I didn’t type anything else in the message. The man already somehow knows where we’re staying, so if he’s able to come, he’ll come. And if he needs more information, he’ll ask. I don’t want to type too many details.
“She’s going to be hysterical when she wakes up,” Willow says. “You might want to get her medication out of the car in case she needs it.”
“Good idea.” I return to the car and grab both suitcases. When I shut the trunk, I look up at the house. I can see Willow through the huge bay windows in the kitchen. She’s pacing back and forth, biting her thumbnail nervously. I watch her for a moment, wondering what’s going to happen when Layla does wake up.
How am I going to explain this to her?
Do I tell her the truth?
I’m not sure I can convince her that everything that happened tonight was just a dream, and I’m not looking forward to telling her that I intend to stay in this house even longer. I’ll just figure it out as I go along. That’s all I can do at this point. I can’t just call up people I know and ask for advice on how to properly hold your girlfriend against her will so your ghost friend can use her body.
This is definitely a play-it-by-ear situation.
When I’m back inside the house with the suitcases, I turn on the security system. Then Willow follows me upstairs. We unpack the suitcases and try to replace everything just the way it was before I packed them. If I’m going to try to convince Layla that she dreamt everything that happened earlier, it’ll need to appear like we never packed up to leave in the first place.
Willow is sitting on the bed when I return from putting Layla’s toiletries on the bathroom counter. She’s hugging her knees, her back against the headboard.
“What are you going to 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.