Layla

Chapter Eleven: Nightmares

"No!" Peter screamed.

That blue mutant bastard stabbed Layla with the spears he had created with sand, and Peter froze, staring at the scene with horrified eyes. He could see where the fine, sharp points of the spears stuck out behind Layla's back, and he would never forget the look on her face when she had realized what happened. The damn mutant walked towards her, his heavy footsteps crunching against sand and debris, and the asshole put his hands on her. He lifted her chin looking at her with nothing but disgust then retracted those spears. Layla collapsed to the ground, and the mutant disposed of her like a piece of trash. Her blood stained hands covered her stomach protectively. Her face had grown ghostly pale, and her faded brown eyes looked to him for help.

"Peter." She whispered in a painful tone.

"Layla!" He shouted to the top of his lungs.

He tried to reach her, but his leg had been glued to the ground. He tried to get it to disappear, but it wouldn't budge. Peter pulled and yanked at his leg, grunting in frustration as he did so. Seeing that he was going to get nowhere, he lifted his head back to Layla, looking at her with misty, hopeless eyes. The pain he felt deep in his chest arose once again, and he didn't want to have this nightmare again. He would endure any other pain, but this. Watching the one he loved fade from his very eyes was the worst torture.

"I'm sorry." Layla croaked as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Peter opened his eyes, jumping out of his bed as he tried to shake the nightmare away. His heart was thundering against his ribs; beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Reaching up, he rubbed his hand across his sternum trying to ease the painful ache that settled inside his chest. Every night Peter had the same dream, and every time he tried to save Layla there was nothing he could do. Instead, he could only watch as she faded away from him. The nightmare only got worse from there, and he was just glad he managed to wake himself up before he had to see it. Instead of Layla coming back to him, she never did. She remained dead, and buried on the grounds of the professor's school. All he could do was sit on his knees with his muddied jeans while the rain poured down on him. He stared at the tombstone with empty eyes and a blank mind. He felt entirely numb, feeling nothing. He didn't care that it rained on him, and soaked him to the bone. Nothing had mattered.

Peter wiped his clammy hands on his black pajama pants, shaking his head of the nightmare. It wasn't real. None of it was real because Layla was alive, and back at the mansion. Every time he had to remind himself of that, and seeing her reminded him of that. Some nights when he would sleep with her, he couldn't help but hold her a bit closer to his chest for fear she might slip from his fingers. That event in Cairo had really messed him up, and it had been a year after the events, but it still haunted him. He knew it still haunted Layla, but she wasn't saying anything to him. Then again, neither was he. But it bothered him that she wasn't telling him. He knew something was wrong with her, but she wouldn't tell him anything, and it hurt. He hated not knowing. Before he left, he thought she was going to tell him something, anything, but instead she remained quiet, allowing him to leave.

He was angry, and he really wanted to stay and demand to know what she was keeping from him, but he wasn't going to push. Whatever was going on, it was affecting her because she had lost control of her powers, which surprised him, and even her it seemed. As Peter tossed his grey shirt on the floor, and threw his green one on, he couldn't help but wonder if leaving for a bit had been the right decision. Before all of this happened, he and Layla planned on coming back to visit his mom and sisters together, once they had finished with training. However, with everything going on, anger and frustration had guided Peter to making his decision to leave sooner. Now, he felt guilty. Peter let out a sigh and flopped back down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He would be gone for a few days, and then he'd be back at the mansion to take the final test for the X-Men project, and he would be with Layla again. But as Peter laid on his bed, why couldn't he shake the feeling that he shouldn't have left, and needed to return?