Layla
: Chapter 16

“Why do you think I’m able to touch things?”

Her voice rips me from the claws of a deep sleep. I open my eyes, and Willow is facing me, lying on her side. I don’t know what time it is, but it’s still dark outside.

I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. “What do you mean?” My voice is still heavy with sleep.

“I can move things when I’m not in Layla’s body,” she says. “I can touch things. But you can’t see me, and I can’t even see myself, so I’m not made of matter. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe you’re made of energy. And you somehow channel that energy into something as dense as matter.”

She sighs and rolls onto her back. She stares at the wooden beam over the bed. “You’d think if that were the case, I wouldn’t be as strong as I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can move big things too. I did it once. Moved every piece of furniture in the Grand Room around in the middle of the night.”

“Because you were bored?” I ask.

“No. Because I hate Wallace Billings and I wanted to scare him.”

She has my full attention now. I lift up onto my elbow. “Who is Wallace Billings?”

She cuts her eyes to mine, and there’s a mischievous grin on her face.

“He owns this place. I’m the reason he put it up for sale a few months ago.”

She looks proud of whatever she did. There’s a gleam in her eye, and I kind of replace it fascinating. I’ve been wondering why this place was put up for sale.

She sits up, wrapping the bedsheet around her to cover herself. “You know how I can’t remember how long I’ve been here?”

I nod.

“Well, I know Wallace inherited this place right before I showed up.

Just based on conversations I’ve heard him have. His mother owned it, and it passed on to him when she died, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. If he should keep it open or sell it or move in. After a while, he started to lean toward moving his family here. And I know this is terrible, but I couldn’t stand him. He was such an asshole to people. His wife, his kids, anyone he spoke to on the phone. I couldn’t imagine sharing this place with him for however long I was going to end up being here.”

“What did you do? Haunt him?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. But then she looks up and to the right. “Wait. I guess what I did could be defined as a haunting. I’ve just never really identified as a ghost, so to me, I was just pranking him.”

“What’d you do?”

She tucks her chin against her chest a little, looking at me somewhat embarrassed. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not.”

She relaxes a bit. “It was little things at first. I’d slam doors, turn off lights. Your typical ghostly encounters. It was fun watching him try to explain it all away. But the more I’d witness his asshole behavior, the bigger I went with the pranks. One night, after I decided I didn’t want him in this house for another day, I moved all the furniture around in the Grand Room.

I moved the couch against the opposite bookshelf. I moved the piano to the other side of the room. I even moved books from one shelf to another.”

“What was his reaction the next day when he saw everything had been moved?”

Willow presses her lips together tightly. She moves her head from side to side with a sheepish look on her face. “Well . . . that’s the thing,” she says. “I moved everything while he was still in the room.”

I try to imagine what that must have been like for the guy—seeing an entire piano move across the room by itself.

“He put the house on the market that day, and he hasn’t been back since.”

“Holy shit,” I say, laughing. “That explains the rush to sell.”

She falls back onto her pillow, and she’s smiling proudly. Her smile is infectious. I lie down on my own pillow, smiling right along with her.

The moment makes me think back to the few things that happened when I first arrived here. Willow saving me from burning down the kitchen.

Her cleaning up the wine spill. That’s hardly a haunting.

I roll my head until I’m facing her. “Why didn’t you try to haunt me when I showed up?”

Willow loses her smile, gently facing me. “Because. You aren’t an asshole. And I felt sorry for you.”

“You felt sorry for me? Why?”

She shrugs. “You just seemed sad.”

I seemed sad?

Am I sad?

I tear my gaze from hers and look up at the ceiling.

“Have you always been sad?” she asks.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean when you say sad. Give me an example.”

“It’s mostly when Layla leaves a room,” Willow says. “You stare at the door for a long time with this distant look in your eyes. Sometimes you seem sad even when you’re with her. I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I get.

I’m probably wrong.”

I shouldn’t be shaking my head, but I am. “You aren’t wrong.”

