Chapter Two

Six weeks later

“Layla?”

She looked up at the doctor in the chair across from her, one long leg crossed over the other.

“Hmm?” Layla asked, mumbling with her thumb in her mouth, nervously chewing on her fingernail.

“Are you nervous?” Dr. Swan asked. “You're very fidgety.”

Layla sighed.

“Maybe a little,” she said.

“Want to talk about it?”

She popped her thumb out of her mouth, making a small click with her tongue in the process.

“Not really,” she said.

“I understand,” the doctor said. She uncrossed her legs, lifting her hand up and removing her glasses. “Is it because Lance isn't here?”

“Why would I be nervous that he isn't here?”

“Well, he did sit in on our first two sessions,” Dr. Swan said with a small smile. “You seem to be more comfortable around him than you do anyone.”

“He's my best friend,” Layla said with a small shrug.

“I think it goes deeper than that. I think he's your security blanket. He's a male, and the only male in your life that you've ever been able to rely on – and the only one who has never hurt you.”

Layla didn't speak, and looked away from the therapist.

“Do you think you have codependency issues, Layla?”

Layla's eyebrows narrowed.

“I don't depend on Lance,” she said softly. “For anything.”

“I didn't say severe codependency issues,” Dr. Swan said. “Codependency can simply mean you need his presence. If you don't have him in your life, you feel...off-balance.”

“What a crock,” Layla said with a slight laugh.

“I'd love for you to challenge me,” the doctor said. “Tell me one time in your life that you didn't need him.”

“I lived for ten years in Paris without him,” Layla said.

“Without his presence – but without his spirit?”

Layla looked away.

“You stayed in contact with him,” the doctor said. “You made phone calls and you emailed. Even when he wasn't there in person, or you lost touch with him, he was always on your mind.”

The doctor paused, biting the end of her pen with her teeth a moment before removing it.

“You moved from Paris back to New York because of him, am I right?”

“Yeah.”

“So you must have been thinking of him,” she said. “Something disturbed your life in Paris enough for you to run back to your security blanket.”

“Security blanket,” Layla scoffed. “What does that even mean?”

“Okay, I'll rephrase,” the doctor said. “Something disturbed your life in Paris enough for you to run back to...your rock. Is that better?”

“My boyfriend broke up with me,” Layla said. “Paris just...wasn't what I thought it was and after the relationship ended, I figured – what better time to make a life change?”

“And Lance was a major part of that life change,” the doctor said.

“Well, yeah,” Layla said. “We had talked a few times before that and he seemed to be happy with his life in New York. It just seemed like the most logical thing.”

“I don't think logic had anything to do with it.”

Layla looked up.

“I just wanted to be happy,” she said.

“And Lance makes you happy.”

Layla bit her lip and thought of her best friend, who was sitting in the waiting room of the women's trauma center. The last time she had seen him, she had stood up from her seat when the therapist called her into the back of the center, and he had looked up at her with a smile with the People magazine in his hands. She knew him well enough to know that he had no true interest in the magazine and was probably already bored out of his mind, but he waited for her sake.

“Sometimes we develop strong feelings for people in our lives without even knowing that those feelings aren't what we think they are,” Dr. Swan said. “I understand you've been sleeping in the same bed for six weeks.”

“We're friends,” Layla responded. “That's it. It doesn't go any further than that.”

“But that's what makes you most comfortable, correct? You're free to move into his guest bedroom at any time. If it made you uncomfortable to be sleeping in the same bed as your best friend, you would move. Something about it makes you comfortable enough to keep you there.”

“I can't describe it,” Layla said, softening.

“After what you've been through, it's terrifying to admit that you might have feelings for someone,” the doctor said. “Your trust in men has been ripped away from you. You know how bad a relationship can get, and your first instinct is to protect yourself. And it can be even more terrifying to realize you have feelings for your best friend.”

Layla paused a moment. She had suddenly become afraid. Did she have feelings for her best friend? Of course she loved him – but did she love him? The past six weeks he had been the only person she trusted. The only person she let wrap their arms around her was him, and at night when they were laying on the couch watching television, that was the only time she felt safe.

And she didn't want to give up that feeling by leaving his bed either.

She was slightly startled when the timer next to the therapist on the table went off.

“Our time's up for today,” the woman said as she reached to shut off the sound. “Next week?”

