate. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. Either way, it was going to ruin everything. He loved Kate. He couldn’t say he’d ever felt this way about any previous girlfriends – they’d been planning Thanksgiving and who they were going to stay with at Christmas and then there would be the new tour in the spring. Now, all of that seemed on course to derail dramatically.

He shot her a dark look, “Attention?” He replied incredulously. She was reminding him once again how off her rocker she was. “We’re not fucking connected, I don’t even know you!” He spat at her, his voice rising slightly in his frustration. He brought his hands up and ran his fingers back through his hair, resting his hands interlinked at the crown of his head as he paced back and forth a little in his corner of the room. “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, gazing crestfallen at the carpet.

NPC; Layla Fitzroy

"Why?" Layla countered sharply. "She gonna appear out of the wardrobe like the Bogeyman or something?" The tall blonde scoffed as she shook her head, rolling her eyes skyward. She tutted darkly as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, pausing to examine her short nails and chipped black polish. "Get a grip," she retorted rudely. "She's not some untouchable deity. She's some American princess, crossing the pond, looking for a rich man to marry. Looks like she's got her claws into you, Prince Charming."

Layla blinked at Charlie's outburst as she took a step backwards in shock. Funny. Just what was she thinking? Long story short; she wasn't. Driven by desperation and jealousy and lust and it was all his fault. She didn't once believed she did anything wrong. It was him.

In that moment, all feelings of affection had disappeared like smoke. Deep inside, Layla felt a rage swelling and swirling into the pit of her stomach. How dare he? How dare he talk to her like she was something he'd trodden in? Was this how he treated all of his fans? The ones that followed the band's tour? Bought tickets? Merchandise? Shelled out for transport and accommodation? Feeling like it was all too much, she turned her back to him in a whoosh of long blonde hair and geranium scented perfume.

Layla pressed a hand to her forehead, her fingertips pressing in deep to the skin, the pressure painful yet reassuring. Her head was pounding and she could hear it in her ears. How many times? "Seven," she answered him steadily. She'd been  here a few times, each time was more daring than the next. He really should update his security.

I don't even know you!

That was it. Something inside of her snapped. It felt like someone striking a match and dropping it into her soul as she felt everything ignite and every fibre of her being suddenly feeling like it was vibrating. She spun back around quickly, her eyes wide as dinner plates. "Don't say that," she whispered to him quietly, looking and sounding like she was struggling for control. He didn't mean that, obviously. It was just the shock and the stress, clearly. He was having a hard time adjusting and she could understand that. He was just lashing out and he was overreacting. He'd say sorry soon. She knew he would.

"I said don't!"

On the final word, Layla screamed it at him with such ferocity, the dainty little perfume bottles shook on the dressing table. She was wild. She'd transformed from a beautiful young woman to the emblem of his band; a banshee.

Quick as a flash, she let out a roar of anger and upset as she leapt forward and  knocked the perfume bottles onto the floor. She didn't realise one had smashed and had cut her arm, sending thin ribbons of blood down her wrist and dripping off the tips of her fingers. Layla looked and felt like a caged animal. She was hurt and stressed and confused. Charlie's words cut her deeply and they felt like a thousand tiny knives attacking her in formation.

She took a step back, her chest heaving as she panted, pink cheeked and out of breath. With surprising force, she kicked out, the heel of her boot striking the mirror as she smashed it, sending shards of glass over them both like falling snowflakes. She gave a bellow of frustration as she kicked over the chair underneath the dresser, her eyes looking almost demonic as she slicked back the hair from her damp forehead and covering the strands in blood.

