The Gamer Chapter 1674 – On her Own [Layla POV] (Patreon)

Layla felt a void in her heart.

They had left. Layla had been informed of that fact well in advance, although she had not been told where to. She could have found out on her own. She was quite adept at finding things out about John’s whereabouts. It would cost her a pretty penny, but she could buy up all current conflict data in the world, then scan for any spontaneous smoothing over of the tides, then use the narrowed down 50 to 100 cities that fit in with the timescale to chip away at other things that betrayed the local influences of the harem. Oddity in local bandwidth usage, spotting of mobile barriers, items being bought in the bulk required for over twenty people, sightings of Sylph…

All of that would take time as well but time finding John was time well spent.

Layla had practically developed an intuitive set of protocols to narrow down where he was at this point. One of her projects to keep herself busy while she was thinking about him, which was always.

And in that lay the crux of her current issue.

When first Layla had heard about the harem moving out without her, she had grit her teeth at the injustice. That was before she had spoken to him. Now she was introspective. Much as it annoyed her, there was a possibility, a chance, a bothersome likelihood that it maybe, sorta, kinda was good for her to take some time off basking in his aura.

Granted, his aura was still there, in part. It shone brightly through the second body that was left behind and the trio of goddesses that still inhabited the Palace. It was a bit of a bother. Had those three moved out as well, at least Layla could use this time to wander the halls of her rightful home. Instead, she sat atop one of the mountains that had been erected within the Midnight Forest, staring at the distant torch of Lady Liberty.

“Pine bark for your thoughts?”

The question pulled Layla’s attention aside. Beside her was the thin form of Methenia. Slender limbs and bony features were wrapped in moonlight white and black silk, encasing her like a graceful mummy. The highest of the invited fairies and effective ruler of the Midnight Forest and its Court, danced where she stood, as she always did.

“Just thinking about how much I would love to roll around in my bed right now,” Layla answered.

“You mean the Earl’s bed?” Methenia asked.

Layla raised a hand in a dismissive, even ridiculing motion. What even was the difference? A temporal one, at worst, she would get in that bedroom before long.

“I have to ask, since you got that new place to stay.” Disapproval rang in the voice of the fairy.

Layla let out a long sigh. “I do prefer it here, I really, really do, but I need to relearn how to ‘be normal’.”

“A futile and boorish effort,” Methenia stated clearly. “You are of fae mind, Layla Viorica. Do not let laws of mortals constrain you when there is true love in your veins.” Layla looked at her wrist. “A figure of speech, there is no love in your veins.”

“I wasn’t going to cut myself to find out.” Layla lowered her hand, then got up. “Futile and boorish or not, I should try. I owe it.”

“To whom?”

Layla did not know.

__________________________________________________________________________

The light switch flipped up with an audible click. A naked bulb under the ceiling bathed the room in artificial light. The apartment was a two-room flat, kitchen and bathroom included. Layla let her eyes glide over the living room. A low table, a stack of books, a computer, a flatscreen, and a closet, all of it standard issue.

Unable to stand the monotony of the sight, she darted on over to her bedroom. For the most part, it was every bit as normal. The averagely sized bed still bore the dishevelled look of her having tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep in a place bereft of his radiance. Spare clothes and other items of necessity sat in large plastic bags on the floor. Layla had no intention of sorting them into the shelves. She wouldn’t stay for long. This wasn’t her home.

The closet had been dedicated to a better purpose.

Opening the double-doored piece of furniture, Layla shuddered with wanton relief. Even packaged up in airtight bags, her hoard of Aclysia-given treasures exuded a faint scent of John’s alluring musk. Above the orderly stacked piles of t-shirts and boxers was the back of the closet. Unnecessary boards had been removed. In their place, the entire wall was covered in pictures of John.

John holding a speech. John fighting at the Hudson Brawl. John at a gala dinner. John walking down the steps of his airplane. John laughing at a joke. John staring darkly at whichever journalist was holding the camera. John at the beach. John – John – John – John.

“Haaaaaah.” The dreamy sigh made it past Layla’s lips all on its own. It took everything she had not to unzip every single bag and throw herself in a pile of his scent. His aura was so distant even she could only faintly feel it. They were separated by several kilometres and the permeable barrier between the Hudson Barrier and the Guild Hall. Still, she knew he was there, existing all perfect and sexy like.

A singular shirt would have to suffice for now. Layla stripped out of her bothersome clothes and tossed them in the vague direction of the corner of the room she had designated for laundry. Then, she unzipped a single bag.

Her legs gave out the instant the trapped musk hit her nostrils. Hard, she collapsed onto the waterproof yoga mat she had wisely placed there in advance. Her quim quivered at the mixture of many feminine, sweet scents with the husky, smoky, rich and heavy smell of his masculinity at the core. The scent of the harem that she had to be part of.

Layla could not hold back her desires today, she had to mingle her scent with theirs. Pushing the shirt over her head, she giggled frantically. He had grown broader recently and his shirts had been adjusted to fit.

‘Thank you, Aclysia, for not giving me the enchanted ones!’ The last thing Layla wanted was for his clothing to conform to her curves. She wanted to feel how the shirt that fit snugly around his shoulders slouched down on hers. The lower hem of the shirt fell past her round derriere. ‘Oh, he would ravish me if he saw me like this!’ she thought, glancing down at herself. ‘Right?!’

