Page 86 of Layla

She sounds breathless when she responds. “Do you know how hot it is when you pick me up like this?”

I grin and then heft her up farther, lifting her over my shoulder as I begin to head to the stairs. “Hey!” she cries from behind me, but she’s laughing so I slap her ass.

“This is for your benefit,” I tell her, heading up the stairs. “You get all hot and bothered when I show off my muscles.”

She sighs happily and I feel her fingers tracing across my lower back and down to my ass. “Hell yeah I do.”

We’re both still laughing when I reach her room at the top of the stairs. And we don’t stop for a long time.

* * *

The dream is alwaysthe same. The world is dark around me, and loud, and I know that death is imminent. My friends have already died. Smoke fills my lungs, making it hard to breathe, hard to see. And something is coming towards me that I know will bring the end. Far away, a voice begins to scream and I know there’s no point in fighting, know that this is it, but damn it, I’m going to fight anyway. I’m going to fight until my last breath and—

“John, letgo.

I’m not sure what it is that breaks sleep’s hold on me, but I come awake with a start, my eyes snapping open to reveal Layla’s terrified face inches from mine.

And suddenly I know that the screaming wasn’t just in my head. I’m laying half on top of her in bed, pressing her into the mattress with my bodyweight, one hand wrapped tight around her arm, the other reaching for her throat.

“Let go,” she says again, voice shaking.

Holy shit.

I release her and roll away, breathing heavily, my stomach heaving.

Did that just happen? Please, God, let this be part of the dream. Because if I’m awake right now, if I really just tried to hurt Layla in my sleep…

“Hey.” Her voice is still shaking, but she brings a hand to my back, touching me gently. Hesitantly. My stomach churns again and I know I’m going to be sick. I jump from the bed and stumble to the hall, brushing roughly past Dee in the doorway. I make it to the toilet just in time, dropping to my knees before violently emptying my stomach.

No, a voice in my head keeps repeating.No, no, no.

I’m not sure how long I sit there on the cold tile floor of Dee’s bathroom. I hear muffled female voices from the hall. Dee sounds upset, Layla insistent. After a while, I hear the stairs creak and wonder if Dee has gone back downstairs.

I stand and rinse out my mouth in the sink, taking care to avoid my reflection in the mirror. I can’t even look at myself right now. God, how in the hell will Layla ever be able to look at me again?

I wash my hands, then my face, stalling as long as I can, not wanting to see her. My stomach still rolls with a mixture of shame and fear. Eventually there’s a soft knock on the door and I close my eyes. Time to face this.

The dim light of her bedside lamp filters out into the otherwise dark hallway, illuminating Layla from behind. Dressed only in my t-shirt from the day before, she’s shivering, arms wrapped around her chest. Layla’s face is in shadow but I can make out her eyes, wide and steady in the darkness.

“You okay?”

I snort. I should be asking her that. My eyes scan her throat, expecting to see marks, but there are none. I feel no relief. Instead I take her arm, gingerly, pulling it up to peer at the skin. It’s dark red, right where I had been grabbing her, and my stomach lurches again.

“Come talk to me,” Layla says softly, tugging her arm back.

I shake my head, too filled with horror to form words. I left a mark on her. It will probably bruise. Jesus Christ, what if she hadn’t been able to wake me? A minute later my other hand could have been at her throat. If I had been equally rough there…

“John.” She tugs on my hand and I follow her blindly, my knees so weak I’m surprised they’re still holding me up. She leads me down the hall and to the stairs before steering me into the kitchen. There’s a single lamp on over the sink, the low light casting dark shadows around the room. Layla pushes me into a chair before hurrying out of the room. She returns a moment later with two blankets from the living room. She wraps one around her own shoulders before bringing the other to me. When she starts to drop it over my back, I finally snap out of the daze I’m in, grabbing it from her more roughly than I intended.

“Don’t take care of me,” I rasp out. I don’t fucking deserve it.

Layla doesn’t say anything, just moves to the other side of the table to take a seat across from me. “You want to tell me what happened?” she asks in a calm voice.

I close my eyes. “Nightmare.”

She makes a soft scoffing noise. “I figured that. What was it about?”

I just shake my head, unable to look at her.