"Take it back!" She howled at Charlie, tears of anger and dismay pooling in her eyes. "I said take it back!" Layla screeched at him loudly, the tears spilling out of her eyes and making quick tracks down her cheeks and marring the skin as they dripped off the end of her chin.  She suddenly felt very cold and alone as her word crumbled around her. She let out a sob that wracked her chest, spinning in a tight circle with her hands in her hair, clutching so tightly that the knuckles of her fingers turned white. Feeling the pressure mount, Layla flung the crystal glass at him with all the strength she could muster as it collided with the wall close to his head and broke into a thousand pieces, just like her heart had.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t know me, or Kate—“ it stung to bring her into this. To talk about his girlfriend in front of a woman he’d cheated on her with. Who he was going to be— no, he couldn't, wouldn't think about that yet. His anger was starting to slowly bubble away, a slow, rolling boil just under the surface. Charlie’s fists tightened, his short nails digging into the flesh of his palms as he advanced towards her a few steps. It was bad enough that she clearly expected him to leave Kate and play happy families, but insulting Kate, insinuating that she was only with him because of his money or his fame, it hit a nerve. A nerve that had always been there, just quietly niggling away at his insecurity – what if that was all that Kate saw in him? Or any girl, for that matter? Was he really anything more than that?

As the blonde stepped back in surprise he softened slightly, his fingers flexing back out – not out of any genuine concern for her. No. It was that tiny voice again, the one reminding him of what would happen if it got out that he’d physically assaulted a woman. It would be horrific enough for people to find out he’d cheated on Kate – even though their relationship was relatively under the radar it was unlikely that, if it survived this, Kate would be content with the status quo. He’d have to start calling her his girlfriend, and introducing her as such. Currently she was just ‘Kate’ or, ‘our manager, Kate’ whenever he presented her to new people. Perhaps that was why he’d managed to avoid being caught and painted as a cheater up until now. Hardly anyone knew they were officially an item.

Charlie’s reprieve was short-lived. “Seven?” he echoed back to her, soft and unbelieving. The wind had been knocked out of him. He just stared at the back of her head, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock. He felt sick. Waves of nausea were washing over him, crashing into his gut and draining out any glimmer of hope for salvaging this mess.

Before he could really formulate any kind of plan, the glass perfume bottles rattled as she screamed at him. He backed away slowly, eyes wide. He’d barely taken two steps back when she started sweeping things off the dresser, the concentrated scent of the perfume filling the air as one of the bottles shattered and it's contents soaked into the thick carpet, “Hey!” his arms held out in front of him, as if trying to calm a wild animal. He just wanted her to leave, now. Talking this through was clearly not going to work – he’d just, have to try and explain things to Kate and try and track this woman down when she wasn’t on a rampage.

Speaking of, she wasn’t finished. She kicked at the mirror and he threw his arms up to shield himself from the shards, feeling a couple scratch against his bare forearms. “What the fuck?!” he shouted at her, frowning, utterly  bewildered by her adult tantrum. He’d been in brawls and he’d seen girls get catty, but this was entirely different.

”I said take it back!”

He ducked as she lobbed the glass at him, turning to watch it smash against the wall behind him, leaving a sizeable dent in the plaster. Turning slowly back to face her open mouthed, he just stared at her. He was legitimately frightened now. He had to calm her down, he had to--  after a moment his brain seemed to kick into gear and he rushed forward at her as she turned slightly away from him, wrapping his arms around her from behind and grabbing her wrists firmly, “I take it back—“ wrestling with her a little as she struggled against him, repeating himself into her ear, “I take it back, I didn’t mean it.” Speaking as evenly as he could with his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes widening at the dark liquid running along her right arm, now smearing onto his hand, “Just, let’s just talk—“

NPC; Layla Fitzroy

When he swore, she didn't react. Layla blinked passively as the ugly word rolled off her like water off a duck's back. She sighed melodramatically as she examined her short nails n the chink of moonlight that filtered through the curtains.

"Feeling guilty now, are we?" She goaded him as she tilted her head to the left as she watched him. She gave a snort of derisive laughter. Funny. Apparently she couldn't speak her name but he could shag countless women behind her back. If that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black, then she didn't know what was. "Not nice to be reminded of your movements in the dark, I imagine," she continued. Oh she didn't know them, did she? Layla simply smiled in the darkness. She knew, she knew a lot.

