Layla - Colleen Hoover Page 0,89

say to her when she wakes up?” Willow asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

She nods, folding her lips together tightly. I walk over to the bed and take a seat. She lays her head on her knees and stares at me. She looks so small right now, curled up into herself. So vulnerable.

Maybe it’s why I chose to stay and help her, because she’s never felt like a threat to me. Not in this house anyway. Even still, after knowing what I know, I can’t bring myself to hate her. I can’t even bring myself to regret any of this. I’ve enjoyed my time with her here, no matter who she used to be. I still feel drawn to her presence now.

I still want Willow here over Layla, and I realize that’s fucked up, but I can’t help how I feel, no matter how much I wish I didn’t feel it.

“Should I stay awake while you sleep?” I ask her.

“I don’t think you need to. It’ll be better if you try to get some sleep too.”

“What if she wakes up while I’m asleep?”

“I won’t sleep, even if Layla does. If she wakes up, I’ll let you know. I’ll slip into her again if I need to, but only if I have to.”

We both lie down and pull the blanket over us.

I want to wrap my arms around her because she looks scared. But there’s too much between us now for that. No matter how much I still feel an irrational pull toward her, I can’t kiss her like I did last night, knowing what I know now.

Willow doesn’t even seem like she expects me to. She closes her eyes. “Good night, Leeds,” she whispers.

I wake up to a violent shake, like my entire body is being jostled around inside a dryer. I feel hands on my shoulders. Someone is pulling on my shirt. My eyes are so heavy I feel like I might have to use my fingers to pry them open.

“Leeds!” When she says my name, my eyes finally flick open. I immediately sit up on the bed. Layla has turned the lamp on and is standing next to me. She’s pulling on my hand now. “Something is wrong,” she whispers . . . her voice panicked.

She attempts to pull me out of bed, but I don’t move. She finally releases my hand and goes to the dresser. She pulls out a pair of blue jeans and steps into them. “Something is wrong with me, Leeds. We need to leave. I don’t want to be here.”

I try to keep my voice steady when I say, “You had a bad dream, Layla. Come back to bed.”

She looks at me like I’ve insulted her. She takes two quick steps forward and says, “I’m not dreaming!” She hisses the word dreaming in a feverish way, but then she looks away as if she’s embarrassed by her own outburst. “I’m not dreaming,” she mutters.

I get out of the bed and meet her near the dresser. “It’s okay, Layla. I’m here.” I try to hug her, but she pushes against me, jamming a finger into my chest.

“You know it’s not okay! You were there earlier! You were trying to leave too!” She grips her forehead with one of her hands and spins in a circle, looking frantically around the room until her gaze is fixed on mine again. “What is happening? Am I going crazy?”

Guilt knots in my stomach because of the direction her thoughts are going, but I say nothing to disprove those thoughts. Maybe it’s better if she assumes she’s going crazy. The truth would be too hard for her to accept.

But is it right to let her think she’s losing her sanity?

Layla stares at me for several very long, worrisome seconds, as if she knows I’m holding back. Distrust slips between us. It’s just a flash—a second of darkness in her eyes—as if she’s questioning whether or not I’m on her side. Before I can even answer that silent question, she darts for the bedroom door and runs toward the stairs.

She’s trying to leave.

She can’t leave.

I chase her. I pass her. I get to the front door before she does, and I press my back to it, stretching my arms out across it. “I can’t let you leave like this. You’re upset.”

She shakes her head, small fast jerks, and her eyes brim with tears and fear. Then she rushes into the kitchen. I follow behind her and watch as she takes a knife