She sits up again, holding the sheet up over her breasts. I tilt my head on the pillow and look at her.

“Do you not enjoy being with her?” she asks.

“I used to. But now it’s . . . complicated,” I keep my voice low because for whatever reason, it feels like less of an admission if I say it quietly. “A lot has changed between us since that night. Since the shooting.

We aren’t the same couple we were in the beginning. She’s been through a lot, physically, emotionally, mentally. And of course I would never give up on her, but . . .” I don’t know how to finish my sentence. I’ve never admitted any of this out loud.

“But what?” Willow asks.

I exhale. “Sometimes I wonder, if I would have met her today . . . how she is now . . . would I have fallen in love with her as easily as I fell in love with her in the beginning? I don’t know. Part of me thinks maybe I wouldn’t be able to fall in love with this version of her at all. And when I have those thoughts . . . it makes me feel like shit. Because I’m the reason she is the way she is. I’m the reason she’s so unhappy now. Because I failed to protect her.”

Willow’s expression is sympathetic. Almost regretful—like she didn’t mean to open up this can of worms. She inhales a soft breath and releases it into the silent room. “Maybe things will eventually go back to exactly how they were in the beginning between you two. If it’s any consolation, you don’t seem as sad now. Not like when you first showed up here.”

I look at her pointedly. “That has nothing to do with Layla and everything to do with you,” I admit.

Willow doesn’t react to that with anything other than her eyes. They flicker a little, as if she wasn’t expecting me to say it.

I shouldn’t have said it. As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt the guilt. But I said it, and I said it because it’s the truth. I look forward to these moments with Willow more than I look forward to time with Layla.

What does that say about me?

I sit up and slide my hands up my face, then into my hair. I’m gripping the back of my neck when I completely change the subject. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

Willow stares at me, unmoving, as if my words are still sinking in. But then she nods and slips gracefully out of bed, leaving the sheet behind. She walks confidently to the closet and takes down one of Layla’s shirts. She catches me watching her as she pulls it over her head. I can’t even tear my eyes away this time.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she says evenly. She walks out of the room, and I listen as her footsteps fade down the stairs.

I wait a couple of minutes before heading down myself. I’m shamefully aware that the sight of Willow naked had more of an effect on me than when Layla had my dick in her mouth. And that makes no fucking sense. It’s Layla’s body either way.

I made grilled cheese. Layla only had a salad for dinner, and Willow said the hunger pains were intense tonight, so I made her two sandwiches.

I’m relieved Willow has been taking over Layla’s body, even if just for the nutritional benefit. Not that grilled cheese is all that nutritional, but it’s better on Layla’s body than too few calories, and Layla certainly wouldn’t willingly eat a grilled cheese.

Her obsession with dieting has been a concern of mine for a while now, but I haven’t really made it a priority because so many other things with Layla have been my focus for the last six months. I thought the eating would work itself out.

It hasn’t, but Willow at least makes it less of a concern for me.

She’s on her second sandwich, and neither of us has spoken since I handed her the plate of food. I’m on my laptop, staring at the listing for the house. I’m still torn about what to do.

I don’t want to leave Willow alone, but I know Layla doesn’t want to stay here. I would ask Willow to come with us, but that’s not really an option. I can’t allow her to continue using Layla’s body. It was only supposed to be a temporary fix—a way for Willow and me to communicate.

But it’s taking its toll on Layla.

It’s taking a toll on me.

The only solution I can think of is to buy this place. If I do that, Layla and I can visit. Willow could still take over Layla’s body the few times a year we come here. And in the meantime, we could work on replaceing answers for Willow. When she’s ready for that, of course.

I email the Realtor and make an offer that’s $10,000 over the asking price, but I let her know I’d like the option to continue to occupy the property during closing.

I don’t know how Layla will feel about staying even longer, but Layla’s concern doesn’t seem to weigh on my decision. I’ve made it, and I’m prepared to deal with the fallout.

After I send the message to the Realtor, I check a few unopened messages in my in-box. One is from an address I don’t recognize.

