Page 27

TWENTY-THREE

I met Layla and Crystal on the same day.

We were gathered for freshman orientation in the lobby of the dorm building we’d soon call home.

None of us roomed together back then; we’d each been assigned to bunk up with other random girls.

Yet, the three of us somehow locked eyes, found ourselves giggling in unison at the RA’s archaic rules and corny jokes.

“I’m Layla,” she said, her fingers dancing as she waved. She had a true bohemian whimsy about her, from the rows upon rows of friendship bracelets on her wrists to the small braids tangled throughout her long brown hair. When she smiled, the room around her grew brighter, inviting everyone in.

That’s the cliché, isn’t? That every murder victim somehow lit up a room. But with Layla, it was true. I can picture that first meeting all these years later, and I still feel warm inside.

The three of us clicked immediately, and soon became inseparable.

We were located on the same floor, thankfully, and spent that first year exploring everything together.

The Dos and Don’ts of campus parties. The best coffee shops to visit in between classes.

We had a running list of professors to avoid and which ones to impress.

Not once did I feel that pang of loneliness my other high school friends used to talk about, the homesickness that plagued them in those first few months away.

And it was all because of Crystal and Layla.

That and Friends . Whenever we started to feel low, it was our tradition to binge-watch the show together.

It all reminded us of home and our families in different ways.

Layla was the Phoebe of our group, free-spirited and kind-hearted.

Crystal, of course, was the Rachel. Chic and adorable, with just a hint of selfishness.

That made me the Monica. Dedicated, determined, reliable.

Layla and I were both Whitaker implants, which bonded us further.

Crystal was born and raised here, but for us, our every experience was new, different from the sleepy towns where we grew up.

Rarely did we talk about our childhoods; we found it more meaningful to build new lives and identities for ourselves on campus.

For some reason, I always thought Layla had a bad home life.

She’d come back from weekend visits shaken, but she’d never want to talk about what happened.

Sometimes seeing people from the past can be uncomfortable—I certainly felt that way every time I visited my mother—which made my friendships on campus even more important.

With each passing year, our bond grew. By the time we’d entered our junior year, the three of us decided to rent a house together on Magnolia Avenue, the perfect location between campus and the lively downtown.

Layla and I were never big drinkers, were more often witnesses to Crystal’s over-the-top antics.

Over time, I think that’s how Layla and I became even closer; while Crystal was busy being the center of attention, we clung to each other.

Over a decade has passed since the night she died, and yet it still haunts me, looms over me, my forever shadow in the dark.

Things were never meant to unravel the way they did.

It was supposed to be a typical Thursday night.

Ordinary. Crystal, Layla and I were at Twisted Timmy’s Lounge for their infamous ladies’ night.

We were supposed to drink and dance and shoot pool.

We were supposed to stumble home and submit to sleep.

At worst, we might snooze through our alarms and be late for class.

But nothing about that night ended up being ordinary, nor has any other part of my life been ever since.

The three of us sat at the bar enjoying discounted bottled beer and a platter of greasy cheese curds. It was nearing the end of the fall semester, and what we needed more than anything was to blow off some steam, as we had so many nights before.

A young man took the corner seat at the bar, the one beside Layla. I don’t think any of us noticed him at first; we were so lost in our own conversation. Then, he laughed at something one of us—probably Crystal—said. Slowly, he entered the conversation.

“I’m Mike,” he said, his eyes smiling. He held out his hand to shake Layla’s, and I could feel the energy between them like static electricity in the air. Something else, too. Like I’d met him before, but neither his name or face rang any immediate alarms.

Layla never paid boys much attention, had far bigger interests, but something about Michael, something about him , captured her attention that night. Anyone nearby could tell.

“Want to hit the dance floor?” Crystal asked, her eyes speaking a secret language. She knew I was nowhere near drunk enough to enjoy dancing, but she clearly wanted to give the two some privacy.

“He’s cute, right?” I said to Crystal, cutting my eyes back to the couple at the bar.

“Totally,” Crystal said, looking over my shoulder. “Good for her.”

In between songs, I’d glance back at Layla.

