“It’s really distracting,” I add, feeling like an idiot when my skin burns hotter, “to see you like … that.”
Instead of tugging the shirt down to cover up, she leaves the fabric up and bites on her bottom lip. “Good distracting?”
Her bluntness shouldn’t surprise me—this is Lyric—yet I am. I’m stupidly surprised to the point that I just gape at her. She stares back, thoroughly amused.
What I wouldn’t give to be like Lyric.
So at ease with life.
So comfortable in my own skin.
I sneak another peek at her chest then face the steering wheel and open my texts, even though I have no messages. “Of course it’s a good distraction. You’re gorgeous.” My voice is low and husky in a way it’s never been before.
Lyric is breathing so ravenously I expect her to say something dramatic and sexual. She never utters a word, though. When I finally look up at her again, her shirt is on, and she’s putting her hair up.
“You ready to get this show on the road?” she asks coolly.
I nod and open the door, the cool air sweeping in and swirling around the cab, adding fog to the already fogged up windows.
“Wait. What about you?” She points at my black jeans, T-shirt, and combat boots. “Aren’t you going to change, too?”
“Into what? Tight yoga pants?” I crack a smile for the first time today, but it still takes a lot of effort.
“Hey, you might look good in them with that cute, little butt of yours.” She extends her hand toward me to pinch my ass, but I jump out of the car. She hops out, too, laughing her ass off as she shuts the door. “You should have seen the look on your face. It was adorable.”
“And what would you have done if I hadn’t moved?”
She skips around the front of the car and snatches hold of my hand. “Um, totally copped a feel and I’d have been damn proud of it.”
I roll my tongue along my teeth as a massive grin threatens to reveal itself. There are times when I wish I could spend every waking hour with Lyric. I’d smile a hell of a lot more and be way less depressed.
“You’re blushing,” she teases, moving in front of me and walking backwards without releasing my hand. “It’s cute.”
“No, I’m not.” A lie. My cheeks are blazing hotter than the sun.
“Okay, if you say so.” She turns back around and walks beside me, gazing up at the blue sky, musing over something.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask as we approach the back entrance of the building.
Her fingers wrap around the door handle. “Nothing.” Her head tilts to the side and I can see wheels turning in her head. “It’s just that…” Without warning, she reaches around and pinches my ass.
“Shit.” I skitter back, my fingers falling from hers.
“Ha! Don’t pretend you didn’t like that.” She yanks the door open and scurries inside, laughing.
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.