Leeds,

It’s been a while since you’ve been in the forum. I apologize if reaching out to you beyond the forum makes you uncomfortable, but I do have a

talent for separating the wheat from the chaff. I believe you, and I hope you can believe me in return.

I can help your ghost.

There’s no name attached to the email, but I recognize the title in the email address. UncoverInc .

How did he replace me? I didn’t even use my real name in the forum.

I immediately go to the forum to check my profile, wondering if it pulled my information from Facebook somehow. All the settings are private, though, but before I log back out, a chat message pops up.

Did you get my email?

I look across the table at Willow, but she’s still eating, not paying attention to me. I shift in my chair and then hit respond.

Yes. How did you get my email address?

Never communicate with someone through a cel

phone if you’re hoping to stay anonymous. I, however, have no interest in you or who you are,

so there’s no need to be concerned. I’m

interested in your ghost. Did you replace anything out about her?

No.

Are you stil at the bed & breakfast?

I lean back in my chair and stare at that message, unnerved. He knows where we’re staying? My heart begins pumping wildly in my chest. The last time someone found out where we were staying—it didn’t end well. I immediately push back from the table and walk to the front door to make sure it’s locked.

I double-check the alarm system when I pass by it to make sure it’s set. I check the other doors as well as every single window in the house. It takes me a while because this house is huge and there are a lot of windows, so by the time I make it back to the kitchen, I’m not surprised to see Willow is finished eating.

I am surprised to see that she’s looking at my laptop. She points at the screen and looks up at me like I’ve betrayed her.

“What’s this?”

I can’t tell if she’s upset or not. I shake my head and try to close the laptop, but she forces it back open. “Who is he?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How does he know about me?”

“It’s just someone I met in a forum. I thought it was anonymous, but he figured out how to contact me.”

Willow’s jaw hardens. She stands up and paces the kitchen. “Is that why you seemed anxious while I was eating?”

“I’m not anxious.”

“You are. You checked all the windows and doors because whoever he is, he knows where we are.”

“Don’t worry. I’m overly cautious now. Everything’s locked up.”

Willow’s shoulders are tense. It’s only the second time I’ve seen her stressed while inside Layla. She pauses her pacing and says, “Why have you been talking to him? Do you want me out of this house?”

“No. I’ve been talking to him because when this first started, I thought I was going crazy.”

“Why are you still talking to him?”

“He keeps contacting me. I’m not hiding anything, Willow. He’s just adamant that he can help you, but I haven’t taken him up on the offer because it isn’t what you want right now.”

She blows out a quick, frustrated breath. Then she walks to the freezer, opens it, and grabs a half gallon of ice cream. She retrieves a spoon and sticks it into the ice cream, then takes a big bite.

“We both know what answers mean for a ghost,” she says, talking between bites of mint chocolate chip. “It means I’ll be done here. Whatever the reason is for me being stuck here, if that man is right, I’ll get unstuck. I won’t be here anymore. You’ve seen all the movies. Patrick Swayze had to die twice in that movie. Twice! ”

“They’re just movies, Willow. Written by people in Hollywood who get paid to use their imagination. We don’t know what actually happens next.”

She waves her spoon at me while she paces, tucking the ice cream tub against her chest. “Maybe not, but it’s a consensus. It’s the theme in every ghost story. Every ghost is a ghost because something went wrong. They were either evil in a past life, or they have unfinished business, or they have to replace forgiveness. Or give forgiveness.” She plops down in a chair at the table. Her energy is all channeled into a frown. “What if I don’t like what I replace out? What if I don’t like what’s next?” She takes another bite with the spoon upside down, and then she just lets the spoon hang from her mouth while she leans forward, clasping her hands behind her head, digging her elbows into the table.

The spoon is just dangling from her mouth.

I never intended to upset her.

Before Layla and I showed up, Willow didn’t have these concerns.

She didn’t even consider herself a ghost. She just existed in whatever realm she’s in, and she was content with that until I came along. Nothing good has come from her crossing into this realm.

