Chapter 5: Masquerading
The shrill buzz of Layla's alarm clock pierced Warren like a jagged knife. He fumbled blearily for the snooze button, surprised that sleep had managed to sneak up on him in the end. Warren had lain in Layla's bed all night, fully clothed, his mind racing. He couldn't bring himself to undress, it felt all kinds of wrong. Like he was violating her somehow. He groaned loudly and ran a hand over his face. Layla's face. But he couldn't lie there all day, as much as he wanted to. He was going to have to bite the bullet sooner or later.
Warren heaved himself off of the bed. Layla's room was considerably tidier than his and it didn't surprise him that there was more greenery. Exotic orchids lined the window ledge, a colourful flowering cactus sat on the bedside table and there were huge terracotta pots along the walls containing plants with lush, dark leaves. It was more of a greenhouse than a bedroom.
A riot of colour assaulted Warren's eyes as he pulled open Layla's wardrobe. Yep, the hippie loved her greens and her flowery patterns, he mused. Black was so much easier, it required no effort. Plus, no-one noticed you in black. It was instant camouflage. Warren removed a crocheted lime top emblazoned with fuchsia petals from a hanger. Unlike this conspicuous little number. He shuddered, hurriedly dropping it to the floor and eventually settled on a pair of dark jeans and an olive-green linen blouse. Well, they weren't black, but they would have to do. And at least they didn't have flowers on them.
Placing the clothes on the bed, Warren edged closer to the inevitable. There was no escaping it. He was going to have to put on women's lingerie. He opened the dreaded underwear drawer. Strapless bras, push-up bras, halterneck bras, lacy panties, French knickers, thongs… Layla sure had a lot of underwear. The choice was bewildering. Warren briefly wondered how much of it she'd worn for Will then told himself that he didn't care.
He pulled out the plainest white cotton bra he could find, eyeing it suspiciously. Warren had plenty of experience removing bras, specifically Bianca's, but putting them on, he soon discovered, was an altogether trickier affair. And it also meant the small matter of looking at Layla's breasts. Well, he couldn't exactly help it, could he? At least Lash had wound up in a body of the same sex.
But it was his body. Warren felt his palms go cold at the thought. He considered warning Lash the previous night not to mess up any part of his life, especially not to upset his mom in any way, but realised he would just be handing his weaknesses to him on a plate. He would deal with Lash later if anything happened.
An assortment of photographs tacked onto the mirror on Layla's dressing table caught Warren's eye as he made to leave the room. They were a documentary of Will and Layla's relationship through the ages. Layla and Will as small children, holding hands and eating ice-cream on a beach. Layla proudly clutching a trophy and standing next to a sunflower some seven feet high, Will appearing a tad deflated, holding a withered little weed in a pot. Will perched on a shiny blue bicycle, Layla sitting on an identical one in green. Will blowing out candles on a birthday cake, Layla standing next to him laughing, her hands caught in mid-clap…
The most recent photo was taken at Homecoming last year, their little gang all together after their triumph over Royal Pain and her cronies. Will and Layla were at the centre of the shot, his arm around her shoulders, hers wrapped around his waist, both smiling brightly for the camera. Even Magenta was grinning. They all were, except for himself, Warren noted. He was standing a little apart from the group, his face solemn, his black eyes cynical. Warren hated the falseness of smiling for posed photographs, the forced artificiality of it all. But he had to admit it made him look like a miserable bastard.
As he looked at the pictures, Warren felt oddly resentful that Layla and Will shared so much history. That they knew each other inside out. His eyes lingered on Will's arm draped casually around Layla in the Homecoming photo. They looked so at ease with each other. Warren wondered how it must feel to be that close to someone. He thought he was getting there with Bianca, but she'd thrown that back in his face. She was just like the rest of them. Too ashamed to openly admit to her father that she was seeing him, but probably enjoyed the danger of secretly dating one of Sky High's resident bad boys. She didn't actually care about him at all.
Warren just didn't get it. Will and Layla had something special. What happened?
Layla stumbled around Lash's room, her eyes streaming and burning. It felt like she had grit stuck to her eyeballs.
Great, she thought. Lash could've warned me he wears contacts!
With some difficulty she removed the dried up contact lenses from her eyes, realising with mounting alarm that she was now rendered virtually blind. Some twenty minutes later, Layla located an unattractive pair of thickly-rimmed glasses on Lash's bedside table. Well, at least she could see now, the hazy bedroom fixing sharply into focus as she put the glasses on. Layla was not surprised to find a horde of bikini-clad bimbettes thrusting their silicon-boosted chests out and smiling toothily at her from Lash's walls. It was pretty pathetic really.
