But it’s not really stealing
When I’m giving the air to him.
Willingly giving him anything he wants.
Just say the word, Ayden, and it’s yours.
My heart.
My soul.
Whatever you want.
“Ayden,” I gasp into his mouth as his body starts to quiver, “it’s okay. I’m fine with how things are. And I love our kisses.”
He abruptly pulls away, his solid chest heaving as he struggles for oxygen. “No, it’s not… okay… nothing is.” He avoids looking at me, staring at the corner of the street. The Christmas lights reflect in his eyes, making it appear as if he’s tearing up. “You deserve so much better than some guy who can’t even touch you.”
“You can touch me.” I grab his hand, lace our fingers together, and pull him. I refuse to let him go. Ever. “See.”
His gaze drops to our linked hands. “It’s not the same as if you were with someone else who didn’t have so many problems.”
“Of course it’s not.” I swing our hands. “It’s so much better.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard. “You say that now, but you’ll change your mind eventually.”
“No, I won’t. You leaving my life would crush my heart, and I refuse to let my heart get crushed.”
“It may take forever for me to get over this. And it could get worse when I start seeing the therapist for my amnesia.”
“I don’t care.” I stand firm, knowing that, through all my indecisiveness and sporadic choices, I do want Ayden. I decided that the moment he kissed me for the first time to try to erase the painful memory of my first kiss that William stole from me. “I want this … want you.”
His hand shakes in my hand, but he nods his head once. I’m not positive what the nod means. If he wants this—wants me, too. If he’s giving us a shot. I’m hoping so, hoping what he says is true. Because what I’ve said is the truth.
He’ll crush my heart if he leaves my life.
Will I live? Sure. I’m not going to become overdramatic and think I’ll drop dead if Ayden decides he can’t be with me. Will my life be destroyed? For a while maybe, but eventually, I’ll get over it the best I can. But there will always be a scar on my heart connected to every memory of Ayden. And I’d rather not have a scar.
I’d rather just have him forever.
Chapter 8
Ayden
Over the next couple of days, things are a little awkward between Lyric and I after I confessed that I might have been sexually abused. But I think we’re just confused where our relationship stands. Are we friends? Boyfriend and girlfriend? I have no idea. I’d like to believe, after the conversation we had the other night, that we’re the latter. But we haven’t really said anything to confirm it. We behave the same as we always do. Still holding hands. Joking. She makes me smile. I’ll take whatever she’ll give me. I’m not even sure I could take more if she offered it. I wish I could offer her more, though. I meant what I said that night I kissed her near the park. She deserves better than what I can give her.
I don’t have too much time to overanalyze what’s going on between us because my amnesia therapy sessions begin this week. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m absolutely frightened out of my goddamn mind.
It’s late in the evening and I’m lying in a lounge chair inside my therapist’s office. My arms are tensely overlapped on my stomach and my heart is like a freaking pounding drum, thrashing against my chest.
“Now, Ayden,” my therapist, Dr. Gardingdale leans forward in the chair and hovers over me. A string of quartet flows around me and the ceiling light flickers about every two minutes or so. “I need to make sure you want to do this. Because the last thing I want is for anyone to push you into this. It could make your Severe Post Traumatic Amnesia worse.”
Inhale. Exhale. I nod, even though I don’t. Want is too strong of a word. Am I going to do this? Yes. But only for my brother.
“Alright then.” He relaxes in the chair and reaches behind him to press the on button of a recorder. “I’m going to record our session for the police to review.” He taps the top of a timer. “And I don’t want to keep you under for too long.”
He had explained when I first came in that this was a lot like hypnotherapy. I’d never tried it before but had watched someone get hypnotized at a fair.
I suck in a deep breath and nod, my nerves jarring. “Okay.”
“Now close your eyes.”
“Okay.”
“And relax.”
“Ok…ay.”
“Do you hear that, Ayden,” my sister says. “Cop sirens. We’re saved.”
Saved? Is it possible?
“It’ll never be possible,” the woman whispers. “”You’ll never be saved. Because if you escape, we’ll come back for you…”
I rub my eyes as I open them. Blinking against the inadequate lighting, I sit up. “Did it work?” I ask the doctor. “Did I say anything?”
His sympathy tells me all I need to know. “Unfortunately no, but did you remember anything different.”
“Just my sister saying we were saved.” I drag my fingers along the scars on the back of my hand. “And the woman telling me we weren’t ever going to be saved.”
“Well, that’s a tiny bit of progress then.” He stops the timer. “I don’t want you to immediately get discouraged that you only were able to remember a little. These things can take time.”
He continues explaining the details of hypnotherapy while I zone out on the short memory I did see. See might be a stretch. Heard is more like it. No one ever has faces in the faint memories that return to me. They’re just blurs, shells of people and places that I pretend don’t exist.
After the session, I return home in a sullen mood and feel exhausted. I go straight up to my room to relax and play the guitar until Lyric comes bounding into my room, sporting one of her heart-warming smiles.
“I have an idea,” she singsongs as she bounces onto my bed.
“And what’s that?” I pluck a few guitar strings.
“Even though it’s Christmas Eve and we’re supposed to exchange presents,” she kneels in front of me, “I think we should wait.”