Layla raced to the bathroom to get a look at herself. The hard light of the bulb and the simple mirror pane on the bland, tiled wall did not do her justice. She stood like a breedable angel in a dystopian warehouse, but a breedable angel she was! The shirt slouched off to one side, giving an enticing view of the smooth skin of her left shoulder. Her curves were partly hidden just by how loose it hung on her, but the notable rise of her decently sized breasts was still there. More importantly, her hips were wide enough that the shirt actually settled on them. Her cunt was just barely covered. The trickle of juices running down the inside of her thighs was not.

‘He would! He absolutely would!’ Layla spun around, thrust her ass out, and moaned when she imagined what he would do to her if she ever showed him how wet and willing she was for him and him alone. ‘I’ll be your private slut, I’ll do everything you want, because I know everything you want, because I’m perfect for you! You don’t even need to tell me, I’ll let you fuck me from behind and then I’ll ride you, and then you’ll pin me down, only to let me get back on top, back and forth, while I make out with the rest of the harem for your delight!’

Even faint and distant, a moment of focusing in on his aura was enough to push her over the edge. Both of Layla’s hands were on the clean white tiles of the wall, while she came. She gyrated her hips, thrusting back against her fantastic lover. She took a short pause to drag the neck hole of the shirt over her nose. Her eyes rolled up as the scent filled her. Pussy juices squirted all over the tiles. One orgasm turned into several.

Layla came back to herself, sitting on the cold floor, in a puddle of her own juices. Her fingers were still circling her clit until she willed them away. She was breathing heavily. Her throat was dry. Quivering, she got up, bowed under the sink, and gulped down as much of the flowing water as she could stomach.

Then, she turned back to the mess she had made. “I really preferred the forest,” she mumbled to herself, before going through the annoying motions of cleaning up the room and herself. Another fifteen minutes later, she was clean, wearing his shirt, and walked back in the living room.

The shirt would not hold his scent for long when she wore it actively like this, but she had been given an abundance of his laundry. According to Aclysia, no one was home to notice even a large chunk missing and effectively all of the washing maids were in on it anyhow. The harem was gradually learning about her and all of them had seen that it was her place to join!

Even if Momo, that walking bar to entry, had put conditions on it.

Layla groaned and picked up one of the books on the table. “Nicomachean Ethics,” she read the title and turned it in her hands. Just reading the summary in the back made her feel the urge to run back to her shrine to his perfection. Before all of this, she had somewhat prided herself at being a decent student at least. Even then, she wouldn’t have found herself studying ethics philosophy.

It was only one of the topics of the many books on the table. Metaphysics, actual physics, self-help books, evolutionary psychology, history, biographies, and some critically acclaimed fantasy novels, that was the short list of genres covered.

Layla wanted to get annoyed that she was wasting her time with this when there was research on John she could fill her time with instead. However, she had asked for this. Momo had enabled this specific form of self-discovery, but she had asked for it. She still wasn’t quite sure who she was in absence of her obsession.

Yes, she was her obsession, in large part, and that was fine, completely reasonable even. If she wasn’t supposed to be obsessed with John, then why was the memory of him what gave her such pure purpose? All she had to do was conjure that fateful moment out on that balcony again. He had found her, spoken to her, helped her, when she had been there to throw herself at him and get bred within thirty minutes.

Her womb was still empty, a fact that she was very aware of. Somehow, she had left that party with a void in her soul as well. That obsession was still there, giving her purpose, but was that all she was? Was that all she offered him? Was that all she was supposed to be?

‘He’s so wise,’ Layla swooned in her head, remembering his advice. ‘Giving me the advice to work on myself while also staying addicted to him. He’s making me the best person for him without even knowing it! We really are made for each other... Doesn’t make this any less dull though.’

Groaning, Layla kept spinning the book in her head. She had no interest in being normal. She didn’t even care about pretending to be normal. What she cared about was having enough control over herself to not be a bother to him.

Both her current self and that sliver of her past that had awoken when she had spotted Romulus agreed that it was just normal for Layla Viorica to love John Newman. There was no way around it. If they existed in the same reality, they would eventually get together. If they did not exist in the same reality… well, that was another Layla’s problem. It could probably be solved by stabbing the right people.

She loved him. She loved him so much. She loved him even deeper now than ever before. She just kept falling for him. That day before she had first touched his aura? Completely different woman, but also the woman that had lived her life so she could break for him the moment he stepped into her general vicinity. That day before she had talked to him? Also a completely different woman, the shattered pieces of who she first was now ready to reassemble herself.

She had been so blind, loving him just because of what he provided. Strong, handsome, powerful, iridescent, prismatic, all of those things, and then he had shown her what she had researched but not experienced: that he was a kind man as well.

‘He’s so hot! And gentle! And firm!’ Layla placed a hand on where he had touched her. She had tried not to wash that spot for a while, but keeping herself clean for his attention was more important. ‘And I am stalling!’ she chastised herself.

Layla forced herself to sit down at least. The table was made for a group of four. She sat on it alone under the naked lamp. It was exactly the kind of life she did not want. Alone, in small walls, in a barebones apartment, away from the man of her dreams. She groaned in frustration.

‘The things one does for love… this is a trial!’ she amped herself up. ‘You’re doing this for yourself! He’ll give me all the love I deserve if I put in this work for us. Momo won’t bitch if I can prove myself!’ She stared at the cover. ‘What would I talk about with him if I don’t read these?’ she asked herself. ‘How long would my body alone keep him entertained? Would I love myself for the eternity that we will spend together, if I were in his shoes?’

The thought was sobering.

From the bathroom, the tapping of water dripping from the showerhead echoed in the empty apartment.

‘Be a good girl, if you want to be treated like one,’ she told herself and finally opened the cover.

Layla began to read.