Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,76

here, Willow didn’t even want help. She took over Layla simply because she wanted to taste food. And even that might have been fine, but then I got way too involved. I became morbidly fascinated to the point that I’ve been putting Layla at risk. Maybe even Willow.

There may not be a handbook for how to deal with a ghost, but a person doesn’t need it to be written down in order to know the difference between right and wrong.

Willow walks the ice cream back to the freezer. “You look tired,” she says flatly.

“I am.”

“You can go to bed,” she says, waving toward the stairs. “I’m gonna watch a movie.”

I don’t want her to watch a movie. I’m not sure I want her using Layla’s body anymore. “Layla’s tired too. She needs to sleep.”

Willow stiffens at my words. She can see in my resolute expression that I’ve reached my immoral threshold. She just stares at me, silently, sadly. “You want me to get out of her?” she whispers.

I nod, then turn and head upstairs because I don’t want to see the look on Willow’s face.

She isn’t far behind me. She walks into the room a minute later, her eyes downcast. She doesn’t look at me as she makes her way to Layla’s side of the bed. She’s still wearing the shirt she took out of Layla’s closet earlier.

“Layla wasn’t wearing clothes when she went to bed.”

Willow pulls the shirt over her head and walks back to the closet to hang it. She doesn’t bother covering herself on the walk back to the bed, but I’m not even looking at her body. I’m looking at the moon’s reflection on her face, and the tears that rim her eyes.

She crawls into bed and pulls the covers up to her neck. Her back is to me, but I can hear her crying.

I hate that I’ve upset her. I don’t want her to be upset, but I don’t know how else to deal with this. She’s a ghost who doesn’t want help. I’m a guy who doesn’t want to leave her. We’re communicating through a girl we have no right to be using like we have been.

It feels like a breakup, and we aren’t even intimate.

Her breaths are coming in short and shallow bursts, like she’s trying her hardest to fight back her tears. The need to comfort her is overwhelming, especially because I’m the one who has made her feel this way. I move my head to her pillow and find her under the covers, then wrap my arm over her stomach.

She grips my arm with her hand and squeezes it supportively. It’s her way of letting me know she understands my decision. But understanding it doesn’t make it easier.

When Layla is sad, it’s almost always fixable with whatever kind of medicine will cure her pain or ailment.

But with Willow, her sadness is unreachable, even from this proximity. I can’t soothe the loneliness she feels in her world. I can’t tell her it’ll be okay, because I don’t know that it will be. This is an unprecedented journey for both of us.

“I want you to message him back tomorrow,” she says. “Ask him if he really thinks he can help me.”

I close my eyes, relieved that she’s finally willing to do something about this. The thought of her just living forever without purpose is depressing. I kiss the back of her head. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Do you not want me to use Layla anymore?” she asks.

I don’t answer that right away because it’s not a simple yes or no. Of course I want her to use Layla because I like spending time with her. But I also want her to stop, because we’ve taken this way too far.

She takes my silence as confirmation that I don’t want her to do it anymore.

I bury my face into her hair, but I still don’t speak. Anything I say at this point feels like it’ll just be a new item added to the list of ways I’ve betrayed Layla. Like the fact that I’ve put in an offer on the house. I haven’t even told Willow. Now I’m not so sure she would even want me to buy it.

“I put in an offer on the house.”

Willow rolls over. Her breast brushes against my arm, and I try to ignore it, but we’re in a more intimate position than we’ve ever been in. It’s hard to ignore when my face is just two inches from hers and she’s