Layla

by Colleen Hoover

  I press my palms against the sides of my head in an attempt to extract every ounce of rationality from the depths of my brain. I need every last drop if I want to be able to digest this absurdity.

  This is a concept I can’t immediately grasp, but if I’ve learned anything since coming here, it’s that entertaining the unfathomable often leads to believing the unfathomable.

  I press my palms onto the table and lean back in my chair. “If this is true, wouldn’t Willow have memories when she isn’t inside someone else’s head? Willow doesn’t remember anything at all.”

  “Memories fade quickly in the afterlife, especially when you don’t have a body and a brain to attach them to. You just have feelings, but you can’t connect them to anything. It’s why they’re called lost souls.”

  Willow says nothing during all of this. She just listens, which isn’t hard to do because the man keeps talking, filling my head with way more information than I can keep up with.

  “We call them spares,” he says. “They’re like souls who no longer have a body, but the soul isn’t quite dead, so they aren’t considered traditional ghosts. It’s very rare that the circumstances are right for something like this to occur, but it’s not unheard of. Two souls leave two bodies at once in the same room. Only one of the bodies is revived. The wrong soul attaches to the revived body, and the right soul becomes stuck, with nowhere to go.”

  Willow places her palms on the table. She speaks for the first time with a curious tilt of her head. “If this is true . . . and I’m Layla . . . how and why did I end up stuck here in this house?”

  “When a soul leaves a body, but refuses to move on, it usually ends up in a place that meant something to them during life. This place has no meaning to Sable. But it has a lot of meaning to you. That’s why your soul came here after it was displaced, because it’s the only place you knew Leeds might find you.”

  He thinks Layla’s soul got displaced? It’s such a simple term to explain something so monumental. But no matter how simple or monumental this may be, I’ve never wanted to believe something more, while also hoping to hell it’s not true. “You’re wrong,” I say firmly. “I would have known if Layla wasn’t Layla.”

  “You did know,” the man says adamantly. “It’s why you started falling out of love with Layla after her surgery. Because she wasn’t the Layla you fell in love with when you met her.”

  I push back from the table. I walk across the kitchen, wanting to punch something. Throw something. I’ve been through enough already. I don’t need someone showing up here and fucking with my head even more.

  “This is ridiculous,” I mutter. “What are the chances that souls could be switched?” I don’t know if I’m asking Willow, the man, or myself.

  “Stranger things have happened. You said yourself you didn’t believe in ghosts before you returned here, but look at you now,” the man says.

  “Ghosts are one thing. But this? This is something you’d see in a movie.”

  “Leeds,” Willow says. Her voice is calm. Quiet.

  I spin around and look at her.

  Really look at her.

  Part of me wants to believe this guy because that would explain this inexplicable pull I feel toward Willow. Even when I thought she might be Sable.

  It would also explain why Layla has seemed like a completely different person since the accident.

  But if he’s right, and Willow is Layla, that means . . .

  I shake my head.

  It would mean Layla is dead.

  It would mean it’s Layla who has been stuck in this house alone.

  I grip the counter, my knees weak. I try to think of a way to disprove his theory. Or prove it. I don’t even know which theory I want to be true at this point.

  “I need more proof,” I say to him.

  The man motions toward my seat, so I walk across the kitchen and return to the table. I take a sip of water, my pulse pounding in my throat.

  “Do you know the full extent of Layla’s memory loss since the accident?” the man asks.

  I try to think back to what she could remember, but I don’t have a lot to go on. She doesn’t like to talk about that night, and I avoid talking too much about the past because I don’t like to remind her of her loss of memory. I shake my head. “No. I’ve never quizzed her about it because I feel bad. But there have been things I’ve noticed that she forgot. Like on the flight here when I mentioned the name of the bed and breakfast, it was like she had no memory of it until I reminded her.”

  “If Sable’s soul took over Layla’s body, she would have difficulty accessing Layla’s memories right away, because they aren’t hers. They’re there—in her brain—but they wouldn’t be so easy to get to when her spirit didn’t actually experience those memories.”

  Willow speaks up. “But wouldn’t Layla know she was Sable? Sable’s memories are also there, in her head. When she woke up from surgery, she would have known she was in the wrong body, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” he says. “Like you said, when you were in her head, her memories were confusing. That could be because when a person dies, they don’t normally take their entire identities with them.”

  I’m watching Willow as she takes in what he’s saying. She looks just as confused and as skeptical as I feel.