She looked so incredibly happy. Blushing cheeks.

Hair tossing with each full-bellied laugh.

Mike appeared gentle, the way he’d lean into her without getting too close.

Layla was never shy about telling guys when they were making her uncomfortable.

That night, she appeared more relaxed than I’d seen her in months.

As the night carried on, I thought about them less and less. Crystal ordered more drinks, eventually started downing my shots when I confessed to reaching my limit. Soon, my concern became her. She was getting sloppy, losing her balance and bumping into strangers.

It became clear we needed to call it a night. As I made the march back to the bar, it suddenly hit me where I’d met Mike before.

It was him , from the frat party. The one who’d put something in my drink.

The one who’d tried to assault me, before other people walked in the room and stopped it.

At least, I thought it was him. Even then, the night came back in flashes and spurts, so I couldn’t be sure.

My emotions still felt raw, fear over what could have happened, relief that nothing did.

That experience had scarred me in a way I hadn’t fully processed.

Even Crystal and Layla didn’t know what almost happened to me, so I questioned whether it was the same Mike from the party, or my own mind playing tricks on me.

“Water, please,” I shouted to the bartender when I reached the bar, looking over at where I’d left Layla.

I locked eyes with her then. Mike had stepped away for a moment. “We’re going to have to get out of here,” I said. “Crystal is getting out of hand.”

“You two go ahead,” she said.

My eyes landed on the empty seat beside her, where Mike had been sitting. It was uncharacteristic for Layla to stay behind without us, and the paranoia inside of me shrieked louder. Tell her . “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m having a great time.” She smiled. “Mike’s a doll.”

From behind me, Crystal’s voice screeched out, “Two more shots!”

I shook my head, motioning for the bartender to ignore her. I looked back at Layla, a beating in my head starting to pulsate.

“Look, I don’t know how to say this, but that guy gives me the creeps,” I said, plainly. “I think you should come home with us.”

Layla laughed. “What are you going on about? We’re only talking.”

“I know but…” My words trailed away, overcome with thoughts of that night at the frat house. What almost happened. There wasn’t enough time to tell Layla about it now, and was I even sure it was the same guy? I’d been drugged. What were the odds?—

“You better get her home,” Layla said. I followed her stare across the room and saw Crystal trying to dance, however, she was falling all over herself instead. Just then, Mike emerged from the bathroom. My pulse quickened.

“Look, Mike is dangerous. I know it.” My voice was urgent. “Please, just come home with us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Layla shook her head, like I’d just told a joke she didn’t quite understand. “Can’t you just let me have fun this once? It’s always about Crystal or you.”

“Or me?”

“Yes! I follow you two anywhere you want to go.” Her voice was different than I’d ever heard before. Defiant and bitter. “For once, I’d just like the night to be about me and what I want.”

This unspoken resentment between us was something she’d never shared before, but I pushed it out of my mind. She needed to listen to me. “Layla, I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection!” She lowered her voice as Mike returned, sat beside her. He didn’t so much as give me a second glance. “I’ll be fine, Becca. You don’t need to worry.”

Just then, the bartender slammed a glass of water in front of me.

I took it, looking over my shoulder at a hunched over Crystal.

Turning, I stared at Mike one more time.

Trying to be sure. He seemed harmless, normal…

just like the guy from the frat house. But were they the same?

Surely, he would have remembered me, and yet Mike gave me no attention whatsoever.

Crystal let out another drunken yelp, and, in that moment, I decided I was wrong.

I was letting my traumatized memories intermix with the chaos of the night.

My close call at the frat house didn’t mean everyone else was in danger.

If Layla wanted to continue the night, it wasn’t my responsibility to stop her.

“I’ll text you.” Before walking away, I said, “Be careful. Please.”

“I will.” She waved, her fingers dancing like they did on the first day we met, giving me one last glimpse of the black heart tattoo on her wrist.

It took another ten minutes to get Crystal on her feet and out the door. Before we started the short walk back to our apartment, I looked back, peering through the open patio to the inside of the bar. Mike was beside Layla, the two of them laughing.