Playing With Fire

Chapter Thirty-Two

                                              Recap

           “Did the police inform them or did you?” I ask, wondering how anxious they must be feeling.

            “I did, and the police confirmed it.” Layla states, taking a quick glance at the officers.

            I follow her gaze and watch as the caution tape comes out and travels around the perimeter of our house. A few officers on the side are huddled together, talking about something urgent in solitude.

            “You two should stay at my place.” Travis suddenly pitches in, stepping forward and motioning towards the house right across from ours.

            My heart jumps at the suggestion, for I know that safety wont be an issue if we’re with him.

            “Uh,” Layla looks doubtful, but takes repeated glances between the two of us. When she sees that I haven’t resisted the idea, something registers across her features. She takes one final glance at me before shifting her gaze back to Travis. “Are you sure you’re parents will be okay with that?”

            I watch Travis reply unfazed, “They’re not home at the moment, but I’m sure they’d be fine with it.”

            Despite this whole situation, I still wonder what part of that sentence—if any—holds any truth to it. If I didn’t know his story, however, I would’ve believed every word as easily as Layla buys his answer.

            Nonetheless, it works, and Layla smiles slightly.

            “Alright,” She agrees, “Thank you Travis.”

            She turns around to observe what the police officers are doing now, and I take the opportunity to glance up at Travis so that I can thank him myself. He looks back down at me, and his gaze instantly softens.

            Before I can even mutter the words, he shakes his head and says, “I know.” 

                                      Chapter Thirty Two 

           Travis had just led Layla and I into a guest bedroom. It was three doors down from his room—yet completely on the other side of the stairs rounding the corner. He left moments later, giving me one, lasting glance before grabbing the doorknob and leaving us to balk in our privacy. 

           I spin around slowly, still stunned about everything that had just happened. But it appears that each time I think about the recent event, I get even more overwhelmed about what happened far before that.

              I reach a hand out and rub it over my face in an attempt to wipe away the gnawing frustration.

            Layla puts a hand on her head and slumps down onto the plush covers of the queen size bed. We both stare at each other wordlessly, as if to confirm the fuzzy reality.

              “Damn, that really happened.” She groans, throwing herself back on the bed. 

              I drop my hand and sigh. “Imagine what Laura and dad must be feeling.”

             “They must be sick to their stomachs,” She agrees, worry consuming her voice in the same way a snake coils around its prey. 

               The guilt and anxiety is inescapable. 

             Silence engulfs again, and I begin to remember bits and pieces of our scattered conversation over the phone. Despite this, my cheeks flush when I remember what exactly was happening before hand. I clear my throat, snapping myself physically out of my daze. A hand flies to my tingling lips before I furrow my brows.