Could she stand two weeks of this? Two weeks of living with a strange family, who she knew nothing about, of not being able to speak to her own family or hang out with her friends and of being trapped in the body of a boy she intensely disliked? Layla didn't think it could be any worse until she remembered that Warren was trapped in her body. Warren would be living her life. Oh God, he was going to see her naked, she thought, a blush creeping from the base of Lash's neck to his face.
Layla needed some music to soothe her nerves, although she knew it was too much to expect that Lash would have any Enya. A quick glance at Lash's CDs confirmed she was correct. It was typical nu-metal fare - Korn, Limp Bizkit, Slipknot and… Jessica Simpson? Layla found the offending album wedged behind a much cooler-sounding German thrash metal band. She snorted with laughter as she made her way to the bathroom.
Layla supposed that she better have a shower. She regarded Lash's reflection in the mirror. Even with the hideous spectacles on, he didn't look too bad. He'd actually be quite cute if he wasn't such an insufferable jerk. With another blush she reluctantly acknowledged that Lash looked pretty good without his clothes on, too. Lash's lanky frame belied some good muscle definition, probably honed over years of working on his stretching abilities.
After a scalding hot shower and quickly dressing, Layla felt a bit more normal. Or as normal as was possible given the circumstances. She padded along the plush burgundy carpet of the hallway. The Langford house was actually very impressive. A series of old oil paintings hung on the walls and it was furnished with expensive-looking Regency pieces. It was elegantly decorated, but it felt more like a fancy hotel than a home. Somewhat soulless.
She finally came across some personal pictures amongst the fusty antiques. A portrait of the Langford family in sepia. Lash looked about eight years old, his hair neatly coiffured, very stiff and formal in a shirt and tie. Layla presumed the older, chunkier boy was Lash's brother. Mr and Mrs Langford flanked their two sons. Mr Langford was a thickset man with a large moustache, Mrs Langford tall and willowy. Next to the photograph was a small painting of Mrs Langford in her younger days, a string of pearls on her swan-like neck and a ghost of a smile on her thin lips.
Layla continued down the hallway and entered the dining room.
"Good morning, Laurence," a bald, moustachioed man called out cheerily over the financial section of the Maxville Mercury. Mr Langford. He was a bit heavier around the jowls than in the family photograph. It took a few seconds for Layla to process what he called her. Laurence? Well, it made sense. Who would be cruel enough to name their child Lash? Although it would explain his… issues.
"Hi, Dad!" Layla replied with a wide grin. Mr Langford scrutinized her carefully. Clearly he was unaccustomed to such an enthusiastic greeting from his son.
"Err… would you like me to get you a drink?"
Mr Langford's eyes bulged. Uh-oh. Really not keeping in character, here, Layla thought.
"No? OK." Layla poured herself a glass of juice.
Mr Langford turned a page of his newspaper. "Don't forget Stewart and Grandpa are coming over for dinner tonight, son. So don't be late."
A pained expression fleetingly crossed his face. "You know your Grandpa can't abide tardiness." The paper quivered a little in Mr Langford's hands.
An elderly ginger tomcat with threadbare fur dozed at the bottom of the stairs. It shot up at the sound of the floorboards creaking as Warren descended and regarded him with rheumy eyes. Warren looked around the living room. To his dismay there seemed to be felines everywhere. Warren was not a cat person. He stiffened as the ginger tom sidled up to him, sniffing him cautiously. Without warning, the cat sunk its pin-like teeth into his leg. He cried out and shook it off. The cat hissed, its tail twitching crazily.
"Horace, what's gotten into you?"
Mr Williams gently shooed away the cat. Warren felt him ruffle his hair in a gesture of paternal affection. He was a tall, middle-aged man and silver strands glinted in his own thinning, red hair. Warren hadn't met him before, but Layla had said that he was the head veterinary surgeon at Maxville Animal Shelter. Judging by the menagerie it appeared that Mr Williams liked to bring his work home. As he took Warren into the kitchen, he gave him an update on Layla's mother, otherwise known as the omnilinguist, Lexis. Apparently Mrs Williams' latest mission involved training dolphins in espionage techniques off the coast of Mexico.
Warren positioned himself at the table. He felt an unmistakable twinge of envy as he watched Mr Williams potter around the kitchen. This was how a normal hero family should be. Possessing both the ability to save the world and sanity.
"What can I get you, sweetheart?"
"Some black coffee would be good."
Mr Williams dropped a spoon onto the kitchen tiles with a loud clatter. He looked at his daughter as if she had just announced that she wanted to club a few baby seals to death before breakfast.