It’s only caused Layla to stress about her fatigue.

It’s turned me into a liar.

It’s instilled a fear into Willow that wasn’t there before.

“Willow,” I say quietly. She looks up at me and pulls the spoon from her mouth. “Do you think what we’re doing is wrong? Using Layla like we’re doing?”

“Of course it’s wrong. Just because we’re able to do this doesn’t mean we should be doing it.”

As much as I don’t want her to be right, I know she is. I’ve known all along, but the selfish side of me has been excusing it because I’ve been telling myself I’m helping Willow.

But before I got here, Willow didn’t even want help. She took over Layla simply because she wanted to taste food. And even that might have been fine, but then I got way too involved. I became morbidly fascinated to the point that I’ve been putting Layla at risk. Maybe even Willow.

There may not be a handbook for how to deal with a ghost, but a person doesn’t need it to be written down in order to know the difference between right and wrong.

Willow walks the ice cream back to the freezer. “You look tired,” she says flatly.

“I am.”

“You can go to bed,” she says, waving toward the stairs. “I’m gonna watch a movie.”

I don’t want her to watch a movie. I’m not sure I want her using Layla’s body anymore. “Layla’s tired too. She needs to sleep.”

Willow stiffens at my words. She can see in my resolute expression that I’ve reached my immoral threshold. She just stares at me, silently, sadly. “You want me to get out of her?” she whispers.

I nod, then turn and head upstairs because I don’t want to see the look on Willow’s face.

She isn’t far behind me. She walks into the room a minute later, her eyes downcast. She doesn’t look at me as she makes her way to Layla’s side of the bed. She’s still wearing the shirt she took out of Layla’s closet earlier.

“Layla wasn’t wearing clothes when she went to bed.”

Willow pulls the shirt over her head and walks back to the closet to hang it. She doesn’t bother covering herself on the walk back to the bed, but I’m not even looking at her body. I’m looking at the moon’s reflection on her face, and the tears that rim her eyes.

She crawls into bed and pulls the covers up to her neck. Her back is to me, but I can hear her crying.

I hate that I’ve upset her. I don’t want her to be upset, but I don’t know how else to deal with this. She’s a ghost who doesn’t want help. I’m a guy who doesn’t want to leave her. We’re communicating through a girl we have no right to be using like we have been.

It feels like a breakup, and we aren’t even intimate.

Her breaths are coming in short and shallow bursts, like she’s trying her hardest to fight back her tears. The need to comfort her is overwhelming, especially because I’m the one who has made her feel this way. I move my head to her pillow and replace her under the covers, then wrap my arm over her stomach.

She grips my arm with her hand and squeezes it supportively. It’s her way of letting me know she understands my decision. But understanding it doesn’t make it easier.

When Layla is sad, it’s almost always fixable with whatever kind of medicine will cure her pain or ailment.

But with Willow, her sadness is unreachable, even from this proximity.

I can’t soothe the loneliness she feels in her world. I can’t tell her it’ll be okay, because I don’t know that it will be. This is an unprecedented journey for both of us.

“I want you to message him back tomorrow,” she says. “Ask him if he really thinks he can help me.”

I close my eyes, relieved that she’s finally willing to do something about this. The thought of her just living forever without purpose is depressing. I kiss the back of her head. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Do you not want me to use Layla anymore?” she asks.

I don’t answer that right away because it’s not a simple yes or no. Of course I want her to use Layla because I like spending time with her. But I also want her to stop, because we’ve taken this way too far.

She takes my silence as confirmation that I don’t want her to do it anymore.

I bury my face into her hair, but I still don’t speak. Anything I say at this point feels like it’ll just be a new item added to the list of ways I’ve betrayed Layla. Like the fact that I’ve put in an offer on the house. I haven’t even told Willow. Now I’m not so sure she would even want me to buy it.

“I put in an offer on the house.”

