Finally, they must remember that other people are around, because Mrs. Scott hisses, “Maybe we should talk to Lyric about this at home.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mr. Scott agrees, clearly annoyed.
I don’t look up even though I feel Lyric’s eyes on me.
“They’re gone. You can look up now,” Ethan says after the front door clicks shut.
I elevate my gaze to find that Ethan and Lila are watching me with concern. Their change in demeanor throws me for an unexpected turn.
I wait for them to say something, punish me, tell me how badly I messed up. Instead, they remain silent for a mind racing amount of time before they exchange a look, and then Ethan gets to his feet.
“You want to go out to the garage and help me change the oil in the truck?” Ethan asks me, although it’s not really a question.
Nodding, I stand up and follow him through the house and out the back door. It’s past seven o’clock at night, and usually, the family is sitting around the table, eating dinner. I’m guessing tonight we might be breaking the routine, though.
Ethan doesn’t say much as we start working on the oil. I hand him tools whenever he asks for them and help him when he needs it. So much time ticks by that I don’t think he’s going to bring up what happened. When he finishes, he cleans the oil off his hands, and then an uneasy look crosses his face.
My lecture and punishment are coming, and I tell myself I can handle it, that I’ve been through way worse.
“So, you and Lyric, huh?” He tosses the rag aside on the shelf and shuts the hood of the truck. “Can’t say I’m that surprised.”
“I’m sorry I messed up,” I tell him because I don’t know what else to say. The fact that he doesn’t think it’s surprising is baffling to me.
He reclines against the front of the truck with his arms folded. “You didn’t really mess up. I was young once, too. I get it.”
I rest against the shelf behind me. “I’m not sure Mr. Scott would agree with you. He seemed pissed. I’m afraid he’s not going to let me spend any more time with her.”
He waves me off. “He’ll get over it. He just needs some time to cool off.”
“If it helps, I promise nothing like that will happen again.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He heads for the door. “Just make sure that you’re careful with stuff, okay?”
Is this some sort of subtle safe sex talk? Why isn’t everyone freaking out more?
“Okay,” I reply uneasily as we leave the garage.
When we reach the porch, he stops to pat me on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid, even if you don’t always think so.”
I feel lost. It somehow feels like he knows my fear of unworthiness. “Thanks.” I start to wonder if maybe Dr. Gardingdale was right. Maybe my unworthiness is in my head, my own inner demon that no one else can see. I only wish I could find a way to get completely past it.
Wish on a thousand stars that, one day, somehow, my life will be normal.
Chapter 8
Ayden
Dinner is pretty normal. The only exception is Fiona teasing me about Lyric, but I can handle that. Thankfully, Kale has moved on from his crush on Lyric, so I don’t have to worry about him getting upset.
“I can’t believe you guys fooled around with the door open,” Fiona teases with a smirk as she butters a roll.
“Fiona Gregory,” Lila warns as she passes the bowl of corn to Everson, “leave your brother alone.”
Fiona dramatically rolls her eyes but does as she’s told, keeping her lips zipped.
“Now, let’s talk about something else,” Lila says cheerfully. “Does anyone have anything exciting happening in their life?”
“I finally asked Mandy out,” Kale says, cutting into his steak. “We’re going to a movie on Friday, if that’s okay?”
“Who’s Mandy?” Ethan asks, pouring himself some wine. “I thought you had a thing for Lyric.” He pulls a whoops face. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t go there, right?”
“I stopped liking Lyric when I found out Ayden was dating her.” Kale reaches across the table for the butter.
Lila stares at Kale in shock. “Wait? How long have you known about them?”
Kale gives a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. For, like, a couple of months.”
Lila’s eyes narrow on me. “You two have been together for months?”
“Um . . .” I rub the back of my neck. “Kind of.”
“I figured as much when I saw you guys backstage at the concert,” Ethan absent-mindedly remarks as he drenches his steak in barbeque sauce.
“And what happened backstage?” Lila seems to grow angrier by the second.
Ethan sets down the bottle of sauce then picks up his fork and knife. “I thought I caught them when they were about to kiss.”
