I did like it. And I didn’t like. I’m conflicted. Confused. Dizzy. Sick.

There’s been so much touching today.

So much happening…

So much going on…

So much stress…

I think it might have been too much…

Too overwhelming of a day…

Something’s wrong. I gasp for air as I shove the door shut, remaining outside, hoping Lyric won’t see me like this.

My chest compresses, suffocating me. My vision gets spotty, and my surroundings are growing blurry. My bones ache, feeling as though they’re going to collapse.

A young mother with children,

dancing on her grave.

Every day a battle,

never to be saved.

She can barely keep her head,

let alone her children fed

as she battles the monster

living inside her,

pushing her deeper into insanity.

She hangs on the edge

about to tumble into an abyss,

never to see daylight again.

Her skin cracks apart.

Her heart bleeds and rots.

She doesn’t want this.

She wants to be saved.

Taken away.

That’s what they promise her.

Saviors of the dark,

with empty promises of tomorrow.

Give into us, and you’ll feel no sorrow.

Pathetically, the mother surrenders,

gives up her children to feed the monster within her.

They take the children,

drag them into their tomb,

cuff them up so tightly,

so achingly

they can’t even move.

The pain sears their souls.

But that’s just the start

of an unthinkable torture

that will shatter the children apart.

First, they take a hammer

and bash in their bones.

Then comes the needles

that dig into their skin.

“Ayden, can you hear me? Oh, my God. Please look at me. Ayden…” Lyric trails off as my vision comes back into focus.

It takes me a moment or two to process where I am; sitting on the asphalt, hugging my knees to my chest and gasping for air. Lyric is crouched in front of me. Her skin is pale and her eyes are wide in horror. My head is throbbing as adrenaline pounds through my body. The worst part of the situation is the tears falling out of my eyes.

Crying for myself.

For my brother.

For my sister.

Crying because I almost saw the capturers’ faces. And I don’t want to see their faces, don’t want to remember.

“I’m sorry.” I quickly wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I can’t believe I just cried in front of Lyric again.

“Sorry for what?” She cups my cheek in her hand and tenderly smoothes her thumb across my skin.

“For freaking out in front of you.” I put my hands on the ground to stand, but my legs wobble, weak like me.

Lyric places a hand on my arm and gently guides me back down to the ground. “You shouldn’t stand up yet,” she insists. “You were breathing pretty hard before you fell.”

“Fell?”

She slides her hand up my arm to my shoulder then along my neck all the way up to my head. “Can’t you remember what happened?” She softly combs her fingers through my hair as she studies me.

“No. I can only remember getting ready to walk inside. That’s it.” I rack my brain for what happened.

Lyric opened the door to walk inside. Then she pinched my ass for fun. The contact broke something inside my head, something I thought I’d locked away to be forgotten. Add that to the stress of the police visit, and I lost it, completely crumbled. It’s been a while since a blackout has happened, the last time being at the party where William assaulted Lyric.

“You’re shaking,” she whispers, scanning over every inch of my body. “Oh, Ayden. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I set something off, didn’t I?”

I shake my head, not wanting her to feel responsible for my mental instability. “It wasn’t you. I honestly don’t know what happened to me. I just sort of zoned out and sank to the ground.”

“I think I should take you home.” She stands to her feet then offers me her hands.

“No, you need to take the class.” When I set my hands in hers, she helps me up.

The world spins around me as I get my feet under me. The blood rushes from my head, and I stagger around as I try to get my balance.

“I’ll take another class later or find another way to learn some defensive skills.” She slips a hand around my back and steers me toward the car.

“I didn’t hurt my legs,” I say, forcing a tone as my stomach churns. “I can walk.”

Her grip only tightens. “I don’t care. I don’t want to risk you collapsing again.”

Tired, I relax against her. Her warmth and scent brings comfort. Safe and cared about—that’s what I feel whenever I’m with her. I’m lucky I have her—have this. I just wish I knew my sister had someone who made her feel safe and cared for, that she is okay. That the letter to the police was just her helping with the case, nothing more.

When we reach the passenger side of the car, Lyric moves her arm away to open the door then motions for me to get in. “I’m driving. You look too sick right now to be behind the wheel.”

“What about your car?”

“When my dad gets home, I’ll have my dad drive me to the school so I can up. You shouldn’t be driving right now.”