Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,34
can’t. And there was no one in the Grand Room at that point other than me.
I begin pacing the room.
I can’t explain that.
No one can explain that.
And if I were to show it to someone, I’d be accused of faking the video.
Maybe because the video is a fake? Is that possible? Maybe the camera was made to move on its own?
I walk over to the camera again. I pick it up and inspect it for a second time, as if I’m going to find something in the camera that could explain how it could move itself.
What if the app company has a hacker? I could see that happening. Some guy sitting at his computer, manipulating camera angles and positions to scare people.
It’s the more plausible explanation, but I still find myself at the kitchen table on my laptop ten minutes later, researching ghosts and haunted houses.
I create an account using a fake name in a paranormal chat room. I read through the posts in the forum until the sun has fully risen outside.
I roll my eyes at every single one of the stories I read. People who claim to have seen a shadow, or heard a noise, or had a light flicker. All things that can easily be explained.
This shit can’t be explained.
How does a camera move by itself? How does a stove-top burner turn off by itself? How does a rag move from the stove to the sink? How does a laptop type messages to itself and move from one room to another?
I can feel the certainty in my beliefs being chipped away at as I make my own post in the forum. I title it “Skeptic.”
Then I write:
I don’t believe in ghosts. Not even a little. But things have happened that even my skeptic self can’t explain. Appliances turn off by themselves. Objects move themselves. My laptop slammed shut on my hands. My initial thought is that my girlfriend is pranking me, but the timelines and her placement in the house don’t add up with the things that have happened. I’m not sure what I’m expecting you guys to say. I guess I just want another skeptic to explain these things away for me. But how many things have to happen before they can no longer be explained?
When I hit post, I feel like a damn idiot.
I shut my laptop and stare at it.
I’m losing my mind.
Not because weird things are happening—but because I’ve allowed myself to believe they can’t be explained. There’s an explanation for everything. I just have to figure it out.
“You’re up early.”
My whole body jerks at the sound of Layla’s voice. I didn’t even hear her coming down the stairs. She leans in and kisses me before walking to the coffeepot. I made a fresh pot, but that was two hours ago—back when I used to be an idiot and chose to spend an entire morning online reading ghost stories.
I’m no longer that same idiot. I’ve matured in the last two minutes. I’ve come to my senses.
“What are your plans today?” Layla asks. She’s looking down at her cell phone, sipping from a coffee cup.
“I don’t know. Figured I’d work on some music. You?”
She shrugs. “I’m thinking about having a pool day.” She sets her phone and the coffee on the counter and walks over to me. She slips between me and the table, so I push my chair back a little so she can straddle me. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt that doesn’t even cover her stomach, and a pair of pink panties.
Anytime Layla is wearing something this revealing, it’s the first thing I notice. And then once I do notice, she usually ends up no longer wearing whatever it is she was wearing because we end up naked in the bed, or in the shower, or on the couch.
Yet . . . I didn’t notice her this time until she sat on my lap.
I slide my hands to her ass and bury my face in her neck. This is further proof that my focus has been skewed since the day we arrived here.
“Didn’t you say the pool was heated?”
“Yep.”
“You should take a break and have a pool day with me,” she says.
A pool day actually sounds good. Being outside sounds good. Spending time in the water with Layla might feel reminiscent of the first time we were in that pool together, and that sounds really good.
I slide my hands up her back and smile at her. “Bathing suit pool day or naked