"Some what? Oh, I get it, you're kidding me!" he laughed. "Layla, for a second there I thought you were being serious! As if we'd keep a poison like caffeine under this roof! I'll just get you your usual peppermint tea, shall I? And I've just made some miso broth with barley…"
Layla's father handed Warren a bowl of what appeared to be brown pond water. With seeds floating in it.
OK, so maybe not so normal after all, Warren thought.
"Ummm… Thanks."
Something small and sticky attached itself to Warren's leg. Expecting to find another cat attacking him, Warren was relieved to see that it was a toddler with big brown eyes, a mop of red hair and a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Layla's kid sister. If it wasn't for the curls, she'd be an identical miniature version of her.
Warren had no idea how to speak to a small child. He hoped if he just ignored her she would go away, but no such luck. The toddler pulled insistently at Warren's jeans.
"La-la, read me a story."
"Uhhh…"
"Go on, honey, you have time to read to Bonnie before you go to school," smiled Mr Williams.
"OK," said Warren resignedly. "Which one?"
Mr Williams laughed. "I think you can guess, but I'll give you a clue. It's the one where the Teletubbies make tubby toast." Bonnie bounced around excitedly.
"Tubby toast!"
After reading the well-thumbed book five times successively, Warren learned that the Teletubbies were a quartet of multicoloured aliens who seemed to be nursing an unhealthy addiction to tubby toast. Whatever the hell that was.
"Time for tubby bye-bye…" Warren was slowly losing the will to live. "…The sun is setting in the sky, the Teletubbies say goodbye…"
"Uhhh… Bonnie, I'm going to have to go to school now."
Warren recognised the mournful, guilt-inducing look Bonnie gave him. It was one he was well-used to receiving from her big sister, and no less effective. But not enough to make him want to endure another telling of that godawful story. He was almost thankful to be interrupted by Horace, the demon cat, jumping on the breakfast table, spitting madly. Bonnie swept the cat into her arms and it made a strangled mewling sound.
"Silly Horace! 'Course this is La-la!" giggled Bonnie, scratching the scruffy tomcat behind the ears. "Daddy, Horace says that La-la is a boy!"
Shit, Warren thought, the fleabag cat knows and the damn kid can talk to animals! Fortunately Mr Williams wasn't paying his youngest daughter any attention as he rushed about the house getting ready to leave for work.
There was a cursory knock at the back door and Will walked in, smiling that lop-sided smile of his. Bonnie squealed, her face lighting up at the sight of him. Yeah, just like Layla, Warren thought wryly. She flung her arms around Will's legs and he lifted her as if she was weightless, throwing her in the air and catching her as Bonnie giggled.
"Higher, Will, higher!"
"I think that's high enough for this morning, Bon, don't want you losing your breakfast on me!"
Warren felt himself go rigid as Will gently kissed the top of his head.
"Hey, Layla, thought I'd catch the bus with you this morning rather than fly to school."
"Ummm… OK."
Neither of them spoke as they walked to the bus stop. Warren was comfortable with silence and was even less inclined than usual to chat that morning. Will, on the other hand, was one of those people who itched when confronted with silence and was humming tunelessly just to fill it, stopping now and again to say hello to various neighbours they encountered along the way. Warren predicted that Will would cave in another minute and a half and started counting.
"You're really quiet today, Layla. Are you mad with me?"
One minute forty, thought Warren. So close.
"I don't think so."
Will sighed. "It's because I've been spending so much time with Warren, isn't it?"
Warren wasn't too sure how he should respond to that, so said nothing.
"I'm sorry, but he's really been helping me. He has this way of explaining things so that it all makes sense. Even to a muscle-head like yours truly." He laughed. "I don't think I'd cope with Mad Science without him."
Will gave Layla's arm an affectionate squeeze and Warren felt his throat tighten.
"But I haven't forgotten about you. Why don't we rent out a scary movie tonight like we used to? Just you and me, no one else, no distractions? My parents are at some superhero convention in Europe this weekend, so I've got the place to myself."
Will's breath was feather-soft on Warren's cheek. He was acutely aware of Will's fingers pressing through the thin fabric of his blouse. He could barely think, let alone string together a coherent sentence.
"Ummm… OK?"
Will looked serious. "Listen, Layla, I meant what I said before about not wanting to lose you. You'll always be really important to me."
The images on Layla's dressing table flooded Warren's mind. Of course the hippie was important to Stronghold, they'd been friends since they were in diapers. But that didn't stop that distinctive twinge from returning. He may as well face it.
Warren was jealous of Layla Williams.
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A/N – Thank you for your lovely reviews! I know I should be writing for the sheer love of it, which I do, but reviews make me smile!
Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Lash. He returns in the next part. And he's going to be quite naughty…
Cheerio for now, chaps!
AzulTigress