  “There’s a possibility that when she woke up from surgery, she might have felt displaced. Confused. Even looking in the mirror might be confusing for her, because maybe she doesn’t feel attached to the reflection looking back at her. All of this confusion, which was blamed on amnesia, is probably what’s been fueling her anxiety and panic attacks.” The man taps his fingers on the table in thought for a moment. I stare at his fingers, waiting for him to offer up more proof. He pauses his hand and locks eyes with Willow. “If you are Layla, you would have memories of the two of you that Sable wouldn’t be able to access right away.” He turns to me this time. “Are there other memories you’ve noticed Layla struggle with besides the name of this bed and breakfast?”

  I think back on everything that could be a clue. Things that have been missing from Layla’s memory over the last six months that I blamed on her memory loss. I pull up recent things that are fresh in my mind.

  I turn and look at Willow. “What’s the deadliest time of day?”

  “Eleven in the morning,” Willow says instantly.

  I stiffen at that answer.

  Last week when I brought that up, Layla acted like she had no idea what I was talking about. But Willow also could have heard that conversation in the kitchen, so it doesn’t really help prove much.

  “Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think of something else that seemed to have escaped Layla’s memory recently. Something Willow wouldn’t have heard.

  I think about a conversation that happened in the Grand Room last week. I mentioned a book I had been reading, but Layla had no idea what I was talking about. Then I changed the subject and never mentioned the title of the book, so Willow shouldn’t know it. “What . . . what book was I reading the night I was supposed to leave for—”

  Willow cuts me off. “Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. It was about a game show host who claimed he was an assassin.” Layla couldn’t remember either of those things last week. “You told me you read e-books because paperbacks take up too much space in your luggage.”

  I immediately turn and look at Willow after she says that.

  All the pieces of the puzzle feel like they’re beginning to lock into place, and I don’t know if I want to fall to the floor in agony or wrap my arms around her. But before I do either . . . I have one more question.

  “If you’re Layla . . . you would know this.” My voice is fearful. Hopeful. “What was your first impression of me?”

  She blows out a shaky breath. “You looked like you were dying inside.”

  I can’t move. This is too much. “Holy shit.”

  She leans forward and grips her forehead. “Leeds. All these memories of you and Layl
a meeting here. The kiss in the pool, the song you played for her . . . is that me? Are these my memories?”

  I can’t say anything. I just watch her as she grapples with the same realization I’m grappling with.

  I think back on the last several months of my life, and how I felt like so much changed in Layla. It’s like she became a different person after that surgery.

  She did.

  She was a completely different person. Her entire personality changed; the way I felt about her changed. And now that I’m looking back on it, there are even similarities between the Layla who woke up from the surgery and the Sable I dated. Sable had bulimia. Layla became obsessed with her weight after surgery. Sable was obsessed with social media, and . . . me. Layla became obsessed with building my platform. Sable suffered from a number of mental illnesses, and the more days that passed after Layla’s surgery, it seemed like Layla was starting to suffer from those same mental illnesses. And the day we arrived here, I knew it was Layla who punched that mirror. I didn’t understand why she’d do it, but I knew she did it.

  When Layla woke up from that surgery, she was not the same girl I fell in love with.

  But all the things I loved about Layla in those first couple of months of knowing her are the exact same ones I started to notice in Willow. Her personality, her mood, her playfulness, the familiarity in the way she kissed, her strange and random facts. I used to tell Layla she was like a morbid version of Wikipedia.

  That’s also one of the things I recognized and liked about Willow.

  That triggers another memory that should have been an obvious clue.

  “On the bed, upstairs,” I say to Willow. “The night you were watching Ghost. I said, ‘You are so strange.’ But I also said that to you when I first met you. Because . . . I was fascinated by you and enamored with you, and then when I met Willow, she felt so familiar, and . . .”

  I can’t finish my sentence because it feels like the cinder block that has been weighing down on my chest has just lifted.

  I no longer feel like I’m falling out of love with Layla, because I’ve been falling in love with her this whole time in Willow.

  Layla is Willow, and now that I’m looking at her, I have no idea how I didn’t see it before tonight.

  I take her face in my hands. “It is you. This whole time I’ve been falling back in love with you. The same girl I fell in love with the moment I saw you dancing like an idiot on the grass in the backyard.”

  She laughs at the memory—a memory she owns. A memory we share together. A memory that doesn’t belong to Sable.

