When I meet her in the middle, I have to close my eyes, because I finally see a trace of fear in her expression. She snakes her arms around my waist and presses her face against my chest. “I know you don’t want this, Leeds. But I want my life back. I need it back.” Her voice is shaking. “Every time I have to leave my own body, it’s like a brand-new heartbreak.”

I kiss her on top of her head, but I say nothing. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. The fear is too thick in my throat.

“Listen to me,” she says, guiding my gaze to hers. “I’m going to have to let Sable take over. It’ll be better if she’s scared and confused when her heart stops. Because I’ll be alert and ready.”

She’s right. Layla will have the advantage if she’s waiting by the sidelines.

“As soon as I slip out of her in a minute, Sable is going to panic when she wakes up and sees that she’s in this pool with you. That’s when you do it. You shove her under, and you hold her down and you don’t let her up for air, no matter how scared you are or how guilty you feel.”

I imagine what that will be like for Sable. Being drowned with no knowledge of why. She’s going to be terrified. She’s going to fight back. And I’m somehow going to have to look past the fact that it’ll be Layla’s body I’m drowning as I kill Sable for a second time.

“Hey,” Layla says, her voice sympathetic and gentle. She’s looking at me like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. She always does. She understands my thoughts as if they’re whispered into her head as soon as I have them. “You won’t be ending Sable’s life, Leeds. You’ll be saving mine. You can do this.”

That’s the perspective I needed to move forward. This is about what’s deserved. It isn’t about what’s moral. “Okay. You’re right. I can do this. We can do this.”

“Good. Okay.” She sucks in a rush of air, but it’s a fragile intake, marred by fear. “Are you ready?”

I shake my head adamantly because who could be ready for something like this? I take her face in my hands, and we lock eyes. She’s scared. Her lips are quivering. When her hands rest against my chest, I can feel her fingers trembling.

I owe this to her. She’s been forced to spend so much time here alone, waiting for someone she couldn’t remember. I press my forehead to hers, and we close our eyes. When I’m this close to her, I can feel an unfrayed connection not even death could break. We’re bound together for eternity, and if I don’t get this right—if I lose her—that tether will feel like a noose tightening around my heart until it stops.

I kiss her. I kiss her hard, and I don’t want to stop, because what if this is the last time I ever get to kiss her?

I kiss her until I taste tears. Both of ours.

I kiss her until she makes me stop.

She presses her forehead against my chest, and I can feel the sadness in her sigh. “I love you,” she says.

I wrap my arms tightly around her and press my cheek against the top of her head. “I love you, Layla.”

“Thank you for finding me,” she whispers.

And then she’s gone.

It’s no longer Layla I’m holding, but Sable. I can feel the change in the way she jerks against me and then lifts her head from my chest, wide eyed.

I have my hand over her mouth before she can even scream.

And maybe it’s the part of me that resents her that finds strength, or maybe it’s the part of me that wants Layla back more than I want air, but I do it. I shove her under. In order to hold her there, I have to use every part of me. I cage her body between my legs. I wrap my fingers in her hair for leverage.

She thrashes in the water . . . claws at my arms and my chest. She tries everything to escape—to take in a breath, but she’s screaming just under the surface, her lungs swiftly taking in water.

I stare up at the sky because if I look down at her, I’ll stop. I wouldn’t be able to look at Layla’s face and continue to do what I’m doing. And even though I know it’s Sable behind Layla’s eyes right now, if I looked into them, I’m afraid all I would see is a terrified Layla. I squeeze my eyes shut and tighten my hold.

I wait and I wait and I wait for her to stop struggling. It feels like it’ll never end. I count as I hold her under. I get all the way to one hundred and eighteen seconds before she finally stops fighting.

And even then, when I think it might be over, she claws at me again, her fingers seeking out a savior.

She grips my left wrist, and she squeezes it with very little strength.

Then . . . I feel nothing.

The underwater screams have ceased for several seconds. Her hair begins to slip through my fingers. I keep my eyes closed and hold my breath until I’m certain there isn’t any air left in her lungs. Then I slowly drop my gaze.

Her hair is covering her face, so I brush it out of the way. Her eyes are open, but they aren’t looking up at me. They aren’t looking at anything. There’s no focus to them. No life.

That’s when I start to panic.

I pull her up until her head is out of the water, and it’s obvious Sable is no longer inside this body. But neither is Layla.

A wail escapes my throat when I see Layla’s lifeless eyes. Her arms are limp at her sides. I hook my hands under her and start dragging her toward the steps at the shallow end.

“Aspen!” I scream. “Help!”

It’s almost impossible to move her as fast as I imagined I would move her. The backs of her legs are dragging against the pool steps, then the concrete. When I finally have Layla on her back at the side of the pool, I grab for my cell phone. I dial 911.

“Aspen!” I scream. I start administering CPR the exact way Layla showed me how to do it, but I feel like I’m doing everything wrong.

The phone is by my side. When an operator picks up, I just start screaming the address into the phone while I try to resuscitate Layla.

Five minutes.

That’s all we have.

“Five minutes,” I whisper. Her lips are blue. Nothing about her feels alive. I need Aspen because I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

But I don’t want to leave Layla’s side.

“Aspen!” I scream again.

Before I’m even finished saying her name, Aspen is on her knees next to me. “Move!” she yells, pushing me out of her way. I fall backward and watch as Aspen leans Layla onto her side to clear her airway; then she pushes her onto her back again and begins chest compressions.

Chad is here too. He grabs my cell phone and begins speaking with the 911 operator. I move around Aspen, toward Layla’s head, and I lean forward, cradling her head.

“You can do it, Layla,” I beg her. “Please, come back. Please. I can’t do this without you. Come back, come back, come back.”

She doesn’t. She’s just as lifeless as when I was dragging her out of the pool.

I’m crying. Aspen is crying.

But Aspen doesn’t stop trying to save her. She does everything she can. I try to help, but I’m useless.

It feels like it’s been longer than five minutes.

It feels like it’s been a fucking eternity.

I once had the thought that minutes seemed to matter more when I spent them with Layla, but they’ve never mattered more than right now as we’re trying to save her life.