I tear my attention from my thoughts and the cookie I’ve been nibbling on for the last ten minutes.
Fiona is probably the most spoiled by all of us. I once heard Lila and Ethan talking about how they ended up adopting her. She was born by a mother who was doped-up on heroin. She had a lot of health problems because of this, so no one wanted to adopt her. Like me, she was passed through many homes until she ended up here four years ago. Other than the fact that she’s a bit small for her age, she seems normal. Spunky even.
All have their own stories, though.
Everyone does when you really think about it.
It’s something I’ve learned while I’ve been here. That I’m not as alone as I once thought.
“Kale, leave her alone,” I say as I dig a soda out of the fridge.
Kale’s shoulders slump as he sets the pencils down on the table. “Whatever.” He sulks out of the kitchen.
Fiona flips him the bird then she smiles sweetly at me. “Thank you, Ayden. You’re the best brother ever.”
I pop the tab on the can, feeling the slightest bit of guilt churn in my gut as I think of my brother and sister, and the paper Lyric showed me with the tattoo on it.
“What are you working on?” I change the subject as I peek at her drawing. It’s of a butterfly—most of them are. “That’s actually really good.” It’s the truth, too. The girl is damn talented at drawing. Equally as good as Lyric and her mother, which says a lot.
“I know. I just wish I could get the butterfly out of my head and draw something else.” She sits down and plucks up the pencil. “I can never seem to stop thinking about them. It’s like a dream stuck in my head.”
My brows furrow. “Is it something from your childhood maybe?”
“Could be.” That’s all she gives me, and I will never, ever press her to tell me more when it’s clear she doesn’t want to. “Do you think I’ll be able to be an artist one day?”
“I think you can be whatever you want,” I repeat the words Lila keeps saying to Kale when he asks her a similar question about being a comic book artist. “As long as you work hard.”
Fiona works on shading in the wings while humming a song under her breath. “Do you think Mrs. Scott would give me art lessons? She’s super good at painting and stuff. And I want to learn to do that. I mean, I like drawing, but I think it’s time for an upgrade.”
“You could always ask her,” I say, trying not to think about Lyric going out with that douche tonight, yet it creeps into my mind and leaves a foul feeling in the pit of my stomach, almost as heavy as when I saw that paper she handed me.
This William asshole has a reputation for treating girls like shit. It’s guys like him that will burn Lyric’s feisty, trusting, carefree inner fire right out of her. And while that fire has gotten me in trouble quite a few times, I never, ever want it to burn out. It’s what got me breathing again, brought me back to life, keeps me breathing. As selfish as it makes me sound, I want Lyric all to myself. I just wish I could give her a little of what she gives me back, instead of freaking out on her all the time.
I sneak up to my bedroom and jot some of my thoughts about Lyric into a notebook. It’s something I started doing six months ago when my therapist suggested I find a way to clear out my head. I think that he was aiming more along the lines of a journal, but the pages are filled with song lyrics than my inner thoughts and desires.
Tucking the notebook back into the dresser drawer, I grab my guitar and jog down the stairs. Lila is filling up a pot under the faucet when I enter the kitchen, and fresh vegetables and seasonings cover the counters. She’s obviously planning a big meal, so now I feel guilt-ridden about going to the party.
“I’m going to band practice,” I tell her as she shuts the water off. “It’s still okay if I take the car, right?” I’ve been a little offish since I overheard the conversation between her and Ethan. I’m not sure why, but it feels like they’re keeping something from me about myself or my brother and sister.
“Do you know what time you’re going to be back? I want to make sure I have dessert ready and everyone settled down for movie time.”
“About that …” I shift my guitar case into my other hand. “I was kind of wondering if maybe I could go to a party after band practice.”
She carries the pan full of water to the stove. “Is it the one Lyric went to with that William guy?”
“How did you know about that?”
“Micha mentioned something about it just a few minutes ago.” She switches the heat up on the stove. “He wanted to know if you were going. I think he’s not handling this whole Lyric dating thing very well and wanted you to check up on her.”
“So, is it okay if I go?” I ask, opening the fridge to grab another soda. “I mean, I can come home if you want me to. In fact, maybe I should. I promised you guys a movie night.”
She sighs as she rounds the counter toward me. “Ayden, you don’t need to please us all the time.” She circles her arms around me as I’m pushing the fridge door shut. “Go to the party.”
I hold my breath and awkwardly pat her back, my grip on the soda can nearly crushing the metal. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She pulls back, retrieves the car keys from her pocket, and drops them into my palm. “Just do me a favor. When you get there, check on Lyric, and then text me so Micha will stop sending me texts.”
“Okay, that I can do.” I enfold my fingers around the keys. “But can I ask you one more thing?”
“Of course, sweetie. You can ask me anything. You know that.”
I wasn’t planning on asking her today, but after the tattoo thing brought up unwanted memories, I need to know for my own sanity. “I was just wondering if you found anything out about my brother yet? I know you said we’d check back when he was eighteen, and now he is, so …” I clutch the handle of my guitar case as her skin pales.
“Oh, Ayden.” She embraces me so tightly the air gets ripped from my lungs. “I’m sorry … I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I just couldn’t figure out how. I guess he ran away from the last foster home he was at, which was over a year ago. No one’s seen or heard from him since.”
My fingers ball into fists, the sharp edges of the keys slicing into my skin. I want to grasp onto her. Cry. But I can’t do that—can’t let go in that kind of way—so I pull back.