Layla slightly nodded as the two of them stood up.

“You know, I teach a dance class here at the center,” Dr. Swan said as she opened the door. “I think you'd be a good candidate to join, Layla.”

“A dance class?” Layla asked as they walked out into the hallway. “What purpose does a dance class serve in a women's trauma center?”

The doctor chuckled. “Exercise. Raise self-esteem. To have fun – because most women who have been victims of abusive relationships have forgotten how to have fun and enjoy a little freedom.”

“Just sounds like more therapy to me,” Layla said.

The doctor smiled, but was silent as they stepped up to Lance in the waiting room. He looked up from his magazine.

“Lance, I was just telling Layla about the dance class I teach here at the center,” the doctor said. “She was just saying how she would love to join.”

He looked at Layla as he stood. “I think that would be good for you. You're a great dancer, Lay.”

“Our next class is in a couple of days,” the doctor said. “We're working on Latin this week. I understand this is something you've done before?”

“Yeah,” Lance said with a smile, thinking back to his stint on Dancing With The Stars. “How well I did is disputable, but I can hold my own at least.”

“Sounds like you'd be the perfect partner for Layla, then.”

Layla looked between the two of them, unsure of what to say.

“I'd love to,” Lance said. Then he looked at her. “Whaddya say, Lay?”

“Uh...”

Instinctively, she wanted to pull back. But with both of them staring at her, she felt herself cave.

“Sure,” she said.

“Great, I'll put your name down,” Dr. Swan said. “And I'll see both of you on Friday night at seven, here at the center.”

Layla watched her therapist walk away with a smile on her face, knowing in a way, she had just been conned.

“It sounds fun,” Lance said.

“For you maybe, Mister Third Place,” Layla said, crossing her arms as she followed him out of the center's doors.

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Thursday, October 31st – Halloween night

“So, out of my own curiosity,” Lance said, picking up a tube of mascara from the table and inspecting the brush, “why did you choose this movie?”

“I wanted to,” Layla said.

She sat across from him while one of Lance's hired wardrobe did her makeup, getting ready for his annual Halloween haunted house. She had agreed weeks ago to help him plan the whole thing, hoping it would be a great distraction, and somehow she had been swindled into not only picking the movie for his “big scene”, but acting in it as well.

“What is it again?” he asked. “I've never heard of it...Grave what?”

“Grave Encounters,” she said. “Jeez, you never listen to me.”

“I listen,” he said defensively. “I just have no idea what the hell it is.”

“It's a movie,” she said. “It's only like, the best, crappiest, cheesiest D-list horror movie ever made.”

“Thought that was Killer Klowns from Outer Space?”

He smiled when she looked up and narrowed her eyebrows at him.

“I'm screwing with you,” he said. “Lighten up.”

“The things I do for you,” she said, looking up as the makeup artist dusted more white powder on her cheeks and nose.

“What are you supposed to be anyway?”

“One of your nurses at the Collingwood Psychiatric Hospital,” she said.

“And who am I supposed to be again?” he asked.

“Doctor Arthur Friedkin, the lobotomist,” she said. “I'm forcing you to watch the movie tomorrow morning. You know nothing.”

“So that's why there's a creepy hospital bed in my dining room instead of a kitchen table,” he said with a chuckle. “You look good, by the way.”

“So do you,” she said with a smile, glancing over at his costume. His face was dusted white as well to make him paler than normal, and he wore a white surgeon's coat, bloodied in various places. She smiled at the blue cap tied back over his spiky hair and the surgeon's magnifying glasses propped up on his head. “I don't think I'd want you to perform a lobotomy on me, though.”

“Would you rather the zombies...” He stood up out of his seat in front of her, holding his hands out in front of him towards her. “...eat...your...brains?”

She couldn't help herself from giggling. “You're like a kid in a candy store when it comes to this stuff. Every Halloween, it's like you're eight years old all over again.”

“I love Halloween,” he said. “It's the one time of the year that you can dress up in any costume you can imagine, be anyone you want to be...be an entirely different person, you know?”

She nodded lightly, trying not to move as the makeup artist applied heavy, black eyeshadow around her eye sockets to mimic the nurse character from the movie. She had never thought about it that way. As a kid, Halloween was all about dressing up as your favorite character and running around the neighborhood just before dusk gathering up as much candy as you could. Sometimes her, Lance, and their group of friends would see how many neighbors they could con out of extra candy by changing into each other's costumes, until they would get caught.