Willow rolls over. Her breast brushes against my arm, and I try to ignore it, but we’re in a more intimate position than we’ve ever been in. It’s hard to ignore when my face is just two inches from hers and she’s looking up at me with hope shining through her tear-filled eyes.

“You did?”

I nod and lift my hand from her waist. I bring it to her forehead and move a piece of hair that’s fallen over her eyes. “Yes. I wouldn’t be here full-time, but I can come back and visit. I want to help you.”

“What about Layla?” she asks.

I shrug, because I don’t know what will happen with Layla. I don’t know that she’ll ever want to come back here. I don’t know where we’ll be when we leave here. Things with Layla feel different now that Willow has entered the picture.

But I also know that visits back to this place will just be another form of torture if we don’t use Layla’s body. Sure, we’ll be able to communicate.

But we’ll have to do that without a way to look at each other, and that sounds like torment.

The room is quiet. So quiet I swear I can hear Willow’s heart pounding in her chest. She’s gazing up at me with a mixture of longing and sadness.

I’m looking down at her much the same way.

Even buying this house wouldn’t bring me reassurance. I’d still think about her every minute of the day when I’m not here.

I’ll still pretend Layla is Willow every time I kiss her.

My eyes fall to Willow’s lips, and I’m reminded of the crazy way my heart beat when I kissed Layla for the first time, only now it’s an even smaller plink and a much bigger BOOM.

I never thought I’d feel more for someone than I felt that night. But right now . . . I’m feeling everything I can feel in this world, coupled with everything I could feel in Willow’s world.

I run the back of my hand across her jaw, angling her face more toward mine. She keeps her eyes open as I slowly lower my head and rest my mouth against hers. There’s a hesitation on both of our parts as our lips slide against each other with very little movement. It’s as if we’re both scared of what this will mean for our future.

Will crossing a physical line by kissing her make me crave her even more? Will it make me never want to leave? Will it weaken my resolve to the point that I let Willow take over Layla whenever she wants?

In this moment, I honestly don’t care.

In this moment, the only thing I can care about is my selfish, insatiable need to kiss Willow. I wouldn’t even care if this caused an upheaval to the entirety of humanity.

I slide my hands in her hair and slip my tongue into her mouth, and I don’t do it gently. I kiss her with a need I didn’t even know was buried inside me.

She moans into my mouth, and it fills me with even more urgency. I don’t know why I’m kissing her like someone might steal this moment from us.

She responds in kind, threading her fingers through my hair, tilting her body more toward mine. She presses her breasts against my chest, and a sensational pull rolls through me. I want on top of her, inside of her. I want my mouth to cover every inch of her. I want to hear every single sound she’s capable of making, and I want my hands and my tongue to be responsible for those sounds.

The kiss has only gone on for a matter of seconds, but it’s long enough that an ache inside of me builds and builds to the point that the kiss becomes painful.

It becomes sad.

I’ve never had so many emotions run through me during a single kiss before, but I run through every feeling my body and mind are capable of until the one I want the least consumes me the most.

I ache everywhere, but it’s the most prominent in my chest. It hurts so much I’m forced to pull away from her and suck in air because I feel like my heart is being strangled.

I roll onto my back and try to catch my breath, but there isn’t enough air in this world to ease this feeling.

I replace Willow’s hand, and I hold it, but it’s all I can do. I can’t kiss her again. I can’t go through that with her again, knowing she’s not someone I get to keep for the rest of my life.

I shouldn’t have done that. Now I don’t want to leave. The only thing that feels important to me now is making sure Willow doesn’t have to spend another day alone in this house.

I’m full of an immense need to replace answers for why Willow is stuck in her world, because I desperately need her to get stuck in mine.

I tilt my head to look at her, and when I do, I wish I wouldn’t have. It just makes it worse because she’s looking back at me with a broken heart.

She rolls toward me and tucks her head in the crook of my neck, curling herself around me. “Every time I have to leave her body, it feels like a punishment. Every night, over and over. It’s torture.”

I wrap my arms around her, wishing I could fix everything for her. But I can’t.

I’ve just made it all so much worse.