Wrapping my mouth around the neck, I sucked down another gulp, loving the lack of burn. No burn, no pain, numb.
Smiling at the wall, I reached for my phone, unlocking it. The missed calls piled up, fifty-eight. Fifty-eight reasons to end it all, yeah?
I thought back to the day I heard the news, the day I left Andy, the day I tattooed sadness into my skin.
It was the day the blade replaced Carson as my best friend.
It was the day the bottle replaced Andy, becoming my lover.
It was the day the death of my parents replaced the life of me.
My messages ranged from concern to random numbers I didn’t recognize, asking for an interview.
Fuck them all.
One message caught my eye, one from Andy.
Their funeral is today, Toland. Be there, tell them goodbye.
“They’re already fucking dead, Andy. Corpses don’t hear us,” I rasped to the empty room, wishing telepathy was a thing. “Bet they’d be proud. Their fucked-up child drinking instead of seeing them off. How fucked is that?”
My words were heavy, like a weight on my tongue, jumbled together. I slurred but seemed fine, my thoughts overwhelming me.
They were gone.
How did life change so much so quickly? How did I shut it off? How did I escape that reality?
Drugs? Yes.
Booze? Yes.
Cutting? Yes.
A message popped up as I went to set my phone down. Cars. There are so many things I wish to say to you, Mads. More words. Things you don’t need. Please reach out to me. Tell me you’re okay.
I ignored him.
I did what I had to do.
This was the new chapter of my unwritten story, unbidden, bridled with rage, pain, and aloneness.
My pain was my own; I’d hurt them with it, damage their image of me. This distance would save us all from the harmful effects of my actions.
And maybe one day, it’d get easier.
Part Two
Five Years Later
Chapter Fifteen
Strange Love – Halsey
Andy
Vibrant. My mom always told me as a child, she saw me as one of all the colors. She wanted me to glow, shine, but not like my brother, Dox. A rainbow without storm clouds, existing in a parallel with the sun. But how did one see beauty without a bit of rain?
To her, Dox was darkness, the edge of a blade, waiting to cut its intended. I was the fragile touch of a flower, petals to be gifted to the seasons. What they didn’t realize, the fragility they hoped for me was like a bomb, not a frail weed.
I wasn’t allowed to sing.
I wasn’t allowed to love music.
I wasn’t allowed to be famous.
Constantly, they hid me from my passions, they tamped them down with their own ideals, erasing everything I wanted for me and replaced it with their perfect image. They wanted a replacement child. Someone opposite to what they identified as a mistake.
My parents adopted me when Dox had Madden at sixteen. I was already two years old, sad, and needy.
Or so they told me.
They expressed that my eyes begged for a family and they couldn’t leave me without that love. I didn’t know my biological parents, the adoption was closed, and sometimes I wondered if it was for the better.
Sadie and Jex Black were my parents my entire life. Dox only had the Reaver name to separate them from his fame. It worked. While our parents weren’t keen on raising me and rather had nannies and random people watch me, they were all I knew. When they passed away, it was the first time I wrote music freely. Even if fear forced me to never pursue it.
Dox and I weren’t close; he saw me as a child, not a sibling. I think that was why he had Madden raised with me. We were made for each other. Two people who caught feelings, regardless of what society thought of that.
We spent our time together. All of it. Day, night, weekends. Random outings. Tours later on... we were inseparable. Best friends.
Guess that was why our feelings for each other adapted as much as we did.
Loss brought people together, but not in our case. We were together before, only torn apart by his parents’ deaths, the one thing that should’ve solidified our bond. Before that loss, we had sparks. Ones that should’ve never existed.
Between our secrets in the dark, where our lips met and our bodies shared moments, we were bound to ruin each other.
Much like when our skin touched, my fingers tingled as I cleaned my dishes. The heat blistered but not enough to damage my skin entirely. They were red, stinging with the motion of washing and high temperature, but I couldn’t seem to cool the water.
For years, I had a dishwasher. Not many places in California didn’t, they wanted to reduce water usage in that way, but there was something cathartic about scrubbing grime away with my own two hands.
I’d been handed everything in life, cleaning seemed to be the most normal thing I’d done. That and my law degree.
When I couldn’t decipher my emotions, separate them, cleaning brought me back to my middle ground, helping me stay afloat.
I lost my brother five years ago.
With his death, I lost Madden too.
It didn’t surprise me after we held each other as we sobbed. After he looked up the news, he froze while holding me. It was like being put in a fish tank, separated from the ocean that was Madden and being confined to the world he kept at bay.
I woke up on his bedroom floor, but he was gone.
All he left was a note.
Little Demon,
I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay. Not that it would be much of a shock. Between what happened between us and them dying.
I need time to be alone. Don’t come for me.
Madden
For the first year, I read that paper daily. Drinking as I cried over the note. It was nearly smeared entirely by the second year. I kept it, though. Stuffed in a shoebox in my closet. A dirty secret on a soiled piece of paper. Hidden. Unfound. Not even my fiancé knew I had it.
He didn’t know a lot.
After scrubbing my last coffee mug, I let out a sigh. Turning off the water, I dried my hands out, needing another distraction.
Leslie, my best friend, would probably be a good bet. She’d be here for me. It was Friday. Which meant date nights with Brandon.
Brandon, the man I planned on marrying in a few short weeks.
It wasn’t always like this. This doubt. I usually knew what I wanted, but seeing Madden’s live show a few months back made me regret every choice I made in the last five years.
“He’s playing in Los Angeles tonight,” Cars explained as they called me. Every year on the death anniversary, we’d hang out. They were my closest connection to Madden, even if they weren’t around him anymore. Sometimes, when we hung out, it almost felt like Madden wasn’t permanently gone.
He’d come back.
He had to.
“Are you here?” I asked, knowing Royce helped them relocate years ago. Royce—much like the father figure he always tended to be—adopted Cars as his own. Taking care of them as if they were Madden.
Maybe that was what Madden wanted all along.
“I’m not,” they responded solemnly. “I’m actually with someone.”
“Oooh, a date?” I mustered enough energy to sound excited. Inside, I felt so fatigued. Working for my own fiancé wasn’t easy. He wanted me on my knees for him while also bending over backwards for the firm. It was exhausting.