She chuckled.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“I was thinking of when you and me and Darren went trick-or-treating and we were able to con half the neighborhood out of extra candy just by switching costumes with each other.”

He laughed. “I remember that. You have to admit, Darren looked pretty good in your cheerleader costume.”

“He did have a pretty nice ass,” she said with a smile.

They laughed together as she let the artist finish applying the eyeshadow, watching out of the corner of her eyes as he spun around in the chair, kicking the floor with the toe of his sneaker when the chair would slow down, launching himself again.

“You're making me dizzy,” she finally said.

“Have you ever wanted to be a different person?”

She looked over at him curiously as the artist pulled away, going to her table for another item.

“That's kind of an odd question,” she said.

“Really? I thought it was pretty valid.”

“Lance, you know this stuff isn't real,” she said.

When he only looked at her, she nodded.

“Yes, I have,” she said. “Who hasn't? I wished I was a different person all the time back when I was with Lucas.”

At the mention of his name, the two of them went silent. She let the artist finish applying her makeup, and he continued to twirl in the chair.

“Have you?” she finally asked.

He stopped the chair abruptly using the toe of his sneaker, and looked up at her.

“I wished I was Lucas.”

She was surprised when he stood up, walking away from the makeup area they had set up.

“Can you give me a minute?” she asked as the lady prepared to put the brush to her face again.

She held a single finger up as the lady pulled her brush back, looking annoyed, and quickly stood up out of her seat. She followed after him, struggling not to trip on her high heels.

“What did you mean by that?” she asked once she had finally caught up with him, weaving through the different rooms of the house as the crew set up the rest of the haunted house. “Lance, stop.”

She was surprised when he stopped abruptly, and she almost ran into his chest as he turned.

“It's nothing, Layla,” he said. “It was just...a stupid thing to say. I don't know, it sounded really stupid.”

“No, it didn't,” she said. “You meant something by that. What did you mean?”

He looked away, hesitant to say anything.

“Lance, tell me what you meant by that,” she said.

“I meant I wished it was me instead of him,” he said. “I meant that I wished it was me you were with instead of him. Instead of him treating you like dirt and beating the crap out of you all the time, it could have been me treating you like a queen.”

“What are you saying?” she asked.

“I'm saying that I'm in love with you,” he said. “I'm completely in love with you and I have been ever since we were kids. I was going to tell you when you moved to New York but I waited. I wanted to give you time to settle into the city because I didn't want to overwhelm you. But then two weeks later you met Lucas and...fuck, Lay, I just lost my chance. And I feel like you spent three years in hell and I could have changed it all for you.”

She could hardly catch her breath. “Lance, I--”

“Hey, Lay--”

She turned when she felt an arm on her shoulder, looking up to see Michael in his full costume.

“--Jesus, your makeup isn't even done, Layla,” he said, looking at her eyes, only one covered in the black eyeshadow. Then he chuckled. “You look ridiculous, you know.”

“Yeah, thanks Michael,” she said. “Is this important? Lance and I were sort of in the middle of something.”

“Well, the house is going to open in thirty minutes,” he said. “I was just checking to see if you guys were almost ready. There's already people waiting outside to get in.”

“We're almost ready,” Lance said. “Tell the crews to step on it. Get the hospital scene ready for me and Layla and finish the Chainsaw set out back and make sure that Jamie's Ring setup is finished, too. We'll open just as soon as everyone's ready.”

“Uh...okay,” Michael said.

When he stopped to look between Layla and Lance, Lance looked up.

“Is there something else, Michael? Or are we done here?”

“Nurse, I think Doctor Lance needs a chill pill and a time-out,” Michael said, leaning over to her before walking away.

He sighed as she chuckled.

“Lance...”

“I never should have said anything,” Lance said. “When you bottle it up for over a decade, I guess it just has a tendency to explode on you. Finish getting your makeup done and I'll meet you in the dining room in fifteen.”

“Lance.”

“Finish getting your makeup done, Layla,” he said. “We're done here.”

She watched as he turned on his feet and walked out of the room, stopping to join Michael and the rest of the crew working on the set.

He was...in love with her?