The sunlight hit Layla's face like a physical intrusion, sharp and unforgiving against her pounding head. She groaned, squinting against the glare of a Montreal morning that felt far too bright for the state of her mind. As she tried to roll over, she realized two things simultaneously: she was still in her purple party dress, and she was wrapped in something heavy, dark, and smelling intensely of woodsmoke and expensive leather.
Jade's jacket.
The memories of the night before came back in disjointed fragments, the shots of vodka at the mini-bar, Liam's breath against her ear as he made his birthday wish, and then the surreal sight of Jade waiting in the fog. She remembered the way he'd tucked her in, his touch uncharacteristically gentle, and the way he'd looked at her before leaving.
She sat up, the room spinning slightly. She felt like a traitor to her own bed. Every inch of the silk sheets seemed to vibrate with the "next level" they'd reached a few nights ago, but the jacket draped over her shoulders felt like a different kind of claim. It wasn't aggressive or sexual; it was protective. And that, Layla realized with a sinking heart, was much more dangerous.
She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.
Liam (11:45 PM): Glad you made it home. I'm holding you to that wish, Layla. Sleep well.
Sarah (12:30 AM): Hey, you disappeared! Liam said you headed out early. Text me when you're up.
There was nothing from Jade. Of course there wasn't. He didn't do "check-ins." He did window-climbing and street-corner rescues, but he didn't do the steady, comforting texts that Liam excelled at.
Layla dragged herself out of bed, her legs feeling like lead. She caught her reflection in the mirror, messy bun falling apart, smudged eyeliner, and that oversized leather jacket hanging off her frame. She looked like a girl caught between two worlds, and she felt like a glitch that couldn't be patched.
She couldn't let her mother see the jacket. Even though her mom was at the hospital, the risk was too high. She showered quickly, the hot water washing away the smell of the party but unable to rinse off the confusion. She dressed in a simple oversized sweater and jeans, bundled the leather jacket into a plastic bag, and headed downstairs.
The driveway was quiet. Jade's car was there, the engine cold. She walked to his front porch, her heart doing a frantic tap-dance against her ribs. She didn't want to talk; she just wanted to drop it and run. But as she reached the door, it swung open.
Jade stood there in just a pair of dark sweatpants, his hair tousled from sleep. He looked at the bag in her hand, then at her tired eyes.
"You're awake," he said, his voice a low, morning rasp.
"I am," Layla said, handing him the bag. "Thanks for... you know. The ride."
Jade took the bag, but his fingers brushed hers, lingering just a second too long. "You were pretty far gone, Layla. I wasn't going to leave you wandering the streets in that dress."
"And the jacket?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"You looked cold," he said simply. He stepped a fraction closer, the cool morning air between them suddenly feeling charged. "So, did the Golden Boy get what he wanted for his birthday?"
The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable, sharp enough to cut through the morning fog.
"He made a wish," Layla said, regaining some of her spine. "And unlike some people, he actually treats me like a person when others are looking."
Jade's jaw tightened. "Is that what this is? A comparison test?"
"No, Jade. It's a reality check." She turned to walk away, but his voice stopped her.
"Layla." She paused, her back to him. "I meant what I said the other night. About not wanting you to get hurt. That includes me being the one to hurt you."
By the time she met Sarah for coffee before their afternoon classes, Layla had made up her mind. She couldn't keep living in the shadows of Jade's "chilling" status.
"So?" Sarah asked, leaning over her latte. "Liam told me he asked you for a date. Tell me you didn't say no."
Layla looked at her friend, seeing the hope in Sarah's eyes. Sarah wanted this for her, she wanted the safety of Liam to act as a barrier against the chaos of Jade.
"I'm going to do it," Layla said.
"Really?" Sarah practically squealed.
"Yeah." Layla pulled out her phone and typed a quick message to Liam before she could lose her nerve.
Layla: Wish granted. When are we going?
As she hit send, she felt a strange mix of relief and terror. She was trying to fix the system, trying to follow the "correct" code. But as she looked toward the window of the coffee shop, she couldn't stop wondering if Jade was watching her from the shadows, and whether he was going to let her walk away without a fight.
As soon as the Sent sound chimed, Layla felt a hollow thud in her chest. It wasn't the rush of excitement a girl should feel after agreeing to a date with a guy like Liam. Instead, it felt like she had just initiated a permanent overwrite on a file she wasn't finished reading.
"You okay?" Sarah asked, noticing the way Layla was staring blankly at the dark screen of her phone. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"I'm fine," Layla lied, forcing a small smile. "Just a bit of a headache from last night. I think I need some air."
She left Sarah at the café and began the walk back toward the bus stop, but her feet carried her in a different direction, past the park where the fight had happened, toward the quiet streets that bordered their neighborhood. Every corner of Montreal seemed to be coded with a memory of the last few months. There was the corner where Liam had first helped her with her bags. There was the stretch of road where Jade had driven too fast just to hear her gasp.
She reached into her pocket, her fingers brushing against her bare skin where the heavy leather of Jade's jacket had been just an hour before. The phantom weight of it was still there. She realized then that she wasn't just addicted to Jade; she was addicted to the chaos he represented. Liam was a clear, logical sequence, a perfect line of code that led to a predictable, happy ending. Jade was a virus, a beautiful, destructive bug that made the whole system hum with a dangerous energy.
A black car slowed down as it passed her, and for a split second, her heart stopped, thinking it was him. It wasn't. It was just a stranger, but the way she had pivoted toward the street, her eyes searching for a silhouette in a leather jacket, told her everything she needed to know.
She had given Liam her "Yes," but she was still looking for Jade in the rearview mirror.
She pulled her phone out one last time. Liam had already replied with a time and a place for Friday night, a local bistro, something classy and quiet. She didn't reply. She couldn't. She just locked the screen and shoved the phone deep into her bag, feeling like a passenger in her own life, watching the crash happen in slow motion.
The system was failing. And as the Montreal wind picked up, biting through her thin sweater, Layla realized that no matter how many dates she went on with the "right" boy, she would always be shivering for the one who lived in the dark.