Layla

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Doom and Gloom

"Layla." A soft, unrecognizable voice called. 

A small moan escaped her lips and she nestled closer to the figure supporting her, wrapping her arms tightly around their forearm. A low chuckle filled the room and the next thing she knew a warm hand brushed lightly across her cheek. The gentle touch was warm and familiar, bringing comfort to Layla. 

"I need you to wake up, Layla." That warm voice called again. 

The male voice sounded familiar to her ears, but her groggy state of mind was unable to comprehend anything. She tried to do as this voice told her, but her eyelids felt like they had been glued shut. A frustrated grunt escaped her lips next and her eyebrows were drawn together, forming a worried a crease on her forehead. 

Why, couldn't she open her eyes? 

After what felt like eons and a strenuous workout, her eyes slowly peeled open, but her vision was blurred. Irritated by another obstacle she faced, Layla blinked a few times till the blurred shapes became clear. What came next was the immense amount of pain her body felt which had been tranquilized during her brief state of unconsciousness. She grunted and moaned, nuzzling her head back against the familiar crook of one's neck.There had been other unfamiliar voices in the background. At least she was positive she had heard other voices then she was asked yet another question. 

"Are you okay? Do you want me to carry you?" That soft but oh so familiar voice asked. 

There had been too many questions and all Layla could do was nod in response. Another string of words had been said, but it all sounded like jibberish to her. Then she was met with cold air as her warm source of comfort had left her, making her feel empty. She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Her throat was dry and her mind was unable to find the words she needed. It was like her brain had been put in a blender and all functions and thoughts were scrambled. 

All her worries had ceased, though, when her warm source came down and scooped her in their arms. She nestled her cheek against the crook of their neck, wrapping her arms tightly around their nape as she relished in the warmth. This person, this body felt all too familiar and when Layla opened her eyes to look she was blinded by the bright light that poured through the dark room they were exiting. Her temples throbbed and her eyes ached, but she acclimated to the new surroundings till she could see again. This time when her eyes swept up to see who was carrying her, she quickly recognized the familiar figure. 

A sense of relief flooded through her, relaxing her already sore and achey limbs, but with it came the painful memories of what she escaped. What came first were the warm tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks followed by the sore lump that squeezed at her throat as she swallowed back the sadness. She found herself holding on tighter to Peter while she tried to regain her composure. Peter responded by leaning his head against hers while he rubbed his thumb gently across her thigh. The touch had been comforting. A reminder that she was no longer imprisoned in that horrid cell. 

It had all been because of him. 

Xander. 

What came next was the rising anger. It was nothing compared to what she felt for Stryker, but it bordered but that level of fury. And to think she saw him as he helped in her escape...

Right?

Last she remembered, Stryker had shot him.