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Layla wasn’t sure what to make of the sight in front of her. Never did she ever imagine Marc cowering, and that too in front of her.
She said nothing as she passed the helmet to him and watched him struggle with it. A minute had passed and he was so flustered with whatever was on his mind that Layla decided she better help out.
He had blushed like some schoolboy when she reached out to adjust the helmet on his head, and her hand had brushed his cheek. It would have been endearing to her, were it not for the fact that he had left her without a word, or that, when she had heard from him, it had been a simple paper in the mail asking for a divorce.
She pulled back away from him, and Marc continued to stare at her, mouth agape. From his expression, it looked to Layla as if he had forgotten the world around him, and that Layla was the most fascinating thing in the world. Which, again, was a flattering idea and brought some warmth to her cheeks but she couldn’t let herself be fooled. Not again.
With a sigh of frustration, she reached out and pulled him onto the bike.
For a second, she could have sworn she heard the man squeak.
Layla was convinced that Marc really thought that he’d come up with some stellar identity this time; he refused to drop the clumsy British man act. Even after she told him that he was getting off the bike if he didn’t the drop the accent.
She had said that to him about three times in the past minute. He didn’t seem to hear her.
“I’m married.” He mumbled to himself over and over again.
At first, he had sounded confused (which ticked her off), but then after the fifth time of repeating the phrase, there was a hint of glee and delight in his voice.
“We’re married.” He said with a laugh.
Layla said nothing, but a smile had unknowingly started to form. She put an end to that when she glanced at the mirror and found herself blushing.
She didn’t kick him off her bike either.
Something had changed about Marc, even if she kept on saying out loud that she didn’t buy any of his little act, deep down she knew that he wasn’t the same.
For one, he was careful around her. He was always careful around her, but before, it was like he thought of her as a fragile object, as if she might easily break if he pressed on too hard or talked to her too loud. Right now, though, the best way she could describe that look in his eyes was like he was worried that if he took one wrong step, it would all over.
Nor was he one to appreciate literature, and yet, there he was, reciting poetry to her, and his bookshelves littered with all sorts of tomes.
Hieroglyphs? Marc had never taken an interest, always electing to let her handle it. And yet, here he was, going on about them as his eyes scanned her face for approval.
It’s like he had forgotten that he’d been the one to ask for the divorce. A part of her wondered if he’d lost his memory, so she tried to prod at it by pulling out the papers.
She regretted it the moment when he read them and looked absolutely crushed by the idea of leaving her.
Layla ignored his pleas of being Steven Grant. Why? Maybe she was angry (and hurt) by the idea of Marc keeping (even more) secrets from her. Maybe she believed that Marc thought he could let himself off the hook by claiming to be someone else. There were multiple explanations for why her mind was acting like this, but Layla couldn’t stay on one reason- not for long, anyways. She only knew that the more time she spent in his apartment, the angrier she felt.
And the anger only grew as he looked blankly at her while he feebly stumbled through answering her questions.
Layla thought he was lucky when there was knocking at the door, but there was a twinge of guilt and worry when he told her to hide.
Which was silly- Marc could handle himself in most situations.
But, Layla thought as she climbed out of the window, Marc had changed and she wasn’t sure if the meek man apartment could handle himself.
From the rooftops, it was hard to listen in at what they were talking about in the apartment. She heard just enough to know two things:
The people searching the apartment were not police officers.
That was not Marc Spector.
Marc Spector had no trouble with lying; after all, the last words he had said to Layla that he’d be back “within the hour” and “to not wait up for him.”
The man in the apartment talked as if he had never told a lie in his entire life. She knew the moment his voice fumbled when asked if he was alone; he’d attempted to make a save but it was apparent to everyone that he was lying.
It was how she knew that he was telling the truth when she heard someone muttering about Marc Spector’s passport. The man she had thought was Marc Spector sounded utterly confused, and this time, she believed him because in his voice was this unfiltered, genuine honesty that she knew was impossible to be just a mere act.
If she needed any more proof, it was how he had innocently let himself be fooled by those people.
No, Layla hadn’t heard the entire conversation but as she crouched and watched them push the man into the car, she figured out two more things:
They were after the scarab.
The man who she thought was her husband was in danger.
When Layla was by his side again, the adrenaline had made her momentarily forget that she wasn’t talking to Marc anymore.
She only remembered when she turned around after tossing the cultist aside to find him staring at her with wonder in his eyes.
“That was amazing.” He whispered.
If their lives weren’t in danger at that moment, she would have indulged him with a smile.
He would just have to make to do with her dragging him around by the hand. And for some reason, she had a feeling that his mind was oscillating between being absolutely petrified at the situation they were in to being giddy that they were holding hands.
They needed Marc at the moment. Sweet as the man next to her was, he wouldn’t be able to ward off whatever was chasing them.
Layla tried to get him and his suit to come out by calling out for him.
All that got them was the man hunched on the floor, crying out in as he clenched his head.
It probably wasn’t the right moment, but the guilt was too much. She crouched down next to him, letting herself ignore whatever demonic thing was scratching at the door, and cupped his face in her hands.
“It’s alright, Steven. It’s alright.”
There was a look of relief in Steven’s eyes as he heard his name, and she gently patted his cheek again to assure him that he hadn’t misheard her.
He wanted to say more, and she wanted to listen, but then the door pounded again and the moment was gone.
Layla remembered her father once saying that his mind had a tendency to come up with the oddest thoughts in the face of imminent danger.
She must have inherited it from him because as she stared at Steven hooting with delight as he punched at the air, her first thought was that absurd suit aside, he’s almost like a gladiator in some ways.
And she wasn’t sure whether she was embarrassed at the thought coming to her when a jackal had nearly killed them a few minutes ago or the fact that Steven was calling her name and pointing at her, as if dedicating his victory to her.
For the first time since they had met, Layla smiled at him. Or at least the closest thing she could muster up considering the circumstances.
Layla was alone. Again.
It had been hours since she had last seen him. She had known when Steven had gone and Marc had taken his place. Suit aside, it was the way they’d carry themselves.
And, Layla thought grimly, the look in his eyes.
That eager look had almost immediately been replaced by a wary one. There was another emotion she had seen in Marc’s eyes but she couldn’t have said what it was. His face wasn’t as honest or easy to read like Steven’s was.
When he had leapt for the skies, Layla had known she wouldn’t see him after that. A part of her hoped that she was wrong and that Marc had changed with Steven in his life.
She had wandered the streets until dawn broke through, searching for any sign of him.
He was gone though- Steven would have looked for her too. He wouldn’t have rested till he had found her- he had told her that he would never leave her when she had shown him the divorce papers. She hadn’t believed him then, but she knew now that he wasn’t lying.
Layla missed him already.