Layla
: Chapter 23

The mood in the house has shifted drastically in the last hour. We spent the first ten minutes kissing, hugging, reveling in the knowledge that our love somehow transcended realms.

We now have answers as to why Layla’s soul ended up here. But those answers are accompanied by a million more questions and a lot of unexpected grief.

I don’t even know how to properly mourn the idea that Layla essentially died . . . because she’s here with me. But she isn’t.

It feels like she’s been returned to me, but in a horrific way. I feel further away from her than I’ve ever been, even though we’re standing in the bedroom and I’m holding her in my arms.

I feel helpless.

Her face is pressed against my chest, and we have no idea what to do next. I don’t want to come face to face with Sable, and if Layla goes to sleep, that will happen. I’m too angry to do that right now.

“Do you think Sable knows?” Layla asks, pulling back to look up at me.

I shake my head. “No. I think she’s probably just as confused as you are. She has these memories that she can’t explain. That don’t belong inside the head she lives in.”

“That has to be scary for her,” Layla says. “Waking up in the hospital with conflicting memories. Recognizing Aspen and my mother but not quite being able to place them, then being told they’re her family.”

I grip Layla’s cheeks with both hands. “Do not feel sorry for her,” I say. “She did this. None of this would have happened to either of you if she hadn’t shown up to my house with intentions of hurting us.”

Layla nods. “Are you going to tell her what happened? That she’s Sable?”

“Probably. She deserves an explanation as to why she’s been tied up.”

“When are you telling her?”

I shrug. “I feel like the sooner we let her know, the faster we can hopefully come up with a solution.”

“What if she demands to leave?”

“She will. I have no doubt about that.”

“Are you going to let her leave?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Layla’s eyebrows draw apart in worry. “We can’t keep her here against her will. If someone finds out, you could get in legal trouble.”

“She’s not leaving here in your body. It’s yours.”

“Tell that to the police,” Layla says.

“No one has to know. But she is not leaving here until we figure out how to fix this.”

Layla grips the back of her neck and pulls away from me. “You heard that man. He said there’s no way to fix this.”

“He also said this is rare. Maybe it doesn’t happen enough for anyone to have figured out a solution yet. We’ll be patient. We’ll do our research.

We’ll figure this out, Layla.”

I wrap my arms around her again, hoping to ease her nerves. But that’s hard to do when I know she can feel my rapid heartbeat against her chest.

I’m just as worried as she is. If not more.

“I think you should tell her now,” Layla says. “Maybe if she realizes what she’s done, she’ll stop fighting you. Maybe she’ll help us figure this out.”

Layla has always seen the best in people.

The problem with that is I’m not sure there’s enough good in Sable that would make her want to help us. She is, after all, the reason we’re here right now.

“Okay,” I say. “But I have to tie you up first.”

Layla crawls onto the bed. After I tie her up, she says, “I know you’re angry at her right now. But don’t be mean to her.”

I nod, but it isn’t a promise.

Angry is an understatement.

Layla closes her eyes and takes a breath. When her eyes open and I can tell it’s not Layla looking back at me, I feel nothing but resentment. I don’t feel remorse when she starts to quietly cry. I don’t feel guilt when she starts to plead with me to untie her. I sit on the edge of the bed next to her feet, and I just stare at her.

At least she’s not hysterical or screaming this time. We might actually be able to have a conversation about this.

“Are you going to let me leave now?” she asks.

“I want to ask you some questions first.”

“And then you’ll let me go?”

“Yes.”

She nods. “Okay, but . . . can you please untie me first? I’m sore. I’ve been in this position for hours.”

She’s been tied up for one minute. She doesn’t realize she walks around freely most of the time. “I’ll untie you after you answer my questions.”

She adjusts herself on the bed so that she’s sitting a little farther away from me. She pulls her knees in and looks at me nervously. “You look angry,” she says quietly. “Why are you angry?”

“What do you remember about the night you were shot?”

“I don’t like talking about that. You know that.”

“Why? Because you don’t remember it like I do?”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s because I don’t remember it at all.”