  A tear rolls down her cheek, and I wipe it away and pull her to me. She wraps her arms around me. I had no idea how much I missed her until this very second. But I’ve missed her so much. I missed what we shared in the first two months we were together. I’ve missed her since the night she was shot.

  I’ve had this constant hollow feeling inside me since that night, and for so long I’ve felt guilty for feeling that way. For feeling like I lost her when she was still right in front of me. I even felt guilty for the way Willow reminded me of her.

  That guilt is gone now. I feel justified. Every choice I made . . . every feeling Willow filled me with . . . it was all justified, because my soul was already in love with hers. It’s why I felt an inexplicable pull to this place. To Willow. Even when I thought Willow was Sable, I still felt that pull, and it confused me.

  It all makes sense now.

  I press my lips to hers and I kiss her. I kiss Layla. As soon as she kisses me back, I feel everything I used to feel when I would kiss her. Everything I thought I’d lost. It’s right here. It’s been here all along.

  I keep touching her face between kisses, amazed to finally see it. It’s why there was such a huge difference every time Willow would take over Layla. It’s why Willow seemed more comfortable and confident in Layla’s body. It’s because it was hers all along. It never belonged to Sable. Sable has seemed uncomfortable in it since the day she woke up from surgery.

  Willow is smiling through her tears when she says, “This explains why I was so relieved when you showed up here, Leeds. It was because I missed you, even though I couldn’t remember you.” She kisses me again, and I never want to let go of her.

  But something tears us apart anyway. The sound of the front door slamming shut.

  I look over my shoulder, and the man is no longer standing in the kitchen.

  We both rush out of the kitchen and to the front door.

  “Wait!” I say, running after him. He’s climbing into his truck by the time I reach him. “Where are you going?”

  “You don’t really need me anymore. You found your answer.”

  I shake my head. “No. No, we didn’t. You have to fix it now. Sable is still in the wrong body. Layla is still stuck in nothing.” I wave my hand toward Layla. “Switch them out.”

  The man looks at me pityingly. “I find answers, but that doesn’t always mean there are solutions.”

  I try to remain calm, but I want to strangle him for that response. “Are you kidding me? What are we supposed to do? There has to be a way to fix this!”

  He starts the truck and closes his door. He rolls down the window and leans out of it. “Only one soul can lay claim to a body. Sure, Layla is able to slip into her old body, but it’s only temporary. Like a possession. You’ll never be able to get Sable out of Layla’s body. Not until she dies, at least. But when that happens, they’ll both be dead.” He starts to roll up his window, but I frantically beat on the glass. He rolls it halfway down. “Look. I’m sorry this happened to you guys. I really am. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to figure out a way to live like this until the three of you move on for good.”

  I take a step back. “That’s your advice? To leave Sable tied to a bed for the rest of our lives?”

  He shrugs. “Well, Sable kind of brought it on herself, if you ask me.” He puts the truck in reverse. “Maybe you should let Sable leave, and you can stay here with Layla’s spirit.”

  I’m so angry at that advice I kick the door of his truck, leaving a dent. I kick it again. I want to scream.

  The man rolls his window all the way down and leans over the door. He sees the dent. “Now, don’t do that to Randall’s truck. He’ll be confused enough when he wakes up at work and can’t remember what happened to half his night.” He puts his cap back on and slowly begins to back out of the driveway. “A human dies every second, and they don’t always die the right way. I have a lot more people to help.” He raises a hand in the air. “I’ll keep in touch online. Sure would like to see how you two work this one out.”

  He turns his truck around in the driveway.

  We watch him in silence until he’s gone. Until it’s just the two of us.

  He really was just here to give us answers. Nothing more and nothing less.

  I’m full of a frustration that can’t be settled, but at the same time, I feel like I’ve been given clarity. It’s like the strand of hair that’s been strangling my heart finally broke loose and it’s beating that out-of-control, irregular beat again that only Layla’s presence can create.

  A plink and a BOOM.

  “Layla?” I whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  I turn to her. “Nothing. I just wanted to say your name.” I pull her to me. I hold Layla for several minutes as we stand in silence in the front yard. I’m not holding Sable or Willow or a false version of Layla.

  I hold Layla.

  I may not have a solution. I don’t know how I’m going to keep her in my arms forever, but for right now, I have her. And I’m making damn sure she never spends another night alone in this house again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  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 millio
n 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.”