Lyric and I haven’t been driving to band practice or school together, so I make the short drive home by myself, with only my thoughts for company. I’m lonely. Sad. Lost.

On the one hand, I want to remain in my little bubble, because it’s easier to breathe and exist. Then again, my bubble isn’t really giving me the shelter it used to. It was easier being lonely when that was all I knew. Now that I’ve gotten a taste of the other side, where I can coexist with people, putting myself in solitude isn’t as simple.

By the time I arrive home, I’m miserable and sullen. Lila notices my depression the moment I trudge into the house—she has for the last couple of weeks now. Like always, she convinces me to help her out with something to keep me from locking myself into my room.

“Help me bake Everson’s birthday cake,” she tells me when I wander into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

“I’m not that good at baking,” I point out as I hunt the cupboards for something to fill my appetite. “Remember when I tried to make those cookies?”

She kindly smiles as she pulls out a carton of eggs from the fridge. “I’ll put you on egg duty. It’s hard to mess that up.”

Closing the cupboard, I take a seat on the barstool and do what she asks, breaking and separating eggshells. Something in the process and the way the yolk falls out of the egg strikes up a distant memory.

Thick, like yolk.

I watch the blood drip.

Over and over.

A repeated pattern.

Driving me mad.

The way it splatters.

Across the floor.

The sound is like nails.

Pounding into my skull.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Even when I shut my eyes

the dripping still exists.

Over and over.

Never a miss.

I’d lift my hands.

Cover my ears.

Suffocating the dripping out.

But my wrists are tied.

Weighed to the ground.

So I’m stuck

with the torture

weighing me down.

“Ayden, did you hear me?” Lila asks.

I flinch out of my daze, returning back to reality. What I’m supposed to be doing. The food on the counter. The eggs in front of me.

“Um, no, I didn’t. Sorry.” I pick up an egg and crack the shell against the edge of the bowl while she turns down the heat on the stove.

I’m not sure why I suddenly remembered the sound of the blood dripping, or who the blood even belonged to. I wish I could figure out why I’m having a sudden onset of memories so I could come up with a way to forget again.

“I asked you if you wanted to go help Lyric and her dad work on the car he bought her.” She moves a pan of boiling water to an unheated burner. “I’m sure cooking is getting boring.”

I split the egg apart and let the yolk drip into the bowl. “Nah, I’m cool here.”

Trepidation creases her face. “Are you sure? Because you seem like you’re not having that much fun.”

“I’m fine.” I set the eggshells down on the counter and wipe my fingers on a paper towel.

She dithers, pulling a drawer open to retrieve a spoon. “You and Lyric seem … I don’t know. Did you have a fight or something?”

“No.” It’s technically not a lie. We’re not exactly fighting. I’m just avoiding her. And she’s tried to get me to talk to her. A lot.

“Then why aren’t you two hanging out anymore?”

“I don’t know.”

She’s growing frustrated, her cheeks reddening. “Well, I don’t care what’s going on.” She suddenly goes from kind, caring mom to annoyed, get-your-shit together mom, a side I’ve never seen before. She shoves a plate full of cookies into my hand and shoos me toward the door. “You will go over, and give Lyric and her father some of these cookies.”

She has got to be shitting me.

“But—”

“No buts,” she cuts me off, snapping her fingers as she points toward the doorway. “Either you go over there, or I make you go talk to the therapist. Maybe he can get to the bottom of why you two suddenly aren’t speaking to each other.”

Unsure how to respond, I do as she says and start for the backdoor.

“Oh, someone got in trouble, didn’t they?” Fiona teases as we cross paths in the foyer. She’s got her dark brown hair up in butterfly clips, and her lips stained a fiery red that match her dress.

“Does Lila know you’re wearing that much makeup?” I ask as I maneuver the door open, letting the cool November breeze gust in.

She blows me a kiss. “Of course.” She’s probably lying, though, and will also lie her way out of it when Lila gets mad at her. “Oh, and make sure to make up with Lyric while you’re over at her house. I’m seriously getting tired of your sulking.” She flashes me a crafty grin then skips out of the foyer and into the kitchen.

Painfully aware of how much I’ve changed over the few weeks, I step outside and shut the door behind me.

The sun is setting, the sky a deep grey. Almost every house on the street is lit up with Christmas lights and flashing signs that promise Christmas cheer. I’m not a big fan of the holidays, but I’ve gotten better over the last year that I’ve spent with the Gregorys. I’ve gotten better at a lot of things while living with them. I just wish things could have remained that way. That the memories had stayed locked away, instead of clawing their way back into my mind.