Layla

Willow sits up on the bed. She wraps her arms around her knees and is quiet for a moment. “I want to know what happened that night.”

“Can’t you just look at Layla’s memories?”

“I want to hear your version.”

“There’s not much to tell. Sable shot Layla, then me when I entered the room. I ran for the gun.”

Willow doesn’t react to that with words, but I can see her whole body stiffen when I say that. “So . . . you shot her?” she asks in a whisper.

I nod. The memory of it all still feels surreal.

Willow rests her head on top of her knees and continues to stare at me. “Who was Sable to you?”

“I dated her for a few months. Last year, before I met Layla.”

“But you broke up with her? Why?”

I swallow the thickness in my throat and sit up on the bed. Willow continues to observe me, but I can’t look her in the eyes. I rest my elbows on my knees and focus my gaze on my hands. “I thought it would end up being a one-night stand at first, but she kept coming around. I didn’t do anything about it because I didn’t mind the company. But before I knew it, she was posting pictures of us online, calling me her boyfriend, coming to every show. Garrett and the guys in the band thought it was funny because they knew I was dragging it out because I felt sorry for her. I let it continue for several weeks longer than I should have because I didn’t want to upset her. But then she started taking things a little too far, and it left me with no choice but to break things off.”

“Taking things too far in what way?” Willow asks.

“She was upset that I wouldn’t tell her I loved her back after only knowing her for a couple of weeks. She was upset that I hadn’t posted a picture of us together on Instagram. She’d get irrationally angry when I would tell her I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and then she’d try to tell me all the reasons she thought I was wrong. In my head, we were having fun. In her head, she was practically planning our wedding. When I finally did break up with her, she wouldn’t stop calling me. Then she came to one of our shows, and she started screaming at me because I wouldn’t take any of her calls. Garrett had to have her kicked out and wouldn’t allow her at any future shows. I had to cut her off. Didn’t know how else to deal with it. I thought she’d eventually get over it.”

“Is that why she showed up at your house and did what she did? Because you had moved on with Layla?”

“I don’t know, honestly. She was definitely upset by a picture I had posted with Layla. Upset enough to reach out to Layla on social media. But the police said she had a long list of diagnoses, some of which stemmed from childhood. Depression, bulimia, bipolar disorder, you name it. And she wasn’t taking her medication for any of it. Maybe that’s why she did what she did. Because she really was unstable.”

“That had to be terrifying for Layla. And you.”

I nod. “It was.”

“Why does it seem like you feel guilty about it?” she asks. “It doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong. People break up all the time.”

I shrug. “I don’t feel guilty for breaking up with her. I feel guilty for ending her life. I could have easily held her at gunpoint until the police arrived, but I didn’t. I let my anger at what she’d done to Layla take over. I took her life, and I’ve regretted it since the moment I did it.”

Willow’s voice is quiet when she says, “You did what most people would do in that situation. She had an obsessive personality, and you were just a casualty of that. How were you supposed to know how deep it went, or that she had a fan club for you before you even met her?” She leans into me a little, urging me to make eye contact with her. “She forced you to take it as far as you did when she showed up to your house with a gun. That’s not your fault.”

I don’t talk about this to anyone, so it’s nice to hear her say those words. I’m about to tell her thank you.

But then my blood chills . . . freezes . . . shatters like tiny shards of glass exploding inside of me. The words that just came out of Willow’s mouth are rushing through me, searching for a place to belong, but they don’t belong.

Her words don’t belong in Layla’s head.

I never mentioned specifics about Sable to Layla. I never told Layla that Sable had a fan club.