Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,102
pleas for me to stop. “I know what’s going on inside your head. You say you have amnesia, but I’m not so sure you do. It’s just harder for you to access Layla’s memories because they’re mixed in with other memories. It’s why . . . sometimes . . . when I bring up something from the past, you don’t have that memory right away. It’s like you have to sift through them. Dig them up.”
I can see her breath catch.
I lean forward and look her directly in the eye. “Do you sometimes feel like you have too many memories? Memories that don’t even belong to you?”
Her bottom lip begins to tremble slightly. She’s scared, but she’s trying to hide it.
“Do you remember opening the door when Sable knocked on it that night?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“But you also remember being the person who knocked on the door.”
Her eyes widen. “Why would you say that?” she says immediately.
“Because . . . you’re Sable.”
She stares at me for several long seconds. “Are you crazy?”
“Your memories are confusing because you’re in the wrong body.”
Her stare becomes threatening. “You better let me go right now, or I will have you arrested so fast, Leeds. I will. Don’t think I’m going to forgive you for this.”
“Have you known this whole time that you might be Sable?”
“Fuck you,” she hisses. “Let me go.”
“Why did you punch the bathroom mirror when we got here? Do you see Sable’s face sometimes when you look in the mirror?”
“Of course I see her face sometimes! She shot me, Leeds! I have PTSD!”
She didn’t deny punching the mirror. “You don’t have PTSD. It’s an actual memory.”
“You sound like a lunatic.”
I keep my voice steady when I say, “You shot me. And you shot Layla. And I know you remember doing it.”
She shakes her head. “I shot Layla? I AM Layla!”
I shake my head. “I know it’s confusing. But you aren’t Layla. You’re only able to access some of her memories, because you’re inside Layla’s head and you have access to them. But when I shot you, you died. And when you shot Layla, she died. But only for a few seconds. Long enough for your soul to end up in the wrong body. And Layla’s soul ended up stuck here, in this house.”
She’s crying now. “You’re scaring me.” Her voice is timid. “You aren’t making any sense. I am Layla. How could you possibly think I’m not Layla?”
I would begin to list all the proof, but there’s too much. Instead, I try to think of a question only Layla would be able to answer right away. One Layla has already answered, but that Sable would struggle to remember.
“What song did I sing to you the first night we met here?”
She says, “I . . . that was a long time ago.”
“Which song did I sing for you? You have three seconds to answer me.”
“‘Remember Me’?” She says the name of the song like it’s a question.
“No. I sang ‘I Stopped.’ Layla remembers.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not Layla. This is insane.” She’s crawled more toward the head of the bed, like she’s trying to get away from me.
I don’t blame her for being scared of me. If someone had tried to explain this to me a month ago, I wouldn’t have been able to believe it. I attempt to come off as levelheaded as I can because I know she thinks the opposite of me right now. “I can’t expect you to accept this any easier than I did, but it’s true. It’s just going to take time, and maybe proof, before you fully comprehend what’s happening. For that, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave now. Not until I figure out how to fix this for Layla.”
“But I am Layla,” she whispers, still trying to convince herself that this isn’t happening.
I look behind me. “Layla, take over.”
I wait a few seconds until I see the change.
Layla opens her eyes. She relaxes her legs, but her expression doesn’t relax. She looks like she’s about to cry, and I don’t know if it’s because there isn’t a doubt left in her as to whether she’s Layla, or if she feels bad for the situation Sable is in now.
I lean forward and untie her hands. When her wrists are free, she lunges forward and wraps her arms tightly around me. She starts to cry.
It becomes real in this moment. Knowing that Sable struggles to access memories I made with Layla—memories that are