Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,110

is a terrified Layla. I squeeze my eyes shut and tighten my hold.

I wait and I wait and I wait for her to stop struggling. It feels like it’ll never end. I count as I hold her under. I get all the way to one hundred and eighteen seconds before she finally stops fighting.

And even then, when I think it might be over, she claws at me again, her fingers seeking out a savior.

She grips my left wrist, and she squeezes it with very little strength.

Then . . . I feel nothing.

The underwater screams have ceased for several seconds. Her hair begins to slip through my fingers. I keep my eyes closed and hold my breath until I’m certain there isn’t any air left in her lungs. Then I slowly drop my gaze.

Her hair is covering her face, so I brush it out of the way. Her eyes are open, but they aren’t looking up at me. They aren’t looking at anything. There’s no focus to them. No life.

That’s when I start to panic.

I pull her up until her head is out of the water, and it’s obvious Sable is no longer inside this body. But neither is Layla.

A wail escapes my throat when I see Layla’s lifeless eyes. Her arms are limp at her sides. I hook my hands under her and start dragging her toward the steps at the shallow end.

“Aspen!” I scream. “Help!”

It’s almost impossible to move her as fast as I imagined I would move her. The backs of her legs are dragging against the pool steps, then the concrete. When I finally have Layla on her back at the side of the pool, I grab for my cell phone. I dial 911.

“Aspen!” I scream. I start administering CPR the exact way Layla showed me how to do it, but I feel like I’m doing everything wrong.

The phone is by my side. When an operator picks up, I just start screaming the address into the phone while I try to resuscitate Layla.

Five minutes.

That’s all we have.

“Five minutes,” I whisper. Her lips are blue. Nothing about her feels alive. I need Aspen because I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

But I don’t want to leave Layla’s side.

“Aspen!” I scream again.

Before I’m even finished saying her name, Aspen is on her knees next to me. “Move!” she yells, pushing me out of her way. I fall backward and watch as Aspen leans Layla onto her side to clear her airway; then she pushes her onto her back again and begins chest compressions.

Chad is here too. He grabs my cell phone and begins speaking with the 911 operator. I move around Aspen, toward Layla’s head, and I lean forward, cradling her head.

“You can do it, Layla,” I beg her. “Please, come back. Please. I can’t do this without you. Come back, come back, come back.”

She doesn’t. She’s just as lifeless as when I was dragging her out of the pool.

I’m crying. Aspen is crying.

But Aspen doesn’t stop trying to save her. She does everything she can. I try to help, but I’m useless.

It feels like it’s been longer than five minutes.

It feels like it’s been a fucking eternity.

I once had the thought that minutes seemed to matter more when I spent them with Layla, but they’ve never mattered more than right now as we’re trying to save her life.

Aspen is growing more hysterical, which makes me think she knows it’s too late. Too much time has passed. Did I hold her under for too long?

Did I do this?

I feel like I’m sinking lower . . . somehow melting into the concrete. I’m on my knees and my elbows, my hands clasped tightly behind my head, and I have never physically been in so much pain.

Why did I let her talk me into this? We could have found a way to live like this. I’d rather live a miserable existence with her than not exist with her at all.

“Layla.” I whisper her name. Can she hear me? If she’s not in her body right now, is she still here? Is she watching this? Is she watching me?

I hear a gurgling sound.

Aspen immediately turns Layla’s head to the side again. I watch as water spills out of Layla’s mouth and onto the concrete.

“Layla!” I scream her name. “Layla!”

But her eyes don’t open. She’s still unresponsive.

“They’re eight minutes away,” Chad says, lowering the phone.

“That’s not soon enough,” Aspen mutters. She resumes the chest compressions. And once again, Layla begins to choke.

“Layla,