Made

He must have fallen asleep at some point, slumped on the couch like a slob. Because when he came to, it was 4AM, and there was someone pounding on his door. So he was disheveled when he opened it, short hair sticking up in all directions, his clothes turned every which way; he probably looked like a mess.

Laila was on the other side of the door, her hands clasped behind her back. He could just see her silhouette in the dark. He opened the door slowly and cautiously, skepticism on his face. That was when he saw the police officer, his hand squeezing Laila's arm. Her arms must have been handcuffed behind her. He reached over to turn on the porchlight, squinting in the darkness. She looked terrible. Her nose was bleeding, she had bruises on her throat, and the beginnings of a black eye. Her blue dress had been torn in places, and had blood and dirt on it. Her knees were banged up, as if she'd been dragged. He could only gape at her.

"Sorry for the hour," the officer said. He was handsome, all blonde and shiny like some 90s heartthrob. "Are you the owner of this girl?"

He narrowed his eyes at the wording. Laila eyed him with what he thought was nervousness, but a closer look said it was carefully contained anger. Well then.

"I suppose I am," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "What did she do?"

The cop sighed, shuffling on his feet. It must have been a long night. "Honestly, we just found her in an alley. She resisted being taken to the hospital, so we brought her here. The address was listed in her paperwork. The handcuffs are to prevent her from hurting herself."

"Well, thanks," he said, unsure of how to proceed.

"We won't charge her with anything," the cop said. "She did some damage to the car, but we needed a new one anyway. Just, keep an eye on her."

"I will," he said, reaching for her. The cop pushed her towards him gently, then reached behind to undo her handcuffs. She scowled once she was let go, and rubbed her wrists.

"Stay out of trouble, Sweet Pea," the cop said. With a nod, he turned around and left.

"Sweet Pea?" Michael asked.

Laila scowled. "It's a nickname, and I fucking hate it."

"What happened to you?" he asked, blocking her entrance into the house.

"Just went down the wrong alley."

He moved to the side, but grabbed her arm before she could get too far into the house, and closed the door behind them.

"Can I clean up?" she asked.

"What really happened to you?"

"I wasn't lying."

He sighed. He didn't believe her, but led her to a bathroom anyway, grabbing towels and a first aid kit on the way.
She scowled when he reached out to help her, and recoiled from his touch.

"Let me help," he said gently.

"Is that an order?" She scoffed. "Don't do me any fucking favors."

"Why are you being like this?" he asked, exasperated.

"Sorry for inconveniencing you," she spat.

He grabbed her arm roughly, and she grimaced, then wrenched her arm out of his grip.

"I mean it, Laila. What is wrong with you?"

"You're leaving me alone!" she cried. "He's owned me since I was fifteen. You have no idea what this is like."

"You're free to do whatever you want."

"I'm not made to do that." She sighed, wiped her bloody nose, and pushed passed him. He caught up to her just before she made it to the door.

"Stay and eat something," he said.

"I don't need your fucking charity."

"What do you want me to do? Just tell me."

"I don't know! Is that what you wanna hear? I don't want to be with anyone who doesn't want me, but I'm not made for out there. I'm not made to be alone."

"Made?" he asked.

"Yeah, made." She sighed when his face didn't change. "The way that I am, the way that I act has all been drilled into me. New personality, new name. I was trained to be this way. I was fifteen. I didn't even realize what he was doing."

Realization dawned over him. Trained, like a dog. Jesus Christ.

"Wh-why?"

She shrugged. "He's insane. He just wanted the power, I think. And who better to exert it over than a girl who hangs on your every word?"

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. What the fuck had he gotten into?

"What's your real name, then?" he asked.

She shrugged again. "I don't remember."

He looked at her, really taking her all in. She looked so small and sad, her arms crossed across her chest, covered in scrapes and bruises and blood. He could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and streaks down her face. He sighed, exhausted.

"There have to be rules," he said. She eyed him mistrustfully.

"I'm not having sex with you," she replied.

"No sex," he echoed, searching for a piece of paper. He finally found one, a crumpled up takeaway menu, and used an eyeliner she'd left behind to write with.

"I'm not going to hit you," he said, and she nodded. "What about traveling?"

She shrugged. "Don't care, just don't leave me alone for six months."

He chuckled. "You'll go along with me for filming, then. What else?"

"I get to keep my job," she said, and he wrote that down even though he had no intention of making her quit her job.

They stood in silence for a minute. Neither could think of anything more to add. He walked up to the refrigerator, and used a random magnet to pin the list to it.

"There," he said. "Rules."

She smiled, looking down. He smiled back.

"Let's get you cleaned up."