I move back to remove her bra, then I crash my mouth to hers again as our chests collide. A shudder ripples through my body from the skin-to-skin contact. Fear resides inside me, underneath a sea of want, stirring.
Don’t forget.
Don’t forget.
Don’t forget.
What was done to you.
Don’t forget that we own you.
Don’t forget.
Don’t forget.
Don’t forget.
I won’t let it consume me. Won’t let the past ruin this moment.
No more. I’m stronger than this—than they are.
Shoving the memory out of my mind, I focus on her lips, how incredibly soft they feel against my mouth, how her warmth engulfs me, and the pleading whimpers she makes as my hand wanders to the top of her shorts. My fingers linger there for a while as I fumble with the button. Once I get it undone, Lyric shimmies out of her shorts and kicks them onto the floor.
I take in her long legs, smooth skin, and beautiful green eyes. “I don’t…” My fingers shake as I sketch a line up the inside of her thigh. “Are you sure you want me to touch you like—”
She pushes up and slams her lips against mine, answering my question. As we lie back down on the bed, I instantly become lost in everything that’s Lyric. The way she lets me touch her. The way I’m the only one who gets to see her like this. The way she trusts me. How fucking gorgeous she is. How amazing her smile is. How amazing she is.
“Ayden.” She moans my name as her eyes shut and she clutches onto my shoulders.
Good God, I’m about to lose it. Seriously. Somehow between the fear and uncertainty, desire has completely taken over. I don’t even care that she’s touching my shoulders, my chest, my stomach. All I can think about is getting to see her like this.
After I kiss her until I can’t think straight, I lean back and brush her hair out of her eyes, place a tender kiss her lips, then roll on my side, letting my mind slow down.
“Are you okay?” she asks, rolling over and facing me.
I bob my head up and down. “I’m fine.” When she still looks concerned, I take her hand and place it on my chest. My heart thrashes as my adrenaline soars. “I promise I’m okay.” I swallow hard. “I love you and I trust you.” To prove it to her, I move her hand down my chest, across my stomach, all over my scarred skin. It’s tortuously confusing because I fear being touched yet at the same time, I want her to touch me more.
Want. Fear. Want. Fear.
So closely tied together.
How can I untie them?
And make them come apart.
“I love you too,” she says.
Sometimes it feels so unreal when I’m with her, like I’m dreaming. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m really still stuck in that house and this is all just a dream, my mind’s way of coping with what happened to me. If that’s the case, then let me die in the dream, never wake up.
“No matter what you think, no matter how much you say you’re not good enough for me, no matter what, I love you, Ayden,” she says, as if she senses where my thoughts are heading.
Even though my body is quivering from her hands’ exploration, my lips manage to turn upward. “That kind of sounds like the start of a song.”
She leans over me, her hair veiling around my face. “What can I say? I guess you just inspire me.”
“You inspire me too.”
“We so sound like a cheesy love song right now.” She grins as she sings, “You inspire me. I inspire you. Let’s get together and run through a magical field of rainbows and butterflies.”
I snort a laugh. “Don’t pretend like you don’t actually want to run through a magical field of rainbows and butterflies. I know how much you love them both.”
“Okay, you might be right. But let’s never, ever include rainbows and butterflies in our songs.”
“Our songs?” I ask with a cock of my brow. “As in plural? Because we’ve only written one so far.”
“You and I have a lot of songwriting in our future.” As if she senses me tensing, she adds, “Ayden, I know you say you’re not going on this tour, but I’m still holding onto the hope that you will.” My lips part in protest, but she talks over me. “And even if you don’t make it, I’ll still be back in a few months, and we’re going to pick up right where we left off. Nothing’s going to change between us.”
Reality seeps in and my body trembles even more.
Misreading my fear, she starts to withdraw her fingers, but I place my hand over hers, securing her palm against my chest.
“It’s not that,” I say in an uneven voice. “It just scares me… Thinking about being away from you for three months.”
“It scares me too,” she admits, giving in easily as I wrap an arm around her and pull her closer so our bodies are aligned perfectly.
Surprisingly, I stop shaking and a warm calm settles inside me. I give myself a moment to breathe in the inner peace, to let it really sink through me, because I don’t get to experience calm very often.
“I know you think I’m being naively silly,” Lyric whispers. “But I’m still hoping we won’t have to be apart. That you’ll go in on Monday and do this experimental therapy treatment, and the police will be able to find your sister.”
I know that it’s not going to be easy. That it may take several tries for the treatment to work. That if it does work, it might be like opening Pandora’s Box, and my mind will be so fucked up that I’ll be back to where I started before I came to the Gregorys’. There’s also the possibility something could go wrong. That I could end up in shock, with more memory loss, or even heart failure. The risks are why Lila won’t let me go, and why Lyric looks like she’s going to throw up every time the treatment is mentioned.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I tell her when I note the paleness of her skin.
“You don’t know that for sure.” She buries her face into my chest. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” I smooth my hand over the back of her head, wanting to promise her I’ll be okay no matter what happens.
But I can’t bring myself to lie to her.
2
Lyric
I’m so worried about Ayden, my stomach hurts. My heart… God, my heart is having the most trouble. I’m not sure how to convince it everything will be fine, that keeping this secret for Ayden is the right thing to do. I want to tell someone so they’ll stop him from going through with the treatment, but it feels selfish to do so. Not being able to help his sister has been silently killing him. If this treatment works—if he can remember enough to save his sister—then maybe he’ll be able to finally, finally live his life in peace.
“You smell like vanilla cupcakes.” My voice is muffled as I press my nose against his bare chest.
Ever since he told me he loved me, he’s been getting better with being touched. But he still trembles sometimes, and when things get really hot and heavy, we have to stop before he veers toward a panic attack. Right now, he’s extremely calm, though, at least for him, so I’m going to savor this moment for as long as he’ll allow it to continue.