On impulse, I reach for her hand. “She’s wrong. Don’t listen to her.”
Layla looks skeptical. “You—” She falters.
“I what?”
“You believe me? You believe I hear the voice?”
“Of course I do.”
She shakes her head. “Most people think I’m crazy. They think I’m making it up or imagining it.”
I squeeze her hand. “You hear it. That’s all that matters. The rest of us can’t, so it’s hard for us to relate.” Her fingers are soft and warm in my grasp. I shouldn’t be touching her—it’s inappropriate—so I release her hand. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
She gives me a small smile. “It’s okay.”
“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”
She shakes her head. “Not really.”
“Maybe it would help.”
She laughs. “You sound just like Dr. Hartigan, my psychiatrist.”
“Well, your psychiatrist is right. It does help to talk about the things that scare us the most.”
“It was awful.” Her voice cracks as she looks away.
I’m not sure if she’s referring to the nightmare or her abduction. She’s shaking now. When she lies back down, I cover her with the blankets and tuck her in. “You experienced something pretty awful, Layla.”
“Yes, but it was my own fault.”
“Why do you say that? None of it was your fault.”
“Sean’s dead because of me.”
“No. Your former bodyguard got himself into trouble with his roommate, and it got him killed. That had absolutely nothing to do with you. And as for the abduction, for god’s sake, that wasn’t your fault. Human traffickers are human scum, and I hope they all rot in jail. You know, it’s because Ian and Tyler found you that all those other girls were rescued too. So, when you think about it, you were responsible for saving all those young women.”
“I never saw any of the other girls. I only heard their screams. I still hear them in my nightmares.”
The pain and despair in her voice breaks my heart. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise.”
She laughs bitterly. “Sean was supposed to protect me, and look how that turned out.”
“I’m not Sean. And I won’t let you down. Sean was controlled by his drug habit, and he made bad decisions because of it. I assure you, that won’t happen with me.”
Gradually, her shaking stops.
I pull out my phone and check her blood sugar level. On impulse, I reach out to brush her hair back from her face. “Try to sleep, okay?”
She nods. “Goodnight.” When I return to my makeshift bed on the sofa, she says, “Thanks, Jason.”
It’s the first time she’s used my name. I think we’re making progress. “You’re welcome, Layla. Goodnight.”
Chapter 7
Layla Alexander
The next morning, when I come out of the bathroom, I find a breakfast tray waiting for me on the table beside my bed. Jason’s sitting on the sofa by the window, reading on his phone.
“Good morning,” he says with a sleepy smile.
While I was in the bathroom, he changed into a pair of blue jeans, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and a pair of running shoes. I’m bummed because I can’t see his tattoos now.
I pick up the slice of wheat toast on the breakfast tray, take a bite, and make a face. It’s dry, but I force it down anyway, along with the rest of my breakfast—cold scrambled eggs, diced fruit, and a cup of black coffee. I mentally calculate how many grams of carbohydrates I’m about to eat and enter the number into my pod. Over the years, I’ve gotten really good at counting carbs, and I do a pretty decent job of regulating my blood sugar.
I glance around this dreary hospital room and sigh. I miss my own bed, my TV, and my computer. I should be at home doing schoolwork. I’ve already missed over a week of the semester. “I really want to go home.”
Jason lays his phone down. “My understanding is you can go home as soon as your psychiatrist gives the okay.”
I nod. “I have an appointment with Dr. Hartigan this morning. If I can convince her I’m doing okay, she’ll release me. I just want to get back to normal—well, as normal as I can be.” I laugh. “That’s not saying much.”
There’s a knock on my door, and Jason rises from the sofa and heads toward the door. “We all have our own version of normal, Layla. And we all have struggles. You’re no different.” He opens the door and steps aside to let my parents enter. I realize it’s Saturday, and they don’t have to work today.
“Hello, darling,” Mom says as she comes over to hug me. “Did you sleep well?” She gently brushes my cheek. “You look rested.”
“I did,” I say, lying through my teeth. I give her a well-practiced smile. “I slept great.”
I meet Jason’s eyes, but he says nothing to contradict me in front of my parents. I had two more nightmares last night, and with each one I woke up frantic and agitated. And each time, he talked me off the ledge. I don’t think either one of us got more than a few hours of sleep last night.
“Good morning, Jason,” Mom says to him. “I talked to Ian, and he told me you stayed with Layla last night.” She smiles, clearly pleased by the news. “I’m so glad.”
“Hello, sweetheart,” my dad says as he leans down and kisses my forehead. “Are you ready for your appointment with Dr. Hartigan this morning?”
I suspect they’re both anxious to find out what my shrink thinks about how I’m coping. “Yes. It’s at ten.” But I have a suspicion my parents already knew that.
“How lucky,” Mom says as she checks the clock. “We’re here just in time.”
My parents never leave anything to chance. I know they timed their arrival with my psych evaluation. I’m sure they want to speak to Dr. Hartigan after she sees me.
I sit on the side of my bed. Mom joins me, leaning close so that our shoulders are touching. “How’s it working out with Jason?” she asks quietly.
My dad is across the room having a conversation with my new bodyguard.
“He seems nice.”
Mom frowns. “If you don’t like him, honey, we’ll—”
“No. That’s not necessary. I like him just fine.”
She purses her lips in thought, as if she’s trying to decide if I’m being truthful.
“Really, Mom. I like him.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am. I’m hoping Dr. Hartigan approves my release today. I want to start back to school on Monday.” I’ve already missed over a week of classes.
“Honey, don’t you think you should wait a while before you go back? Give yourself some more time?”
“But the more classes I miss, the more I’ll have to make up.”
“I know. But you can do your schoolwork from home, right? I’m sure your professors will work with you.” She brushes her thumb gently across my cheek. “There are still so many bruises, honey. People are going to hound you more than ever with questions about everything from Sean to the abduction. I’m sure the university will agree to give you more time to recover.”