“Why didn’t you say anything until now?” she asks, sounding hurt.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, but I knew, if it was true, everyone would act all crazy, which you guys did.” He starts slicing his steak. “I figured I’d let them tell you when they were ready and give them some time without constantly being pressured.”
Lila’s shoulders slump in defeat. “All right, you have a point.” She frowns as if greatly disappointed by that fact. “You’re off the hook.”
“Thanks,” Ethan says, shooting me a discreet smile.
I chuckle under my breath and reach for the bowl of potatoes.
“So, I want to go to football camp this summer,” Everson announces, breaking the silence.
I’m extremely grateful as the conversation shifts from me to him. I remain fairly quiet for the rest of dinner, lost in my thoughts about what happened in my bedroom with Lyric. How she traced her fingers up and down my back. How I was terrified out of my mind, afraid of the memories clipping at the surface. Afraid because . . . It felt too fucking nice. I found myself wanting to explore more, and that scared me out of my goddamn mind.
I’ve never felt like that before.
You make me feel things I didn’t know were real.
How can that be possible?
I thought I was never going to be whole again,
That I’d remain a broken shell,
Cracked in places that could never be fixed.
Now, everything I believed is withering,
Fading into something I can’t explain.
Please, please, don’t let me down.
Give me hope
And let me fade away.
“Ayden, are you all right?” Lila interrupts my thoughts.
I rip myself from my daze, realizing I’m the only one left at the table.
“Yeah. Sorry. I guess I just zoned off.” The legs of the chair scrape against the tile floor as I scoot back from the table.
“Okay.” She picks up an empty bowl and carries it to the sink. “Would you mind helping me do the dishes? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
I start stacking the dirty plates on the table. “What’s up?”
“Well, I talked to Detective Rannali about letting you read the letter your sister wrote, like you asked.” She opens the dishwasher and places a few plates inside. “Unfortunately, they can’t let you read the letter yet, because it’s important evidence as of now.”
Even though I was expecting that answer, it’s still frustrating.
“Okay, thanks for trying.” My shoulders sink as reality crushes me down into the ground.
Down. Down. Down.
Into the dirt,
Burying me alive, right along with the hurt.
Suffocating, smothering, where is the air?
Hidden with the pain in a sea of despair.
Down. Down. Down,
Into the dirt.
Pull me from the despair, help me survive.
Please, someone help me.
Don’t let me die.
Lift me from the darkness and into the light—
Out of the dirt, out of the pain
, away from the hurt.
She abruptly folds her arms around me. “I know life’s been hard on you, and while I really don’t ever want to walk in on you like that again, I’m glad you’re with Lyric. You deserve the best, Ayden, and I know Lyric makes you happy, which is why I’m not going to punish you over what I walked in on tonight.” She clears her throat. “Just promise me you two will be careful.”
This is quickly turning into the most mortifying conversation I’ve ever had.
“Okay, but . . . never mind.”
She moves back to look at me. “No, go ahead and say it. I need to know that you feel comfortable enough with me.”
“It really isn’t that big of a deal.” I wave it off. “Forget I said anything.”
“Is it about Lyric or . . . sex?”
“What? No. It’s definitely not that.” I make myself look her in the eye. “It’s about Sadie and the case. I just want to know more about what’s going on.”
She stiffens. “Look, Ayden, I know you’re worried about her, but the police are doing everything they can to find her. They even tracked down that woman you ran into in that God awful neighborhood and brought her in for questioning.”
“What’d they find out?”
“Nothing much.” She grabs another plate out of the sink and sticks it in the dishwasher. “The woman said she saw you go into the house, and she thought she’d warn you to stay away from it, considering what happened there. They already knew what went on there, though, so her statement didn’t help with the case.”
I gather a few dirty cups out of the sink and hand them to her. “But I want to know exactly what happened in that house. No one’s flat out told me the details.”
She remains quiet while she stacks the cups on the dishwasher rack. “The police believe Sadie was taken from that house by the group of people who took you guys when you were younger, and the foster parents she was living with at the time of the kidnapping were drug addicts and didn’t notice she was missing for over a week, so it instantly put a hitch in the case.”
