When I get to my room, though, I don’t go to sleep. I write.

Kiss me goodnight. Throw me away.

Hug me tight. Then let me fray.

Pieces of you. Unraveling me.

Weakening, so desperate to be free.

Ready to break. Ready to tear.

I can see you breaking, and it’s so hard to bear.

I finish the last sentence then peek out my window at Ayden’s home. The lights in his room are off, but I’m only half convinced he’s asleep, since his room isn’t glowing with the black light I gave him.

I move over to my desk and open up the webpage I was looking at earlier today before I went to band practice. I’d been so shocked when I found it that I actually had to get up and scream the lyrics of the most intense, angry song I could find, just to feel like I could breathe again.

After months of investigating, I finally managed to find an article that I think was linked to Ayden’s past. It happened in San Diego, and there’s a mention of a woman that has the same last name as Ayden’s old one who died.

After a complaint was made about noise disruption, police were led to a home where three abused children were found, appearing to be beaten and starved. No arrests have been made, but the case is heavily under investigation. While reports haven’t been confirmed, the case has been linked to three other abuse cases in the area over the last three years. All the victims suffered from the same injuries and subjection.

It makes me wonder exactly what happened to Ayden. Makes me afraid for him. Makes me wonder if the people who tortured him were ever captured.

Is that why he’s always afraid?

Or is it something else?

Something worse.

Chapter 13

Ayden

Even though it’s killing me, I’ve been keeping my distance from Lyric. It’s almost impossible, though, when she lives right next door and our families spend a hell of a lot of time together. Plus, there’s the whole band thing. Whenever we practice¸ she’s there, and Sage is there staring at her. The dude clearly has a thing for her. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem too interested.

I’m not going to lie, I’m fucking miserable. I miss her way more than I thought was ever possible. But I can’t help my distant behavior.

That night Lyric sang, jumping on my lap and touching me, caused me to shrink within myself, because I liked it. Wanted more. And it fucking terrified me as I remembered what more felt like.

I remember the touches that singed my skin.

The way they touched me.

How I begged them to stop.

But my voice was hollow.

Resonating.

A sound no one seemed to hear.

The world was merely a shadow

as they tied me up.

Cuffed me.

Used me.

Drained my soul.

Spilled my blood into the earth.

Then left me for dead.

To rot away with the others.

Rot away with their sins.

“Ayden, did you hear me?”

I focus back on reality as I listen to my band members, trying to figure out a plan that will get our foot in the door of the music industry.

“We should definitely have a talk with Lyric’s dad,” Sage puts in his two cents as he puts away his guitar.

“Wow,” Lyric states, appearing offended. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being used for my dad’s connections.”

Sage swiftly shakes his head. “No. Not at all.” He props his guitar against the wall then faces her. “You have a killer voice, Lyric. Seriously. We’re going to be badass.” He scratches at the corner of his bloodshot eye. “I’m just saying that we shouldn’t waste a good connection like that.”

Lyric unplugs the microphone and winds up the cord. “Well, I’ll bring it up to him, but he won’t do anything until he hears us. We have to be good.”

“We are good,” Sage presses, checking out her ass as she bends over to stick the microphone into a bottom shelf cupboard. When he notices that I catch him, he offers me a tense smile and shrugs, like what are you going to do?

“Yeah, we’ll see.” Lyric stands upright, tugs the elastic out of her hair, and then combs her fingers through her locks as she ponders over something.

Even though I’ve tried not to, I end up zoning in on her every move, the relaxed expression on her face, the way her chest arches the slightest bit, the way her glossy lips part …

“What do you think, Ayden?” Lyric asks me as she gathers her hair back into a messy bun on her head and secures it with the elastic.

I realize I’m staring at her, holding my breath, and clutching the life out of my guitar.

“About what?” I ask her dazedly.

She holds my gaze, silently begging for something I don’t fully understand, nor do I think I can give to her. “About asking my dad for help?”

I shrug as I slide the guitar strap over my head. “If you want to, then do it. I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.” I don’t look at her as I speak. Instead, I concentrate on putting my guitar away, checking my phone, the clock, anything to keep me busy, hyperaware that she’s watching me, like she has every day at practice and at school. Our time has only been filled with formal conversation and polite smiles, and I think it’s starting to get to her. It’s definitely starting to get to me.

“I have to go,” I lie when her stare becomes unbearable. “I have some stuff I’m supposed to do at home.”

I continue to feel her eyes on me as I hurry across the room, grab my jacket, and dart out the door. Only when I step out into the cool night air can I breathe again.