"I don't like the bitch," she said candidly. "Honestly, I don't but I do feel sorry for her. No one deserves to be treated the way you treat her," she said, accusing Charlie plainly. "I don't owe her anything. But I do want to pull her hair to see if it's fake," she mused. It was so swishy and shiny and American. It had to be horse hair. Her smile changed, now taking on a mocking tone in the dim light. "I'm excited to see how she'll react," she began with a careless shrug. "With any luck, she'll realise what a pathetic little thing she's been and head back to sunny California. Women need to be protected from you, Charlie," she concluded.

Yeah, yeah, seven times. Big deal. As Charlie's world was collapsing, Layla was starting to become restless. This wasn't turning out as she was hoping it would. He was continually rejecting her. He was being rude. He was lashing out. It was his mistake, it had absolutely nothing to do with her. As far as she was concerned, she was an innocent victim. Men like Charlie Baker were dangerous. They were cool and handsome and said all the right things. She remembered them being together and the intensity of the kisses he'd given her. Then he'd cut the cord and let  her freefall back to Earth.

But it felt good to tell him. Charlie needed to know that she was not another notch on his belt and she would not be forgotten. The cute little bedroom was now in tatters, like an oil painting that had been ripped down the middle; it would be mended but it'd never feel the same. She wanted to hurt him so badly. She wanted her hurt to be his pain now, she was done feeling ignored and abandoned. If she couldn't have him, then no one else could. It was as simple as that.

Her knees buckled at the same moment his arms came around her. Layla panted for breath as the room spun, her body trying to disentangle all of her emotions as they jockeyed for position. She bent over at the waist as she swayed, feeling Charlie's heartbeat strong against her back as the tears began to flow faster. She felt physically sick. She felt angry, upset, disappointed, neglected but she also felt safe and warm. Regardless, she fought against his hold, using her elbows as she tried to put space between them.

Then he'd said it, those magic words.

It was all Layla longed to hear, that he'd take it all back. That he was sorry. That he'd made a mistake and that he didn't mean all of those horrible things he'd said to her. Her tears stopped instantly as she softened and stopped fighting. She let the words sink in. It felt nice, like sliding into a warm bubble bath. He said it, over and over again like a mantra. She felt warm, too. She didn't realise that the heat she'd felt was the steady stream of blood running down her forearm that pooled at her feet.

This could be it. This could be her happily ever after with the man she loved more than anything. Her heart lifted before it came crashing down with a sudden realisation; he didn't mean it. He couldn't. No one flipped-flopped emotions like that. He'd gone from protecting his girlfriend to now wanting to talk things through? Disappointment bubbled in her chest as she frowned and she was rewarded with a sudden shot of clarity that she'd needed all along; Charlie Baker was not the man she thought he was.

"You don't mean it," Layla whispered to him, her voice hoarse and her eyes wide as she shook her head so violently, the ends of her hair whipped at her cheeks. His once comforting embrace now felt like an onslaught of tiny little needles as she shifted uncomfortably. She felt crushed and desolate in this chintzy little bedroom. She looked around. Everything was covered with him and Kate and there was no room in his life for her or their imaginary baby. She felt sick. The delicate little ornaments and splashes of pastel colours were mocking her. Everything in this damned house was mocking her.

She could hear voices in the silence. Layla could hear jeers and laughing from unseen faces that echoed around the room. "Shut up," she hissed to no one in particular. The giggles intensified inside her head and she felt hot, Charlie's once comforting warmth felt like she was being boiled alive. "Let go," she said evenly as she balled her hands into fists, the skin now tacky with congealing blood as she stared out of the window.

Layla turned her head suddenly to look at the side of his face. She looked a mess. Her eye make up had run, streaking black down her pale cheeks. Her eyes and skin were blotchy, punctuated with pink spots. She'd never been a pretty crier. Twisting as best she could, she stared right at Charlie as she strained her body. Her azure coloured eyes were bright as she blinked at him, her plump lips looking pale as she frowned at him. With effort, she kissed him. It was soft and weak, barely a brush of lips against his. She closed her eyes and inhaled, as though trying to store up his very essence.  "You don't know who I am," she finally realised. It hurt. It felt like someone had stabbed her in the heart and he was twisting the hilt, deeper and deeper.