A week? She was gone and entire week, and no one knew?
My heart is splitting in two
And bleeding out
Because she never knew
Just how good life could be.
I grip on to the edge of the counter to keep from falling down. “Didn’t they notice all the paint and stuff on the walls?”
“They might have, but . . .” She sighs heavily. “When people are on drugs, they can get too caught up in their addiction.”
“My mother was an addict,” I utter quietly with my head lowered. “She was like that sometimes, so I get it. But still, it pisses me off.”
“I know it does, sweetie.” When I glance up, her heart looks like it’s breaking for me. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
“The only way I think I’ll ever feel better again is when they find her.” Forcing myself to suck it up, I stand up straight. “There’s some stuff on the Internet about the locations of some of the places the Soulless Mileas hang out at, and I think you should mention them to the detective the next time you talk to him.”
Her brows knit. “I didn’t know you were looking up that sort of stuff on the Internet.”
“No one really tells me anything, so I thought I’d find out some stuff for myself.” I hand her a dish soap tablet from the box beside the sink, and she drops it inside the dishwasher.
“We tell you what we feel is a healthy amount.” She closes the dishwasher door and pushes start. “Does your therapist know you’ve been doing this?”
“No. The only person I’ve told is Lyric and now you. I didn’t think it was that important.”
“I think you should tell him so you two can talk about the stuff you’ve been reading about. It can’t be easy . . . reading about that . . .” The way she says it makes me wonder if she has been reading stuff, too. She grabs a dishtowel and begins wiping down the counters. “Maybe I’ll mention it to him myself since I have to go in for a visit, anyway.”
A pucker forms between my brows. “Why are you going in for a visit?”
She winds around the kitchen island, cleaning up spilled sauce on the tile. “To discuss your amnesia therapy.” She stops scrubbing and looks up at me. “Your father and I just feel like maybe you should stop doing them since there hasn’t been a lot of progress, and it seems to be increasing your stress.”
“It’s not increasing my stress.” The last thing I ever want to do is stop with the therapy, and if Lila gets involved, there’s a slim chance I’ll ever be allowed to do it again. “And I can’t do that to my sister—stop trying like that.”
“You’ve been sleepwalking more ever since you started the treatment. You sleep less. And now I find out you’re looking up stuff on the Internet. It’s not healthy.”
“Nothing about any of this will ever be healthy, but I might be able to be less stressed if the police find her.” I contemplate my next words carefully. “Which is why I think you should reconsider letting me try that experimental therapy.”
She swiftly shakes her head. “We’ve already talked about it and decided it was too risky.”
I grit my teeth, biting back my anger. I don’t agree with her, but at the same time, I feel guilty for even thinking about going against them. The Gregorys were kind enough to take me in when they knew I had so many problems, and I owe them for that. The last thing I need to do is yell at her.
“I’m going to go up to my room and work on my homework.” I swing around her and stride for the stairway.
“Ayden, please don’t be angry with me,” she calls out. “We’re doing this because . . . because we love you.”
I smash my lips together so forcefully my jaw aches. Despite the fact that I once had a mother and father, I’ve never actually had anyone say they love me like that. I don’t even know how to respond, so I don’t say anything, hurrying up the stairs and locking myself in my room.
Lock yourself up.
When are you ever going to learn?
The only way to be free
Is to give in.
The only way to be free
Is to surrender.
Chapter 9
Ayden
About an hour into writing my English essay, I decide I need a break and get on my computer. I open up the webpage I’ve looked at every night for the last couple of weeks that contains an article about the Soulless Mileas and their rituals and beliefs. On the top of the page are photos of houses, backyards, the shore—the pictures I mentioned to Lila.
I shut my eyes and try to summon locked up memories.
The house on the hill
Bleeds through the ground,
Saturates the dirt,
And drips from the trees.
The red river flows down the grass
And to the ocean.
Waves crash against the sand,
Erasing the blood
And carrying it away.
But a faint trail still remains.
The house on the hill
Waits to be found,
Waits to tell its secrets
Of shackles and nails,
Stories or torture and pain.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.