Layla

Willow cleaned up everything while I was upstairs with Layla.

I take a seat at the kitchen table, but I don’t open my laptop. I open the security app on my phone first. I skip it back and watch as the wineglass is knocked out of my hands by nothing. I fast-forward it, and approximately ten minutes after I went upstairs earlier, the video shows the lid as it slides off the trash can.

I watch in fascination as the kitchen is slowly cleaned by nothing. The wine stains disappear. The shards of glass move from the floor to the trash can. The lid eventually slides back over the top of the trash can, and all traces of the broken glass are gone.

I close out the app and lay my phone facedown on the table.

I tried to stop understanding the world around me the day after we arrived here. Watching a tape of a ghost cleaning a kitchen doesn’t even faze me at this point. At least in this element.

I don’t know what that says about me.

I also don’t know what it says about me that I almost slipped Layla medication without her knowledge.

Maybe this house is messing with my head. Unraveling the threads of my morals.

I’m not even sure where to start the conversation with Willow. How to start the conversation. Do I apologize? I don’t want Willow to think I’m the type of guy who would drug his girlfriend, but . . . that’s exactly what I was about to do before she prevented it from happening.

Did she prevent it because she didn’t like what I was doing or because she didn’t want Layla’s body to be too hard to wake up?

I don’t know if Willow’s actions were selfless or selfish, but I’m not really in a position to judge, considering my actions were completely selfish.

I hear our bedroom door open.

My spine stiffens, and I immediately get out of my chair. I don’t know if Layla or Willow is walking down the stairs right now, but I’ll feel equally ashamed, no matter whose eyes I’m about to look into.

I suddenly don’t know how to act natural or what to do with my hands. I grip the counter behind me and lean against it, staring at the entryway.

She walks around the corner. I can tell it’s Willow immediately. She’s pulled a pair of Layla’s shorts on and is still wearing my T-shirt. I can tell it’s Willow because of the way she’s looking at me—as if I have a lot of explaining to do.

“I’m sorry,” I say immediately.

She holds up a hand and then pulls out a chair and sits down. “Not yet. She’s really drunk; I need to sit down for a second.” She drops her head into her hands. “Can you pour me a glass of water?”

I turn around and grab a glass from the cabinet. I fill it with ice and water and hand it to her, then take a seat at the table. She downs the glass and then sets it back on the table in front of her.

She stares at the glass for a quiet moment, gripping it with both hands. “What was it?”

“What was what?” I ask, needing clarification.

She drags her eyes to my face. “What kind of pill did you put in her wine?”

My jaw twitches. I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. “Ambien. A sleeping pill. I don’t . . . I’ve never done that before. I just really wanted her to go to sleep.”

“Why? So you could talk to me?”

I nod.

“That’s dangerous, Leeds. She was drunk. And what if she would have taken another pill on top of what you were already giving her?”

I lean forward, running a hand through my hair. I grip the back of my neck and blow out a breath. “I know. I wasn’t even thinking. It was like I was acting on impulse.”

“If your need to speak to me makes you act on impulse like that, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea we do this anymore.”

The thought of her putting an end to this makes my chest tighten. I have so many more questions. “I would never do anything to intentionally hurt Layla. It won’t happen again.”

Willow’s eyes are searching mine for truth. She must accept whatever it is she sees because she nods and says, “Good.” Then she leans forward, pressing a palm to her stomach as it rumbles. “Does she ever eat? Christ. She’s always starving.”

I stand up, remembering the tacos. “I brought you tacos.” I retrieve the to-go box from the refrigerator. I had them separate the condiments and the meat from the taco shells so they’d be easy to assemble and heat. “She only ate one taco at the restaurant, but that’s probably because she drank four margaritas.” I heat up the food while Willow remains seated at the table. “What do you want to drink?”