My gaze slides to Ayden. “Do you talk about me with him?” I’m not offended. Just curious what he could possibly have to say about me while he’s in therapy.
He lifts his shoulders and shrugs. “You’re a huge part of my life. Of course I talk about you.” He holds the door open for me, looking a little sheepish. “Besides, like he said, you have this crazy calming effect on me, so whenever I get too stressed, I just start talking about you.”
That makes me smile. I stand on my tiptoes, give him a quick kiss, then tuck the pamphlet into the back pocket of my shorts. He totally notices and his cheeks flush a deep red.
“You’re so adorable when you’re embarrassed,” I say, taking his hand as we follow Dr. Gardingdale down the hallway lined with rooms.
“I’m glad you think so,” he replies, his cheeks still pink. “Because I find it really fucking annoying.”
I kiss his cheek just because I can.
When we reach a room at the end of the hallway, Dr. Gardingdale motions us inside, then closes the door. It looks like a normal check-up room; plain white walls that surround a bed, a blood pressure machine, and a couple of chairs.
“We’re going to hook you up to the monitors so we can keep track of your heart rate while you’re out,” Dr. Gardingdale explains as Ayden sits down on the bed. “Dr. Milleperton is also going to be putting in an IV as well so we can inject the sedative.”
“An IV?” I ask in shock. “Is that really necessary?”
“This is an extreme treatment that requires some mild medication,” Dr. Gardingdale says as he sets his briefcase on the counter near the sink. Then he turns to Ayden. “Now, are you positive you want to do this?” he asks. “Because there’s still time to change your mind.”
Ayden lies down, resting his arms on his stomach. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
My heart speeds up, thrashing in my chest.
Tell me what I’m supposed to do
To make this ache go away.
A gnawing warning in my heart,
Begging me to listen.
Soft whispers through my mind.
Tell me a story of where this is heading.
Tell me a story of my life without him.
Dark colors, no light, pure emptiness,
That’s what the whispers promise me.
I’ve never been so confused,
So lost before.
When the doctor comes in and hooks the IV and heart monitor to Ayden, I consider texting Aunt Lila. Consider running out of the room and bailing on the situation because I’m freaking out. But this isn’t about me. This isn’t about how I feel. This is about Ayden.
So, I take his hand, trying to be there for him the only way I can. “I love you,” I whisper. “So much.”
“I love you… too…” He trails off as he slips into unconsciousness.
3
Ayden
“Try to keep your mind clear,” Dr. Gardingdale says as my hazy mind bounces back and forth between consciousness and unconsciousness.
“I’ll… try…” My lips feel so numb, like they’re detached from my face. In fact, my entire body feels like it doesn’t exist.
“Good. Now try to picture the house you were kept in, if you can.” Dr. Gardingdale’s voice sounds like it comes from somewhere nearby, but I can’t tell where he is—where anyone is. “But I don’t want you to push yourself too hard, Ayden. If at any moment you feel like this is too much, just let me know.”
“Okay…”
Where’s Lyric? I want to say. I want to see her. Want to make sure she’s okay. She looked so worried the last time I saw her.
But I can’t see a damn thing. Can’t feel anything. I just exist in an ocean of darkness threatening to pull me under the violent waves. I try to fight, try to keep above water, but eventually I succumb and have no choice but to go…
Down…
Down…
Down…
Images flash through my mind, memories long forgotten of my brother, my sister, and myself. We’re playing at the park, stealing candy from the gas station, painting the rocks in our yard to look like a rainbow, racing through the grassy field to the side of our home.
Then the memories shift away from my home life. I see myself in school, hanging out with my friends, and the time I walked home with Lacey Marlleron, a girl I had a crush on when I was thirteen. I relive getting into trouble when I was caught shoplifting. I see myself fighting with my mom over wanting to see my father. Fighting with my brother when I stole his skateboard and broke it. Fighting with Sadie over the bowl of cereal.
I see it all…
A life lost…
I see the fall…
That leads me straight to where the darkness all began…
And I plummet straight into it …
“You want to see?” Someone whispers in my ear. “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll take the blindfold off and let you look at your new home.”
I start to tell them no, that I don’t want to see anything ever again, but I have duct tape over my mouth. I want to scream. Beg them to tell me where my sister and brother are. I try to move, wanting to run the fuck away from this place, but metal cuffs bind my hands, and I’m weak from dehydration and starvation.
“Don’t fight the pain, Ayden.” Fingernails pierce into my hands, and I feel a warm trail of blood trickle down my skin. “The pain is the easy part.”
I scream through the tape and kick my feet. Stop. Touching. Me.
I’m so sick of being touched. I never want to be touched again.
But she puts her hands on me again, letting them wander, before she removes the blindfold from my eyes and rips the tape off my mouth. “Open your eyes and meet your home.”
I shake my head. No. I won’t do it. Won’t do what she tells me.
She stabs her nails into my hands again, this time deeper. Searing pain shoots up my arms and rips through my body, and I bite down on my tongue until I taste blood.
“Open your eyes,” she warns, digging her nails even deeper.
I feel pathetically weak as I give into her request and open my eyes.
It’s the first time I’ve seen the light of day in who knows how long. But with the dark curtains hanging over all the windows, hardly any light flows through the room covered in strange circular symbols. The carpet has stains on it, red stains that look like blood, and so much dust and dampness is in the air that it’s hard to breathe.
“Hello, Ayden.” A man is sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, and he smiles at me. “It’s been a long time.”
What? Who the hell is this guy?
“You’re probably wondering who I am,” he says, rolling up the sleeves of his stained shirt. “I was hoping you’d remember, but from the look on your face, I’m guessing that’s not the case.”
I eye him over, noting that he has the same eyes and hair color as me. A chill goes down my spine and my feeble body trembles.
“It’s not really your fault. It’s your mother’s. She knew the deal when she had you—that she was supposed to raise you with the knowledge of who I am, then hand you over when it was time—but clearly, things didn’t happen that way,” he continues, snapping his fingers as he glances to my right. “Don’t worry, though. I’m about to take care of it.”