Her pants are so far down I can see those black boy-cut panties along with her upper thighs. Her skin looks so soft, so touchable. My hands quiver just thinking about brushing my fingers over her legs.
She suddenly halts her torturously slow strip tease. “Wait, am I crossing one of those boundaries again? I never know sometimes.”
To Lyric, changing in front of her best friend is probably on the same level as wearing a swimsuit, completely innocent. But her swimsuit doesn’t have lace at the bottom or a tiny pink bow on the front.
God, I just want to touch her.
My breathing accelerates with my thoughts as I desperately try not to panic.
Lyric must sense my anxiety because she begins pulling her jeans back up.
“Do you want to go find a bathroom at a gas station so I can change?” she asks, inching the fabric back over her thighs.
There are probably locker rooms in the building where the class is. I should tell her that or just take her to a gas station. But even in the midst of my semi-panicking, I’m so turned on I can’t bring myself to utter those words.
“No, you’re fine.” I rip my eyes off her body and dig my phone from my pocket to busy myself with something other than gawking at her. “Unless you really want me to.”
“I’m good changing wherever,” she replies hesitantly. “And you don’t have to look at your phone if you don’t want to. I’m comfortable with you, Ayden.”
I believe her. She’s made it pretty clear that she wants to be with me as more than a friend. Right now, I wish I wasn’t completely fucked-up so I could have her that way.
Have her on the backseat.
Touching her everywhere.
Her warm body underneath me.
Flesh to flesh of blazing heat.
Drowning me in warmth.
Taste it.
Drown in it.
Beg for more.
Kiss her like my life depends on it.
Like the blood running through my veins.
Kiss her until the darkness fades.
Kiss her, kiss the hurt away.
“Ayden?”
My attention drifts back to Lyric. Fuck. She doesn’t have a shirt on. Her bra has the same lacy trim as her panties do, with a pink bow right between her breasts.
“Are you okay?” she asks, fiddling with the bow in the center “You’ve been zoning out.”
“Huh?” I blink away from her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” She bites the tag off the shirt. “You seem really out of it. And I’m worried the visit with the police is,” she lifts her arms to pull her shirt over her head, “messing with your head.”
The visit with the police . . .
Where stuff happened . . .
Where I was reminded of my past . . .
My head becomes foggy . . .
She hasn’t pulled the shirt over her bra, still struggling to get the super tight fabric over her chest.
“The police visit did mess with my head a little, but that’s not what’s making me so out of it right now. It’s just . . . I mean, it’s you . . . and . . . you changing in my car in front of me.” My cheeks warm.
Her lips form an O as her gaze drops to the shirt stuck on top of her breasts.
“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 the 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.<
br />
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 confident 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 him drive me to the school so I can pick it up. You shouldn’t be driving right now.”
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. I concentrate 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 Aunt Lila and Uncle 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 gu
y 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.
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?”
“What?” He closes his laptop then blinks around at the room as if he’s just noticing the mess. “Oh, that. Yeah, I haven’t had time to clean up in a few days.”
I raise my brows at the mess that is clearly from more than a few days. “Want me to clean up?”
He shakes his head as he stands up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Nah, I need to get up anyway. I’ve been sitting at the desk all day.” He stretches out his legs and arms. “What are you up to? I thought you were supposed to be at a self-defense class or something.”
“That didn’t work out.” I plop down in a chair in front of his desk.
Unraveling You Series: The Complete Set Page 20