“That’s not entirely true,” I say. “I think you just remember it in a way that’s confusing to you.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I continue to speak, despite her pleas for me to stop. “I know what’s going on inside your head. You say you have amnesia, but I’m not so sure you do. It’s just harder for you to access Layla’s memories because they’re mixed in with other memories. It’s why . . . sometimes . . . when I bring up something from the past, you don’t have that memory right away. It’s like you have to sift through them. Dig them up.”

I can see her breath catch.

I lean forward and look her directly in the eye. “Do you sometimes feel like you have too many memories? Memories that don’t even belong to you?”

Her bottom lip begins to tremble slightly. She’s scared, but she’s trying to hide it.

“Do you remember opening the door when Sable knocked on it that night?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“But you also remember being the person who knocked on the door.”

Her eyes widen. “Why would you say that?” she says immediately.

“Because . . . you’re Sable.”

She stares at me for several long seconds. “Are you crazy?”

“Your memories are confusing because you’re in the wrong body.”

Her stare becomes threatening. “You better let me go right now, or I will have you arrested so fast, Leeds. I will. Don’t think I’m going to forgive you for this.”

“Have you known this whole time that you might be Sable?”

“Fuck you,” she hisses. “Let me go.”

“Why did you punch the bathroom mirror when we got here? Do you see Sable’s face sometimes when you look in the mirror?”

“Of course I see her face sometimes! She shot me, Leeds! I have PTSD!”

She didn’t deny punching the mirror. “You don’t have PTSD. It’s an actual memory.”

“You sound like a lunatic.”

I keep my voice steady when I say, “You shot me. And you shot Layla.

And I know you remember doing it.”

She shakes her head. “I shot Layla? I AM Layla!”

I shake my head. “I know it’s confusing. But you aren’t Layla. You’re only able to access some of her memories, because you’re inside Layla’s head and you have access to them. But when I shot you, you died. And when you shot Layla, she died. But only for a few seconds. Long enough for your soul to end up in the wrong body. And Layla’s soul ended up stuck here, in this house.”

She’s crying now. “You’re scaring me.” Her voice is timid. “You aren’t making any sense. I am Layla. How could you possibly think I’m not Layla?”

I would begin to list all the proof, but there’s too much. Instead, I try to think of a question only Layla would be able to answer right away. One Layla has already answered, but that Sable would struggle to remember.

“What song did I sing to you the first night we met here?”

She says, “I . . . that was a long time ago.”

“Which song did I sing for you? You have three seconds to answer me.”

“‘Remember Me’?” She says the name of the song like it’s a question.

“No. I sang ‘I Stopped.’ Layla remembers.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not Layla. This is insane.” She’s crawled more toward the head of the bed, like she’s trying to get away from me.

I don’t blame her for being scared of me. If someone had tried to explain this to me a month ago, I wouldn’t have been able to believe it. I attempt to come off as levelheaded as I can because I know she thinks the opposite of me right now. “I can’t expect you to accept this any easier than I did, but it’s true. It’s just going to take time, and maybe proof, before you fully comprehend what’s happening. For that, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave now. Not until I figure out how to fix this for Layla.”

“But I am Layla,” she whispers, still trying to convince herself that this isn’t happening.

I look behind me. “Layla, take over.”

I wait a few seconds until I see the change.

Layla opens her eyes. She relaxes her legs, but her expression doesn’t relax. She looks like she’s about to cry, and I don’t know if it’s because there isn’t a doubt left in her as to whether she’s Layla, or if she feels bad for the situation Sable is in now.

I lean forward and untie her hands. When her wrists are free, she lunges forward and wraps her arms tightly around me. She starts to cry.

It becomes real in this moment. Knowing that Sable struggles to access memories I made with Layla—memories that are front and center in Layla’s mind—has eliminated any shred of doubt that still hung between us.

Layla grips the back of my head and presses her cheek against mine.

Her voice is full of fear. “Please help me find a way back.”

I close my eyes. “I won’t stop fighting for you until we figure this out.

I promise.”

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