She was done. She didn't want to be here any more. She half wished she was pregnant. Layla would leave and she'd be able to torment him with the idea of him having a child that he'd never be able to see or get to know. It'd give him nightmares. Then maybe, just maybe, he'd know the feeling of being haunted by someone he could never have. Maybe, just maybe, he'd know how she'd been feeling for years.

She felt him shift, probably repulsed by her kiss. Layla saw an opportunity to run and she took it. She struck her elbow into his hipbone, the force causing more pain to her than him as she struggled to break free. She crossed the short space to the dresser and picked up a photo. It showed somewhere she didn't know. Blue and sunny. Palm trees. Must be something belonging to Kate. A street unfamiliar to her that must mean something to them both. She removed it from the frame and folded it in half, carelessly shoving it into the back pocket of her black jeans. All she knew was that she'd be able to find the address eventually.

She looked at Charlie swiftly, the blood now dripping from her finger tips in little droplets that fell silently into the carpet. To say that she was disappointed would be an understatement. She didn't say anything. She simply shook her head and walked away, down the stairs to the hallway and closed the front door behind her.

He scowled. “Fuck you.” For all his eloquence writing lyrics, when it came to frank conversation (if that’s what you could call this) Charlie seemingly lost command of the English vocabulary. He didn’t have anything more meaningful to throw back at her. No excuses or returning insults. She was right. He did feel guilty, and he thought he’d done a good job at hiding his indiscretions, but clearly not good enough. Everything she was saying was just chipping away at him. Charlie was trying to remain calm, or as calm as he possibly could given the circumstances, but she was making it infuriatingly difficult. If she wasn’t insulting Kate, she was insulting him, and around and around she went at a dizzying speed, every little comment and remark nipping away at him.

”Women need to be protected from you, Charlie,”

That stung. Like he was some sort of monster. He knew what he did was awful, but he didn’t go out looking to shag the first woman that spread her legs for him every night he went on the town, it just... happened. He couldn’t explain it, it was like a switch just flicked in his brain and all concept of right and wrong disappeared and the only thing that mattered was scratching that itch. He’d tried giving himself a serious self evaluation in the past and it hadn’t really uncovered anything earth shattering. He’d simply come to the conclusion that he was a shitty person. But what his girlfriend didn’t know couldn’t hurt her...

Except the truth always came out sooner or later.

He was struggling to keep her close to him, pressing his torso up against her back as he held her firmly by her forearms. It was a strange feeling, to be holding someone so close when you were so repulsed by them. And yet, the moment she relaxed slightly it felt almost— a  rush of pity flowed through him, his grip loosened infinitesimally as he looked at her – really looked at her. She was pretty, underneath the pained expression and the mascara running down her cheeks. “No, I do... let’s just—“ His protestations weren’t convincing, and she could see right through him. He wasn’t a good liar. He was too expressive, and his actions weren’t those of someone having an epiphany. He wasn’t holding her gently or lovingly, he was holding her like his life depended on it, like she was some wild animal that he had to restrain.

Charlie’s eyes widened and a frown clouded his features, she was squirming in his grasp and he didn’t want to hurt her – not really – but he also couldn’t let her go. She was a danger to his remaining furniture, herself, and most importantly, the baby. That last thought caught him offguard. He was staring into space, unfocused as that unwelcome realisation hit him again. Charlie could feel her looking at him and, hesitantly, he turned to meet her gaze. Her lips touched his and he didn’t flinch, he was in such a state of confusion his eyes closed and he started to kiss back. Then she pulled away and everything came flooding back. He shifted in mild horror at what he’d just done, his fingers loosening their grip and—“Ugh, fuck—“ he grunted as she slammed her elbow into him, causing him to let go and curl over in pain. Before he had a chance to recover she was out of his reach, tinkering at the drawers again, “Stop—” he took a step forward, desperate not to lose control of this situation, but he hesitated, and then it was too late, she was already out of the room and scurrying down the stairs. He’d barely made it into the hall when he heard the front door close. He hurried down the stairs and wrenched the door open, but she was gone. She must have apparated the moment she'd stepped outside.

He turned back inside and closed the door behind him, not bothering to lock the door.