I hand over the keys then duck inside. Lyric shuts the door and climbs into the driver’s seat. I stare at the back of my hand as she revs up the engine. A lot of people think the scars on my skin are cat scratches, but they’re from fingernails.

Put there by blood red fingernails.

A quiet humming builds in my skull, and my skin feels charred. I rest my head against the cool glass of the window as Lyric pulls out onto the freeway, concentrating on breathing. Breathing, I can handle. Breathing is easy. Deep breaths, in and out.

We make the thirty-minute drive listening to Rise Against. My nerves settle the closer we get to home. But Lyric seems to grow more restless. By the time she parks the car in front of the garage, she’s practically bouncing in her seat.

“Do you want me to come in with you so I can help you tell Lila and Ethan what happened, since you can’t remember?” she asks as she silences the engine.

I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. This has happened a couple of times, so they sort of know the drill by now.” Only partially a lie. They know about my panic attacks, but the one I just had was more than that. It caused me to remember why tiny scars dot my legs and why two of my toes are crooked. Pins and hammers were used to inflict injuries on me.

I’m remembering.

Please don’t let me remember.

I can’t.

It hurts too much,

Will break me more.

And I need to be whole for the moment

So I can take care of some stuff—

Find my sister and make sure she’s okay.

Nodding, Lyric extends her hand to the door handle. The pain emitting from her eyes tears my heart apart.

I catch her arm to stop her from getting out. “Lyric, I’m so sorry.”

She sucks in a sharp breath before peering over her shoulder at me. “For what?”

I clutch onto her in desperation. “For being a shitty best friend, for making you sad all the time.”

She rotates in the seat, facing me. “You don’t make me sad all the time.” She leans over the console. “You make me happy, Shy Boy. More than anyone ever has.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because you’re hurting, and I hate seeing you hurting.”

My head slumps forward as guilt crushes my chest. “I just wish I could be a better friend to you,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.

Her forehead touches mine, her warm breath dusting my cheeks. “You’re the bestest of bestest of best friends.”

I smile, but the movement aches. Being happy right now feels wrong and energy draining. “There you go, making up words again.”

She chuckles. “Didn’t I tell you once that I’m that awesome?”

“You did.” I don’t open my eyes. Just feel her breath, her heat, allow her strawberry scent to encompass me. I want to kiss her so bad. I want to press my lips to hers in a soft brush, a quick taste, before I get out of the car and deal with everything waiting for me.

Everything about her sends my body into a mad frenzy. I’m walking a dangerous line right now, pushing myself far enough that I’m starting to remember some of the details of what happened three years ago. But fuck it. The police are already going to force me to split open my mind and let my memories out.

Just one moment with her. That’s all I want.

Without opening my eyes, I dip my mouth forward and brush my lips across hers. She sucks in a sharp breath then lets out a soft whimper that causes both our bodies to quiver. Her lips willingly part, and my tongue slips deep inside, swallowing the taste of her. She groans in response, her fingers finding my waist and gripping tightly.

I gasp from the contact and instantly feel the memories scorch, bright and vivid, like hot iron on my flesh.

“I should go inside,” I whisper breathlessly after I break the kiss.

“Okay,” she utters raspingly.

A moment ticks by where neither of us budge, then we simultaneously move apart. Lyric climbs out of the car and heads to her house while I hurry into mine, wishing I was going with her. Wishing I was just a normal guy who could hang out with his girlfriend without flipping out.

But I’m not. I’m scarred, broken, cracked apart, bleeding out, and I don’t know how to make it stop, how to fix myself.

I need to try, though. I have to try to get my life together and fix myself. Starting with my sister. If I can find her and know she’s out of harm’s way, then maybe I can have some peace of mind. Maybe I’ll have hope that getting better is possible. Maybe seeing the images of my past can be just that—my past.

Maybe I can be fixed.

Chapter 7

Lyric

I have never been so scared in all my life as when Ayden fell to the ground. Then he looked up at me with tears in his eyes, and I just about died. My beautiful, sweet friend was crying and in pain. Seeing him like that was heartbreaking.

After we part ways at our houses, I start to wonder what caused the meltdown. Could it have been stress from the police visit, the stress of them insisting he has to try to remember his past? I don’t know for sure, since he still hasn’t told me much about his past. With Ayden, everything is in the present, which is fine—I’m all about seizing the moment—but it makes me wonder exactly what kind of terrible things happened in his past.

Needing to take my mind off stuff, I track down my father in his office to bug him some more about his club opening.

“Knock, knock, knock,” I say, rapping my knuckles on the doorframe as I enter his office. The usually tidy room is a mess. Papers are scattered on his desk, records are strewn carelessly on the floor, and empty energy drinks overflow the trashcan. “Whoa, did a tornado blow through here or something? Or is this just what happens when you hit stress mode?”