Page 44 of Layla

Layla

We finish the film and move on to re-runs ofKeeping Up With the Kardashians. John is sneering and skeptical in the beginning, but by episode three I can tell he’s hooked. He asks questions about everyone, about their relationships and the backstory of each argument. And when Kim shoots Kourtney a particularly snarky reply, he lets out a little “oooh” of delight.

It’s surprisingly fun, sitting there with him, watching crap TV. I’m enjoying it so much, that I barely notice how late it’s gotten until I give a huge yawn, which sets John off. We look at each other and chuckle. “Guess we’re both pretty worn out.”

John nods. “Probably time we get some sleep,” he murmurs, his voice soft and more than a little regretful.

Immediately I feel myself tense. I don’t want to try to sleep. I don’t want to battle the nightmares or sit here alone in the dark when I inevitably wake up in a few hours.

I don’t want him to go.

John is watching me, a thoughtful expression on his face, and I get the feeling he knows just what I’m thinking. “Does it help when someone else is close by?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I know for some people, that makes it better. Helps to keep the bad dreams away.”

“Are you offering to stay?” I can hear the bald hope in my voice and I can’t even be bothered to feel embarrassed. John must hear it too, because his face softens.

“I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s way too small for you,” I argue, but inside I’m praying he’ll say it doesn’t matter.

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.” He looks over at my bed, rolling his eyes. “This fancy ass hotel has plenty of blankets and pillows.”

I look at the bed, too. It’s stacked high with fluffy white blankets and pillows, the picture of luxury. “If I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that rich people really have a thing for expensive bedding.”

John snorts as he heads to the door. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.” And before I can ask him where he’s going, he’s gone. I stand there for a long moment, my heart beating hard. John is going to stay here. All night. He’s going to sleep feet away from me. I can’t decide if that’s exciting or terrifying.

Barely a minute has passed when there’s the sound of a keycard activating my door, and then John is walking back in, holding a toothbrush up for me to see. But it’s not his hygiene routine that has my attention. “You have a key to my room?”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course I do. I need to be able to get to you quickly if anything happens.” He holds up the toothbrush again. “You want the bathroom first?”

I wave my hands towards the door. “By all means, be my guest. My room is your room, apparently.”

He gives me a long look before sighing and heading into the bathroom. I hear the water running and walk over to the closet to start gathering extra pillows and blankets for him to make up his bed. I have no idea how to feel about the fact that he has a key to my room. It stings a little, like an invasion of my privacy. At the same time, there’s something comforting in it.

John could get to me if I needed him. John can take care of me. And he would.

We switch spots in the bathroom without speaking and by the time I’m finished brushing my teeth and peeing, he’s already settled down in his nest of bedding on the floor. Right next to my bed.

“I feel shitty asking you to do this,” I mutter. “You’re on the floor.”

“Give me a break. You do realize that I was in the armed services, right? This is fucking luxurious compared to most of the nights I spent out on duty.”

I should probably argue with him some more but I really don’t want him to leave so instead I turn away to get the lights and then climb into bed. I can hear him breathing on the floor next to me, so close in the darkness.

“You’re pissed about the key,” he says, breaking the silence.

That startles me. “No. I mean, not really. It feels kind of weird but…” I trail off. “I get it.”

“I would only use it if you needed me.”

“So, you don’t sneak in here and watch me sleep like a creeper?”

He snorts. “You know, it’s not the worst idea in the world. At least when you’re asleep you can’t sass me.”

“You like my sass.”