I pat her back, not feeling as uncomfortable as I used to when she hugged me, but hugging is still out of my comfort zone. “Thank you . . . For saying that. It means a lot to me.”
“I’m just saying the truth. You’re an amazing person, Ayden Gregory.”
I wonder how my graduation conversation would’ve went if my birth mother hadn’t handed us over to those horrible people, if she were still alive, and my brother and sister and I were living with her. Would I even be graduating? Would I have ever truly felt what it was like to be loved and taken care of? I want to say yes. I want to believe my life with her wasn’t all bad. And maybe it wasn’t. There were some good moments that the four of us shared, but most of the good was lost in a sea of yelling, abuse, and neglect.
By the time Lila and I pull away from the hug, my eyes are burning with tears. I don’t want to cry. I’ve been doing too much of that lately in the privacy of my room, whenever I think too much or when I have a nightmare about the past.
Lila dabs her eyes with her fingertips, wiping away smeared makeup. “Well, I just want you to know I’m here if you ever need to talk.”
“I know,” I say. “And I appreciate that, but I promise I’m just a little distracted by school and stuff.”
“All right.” She rises to her feet and reluctantly leaves the room.
The moment she shuts the door, I grab my pen and notebook and get out the clusterfuck of thoughts crammed inside my head. I hate lying to Lila—hate lying to anyone—but if I’m ever going to end this—fight until the end—then I need to go through with the experimental amnesia treatment. Hopefully doing so will bring back enough of my memories that, at the very least, I’ll be able to positively identify some of the people who took me and my siblings over four years ago.
I just hope remembering doesn’t break me again.
I won’t let it pull me down.
I won’t give in
To darkness.
Drown me all over again.
I’ll fight and I’ll fight and I’ll fight
Against the rapids.
Against the terror.
I’ll never surrender.
After I finish jotting down my thoughts, I put the notebook in my nightstand. Writing usually calms me, but I still feel restless as hell. I need answers. It’s driving me fucking crazy not knowing what’s going to happen next—what the Soulless Mileas next move will be.
I sit down at my desk and turn on the computer screen. With a few clicks of the mouse, I open a webpage filled with information about the group. I scroll through the updated pages and read a more current post. Lately, there’s been a lot of rambling about sacrifices. It makes me really damn anxious and worried that Sadie is their sacrifice—worried I could be too if they get their hands on me.
“The sacrifice isn’t just about giving up what we want,” I read a section of the article aloud. “It’s about giving up what we love. It’s the ultimate sacrifice and the aftermath will cleanse our souls.”
A chill slithers up my spine. Was it my father who wrote this? Is that what we are to him? His sacrifice to cleanse his soul?
I shake my head, anger blasting through me. Fuck him. He doesn’t love us, no matter what his twisted mind thinks.
No matter how much I want to be strong, though, the pain of what my father has done nearly kills me every time I think about it. The air is strangled from my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. I need to remain calm, stop stressing, and give myself a few hours to forget about all the shit going on in my life.
Only one other thing can calm me down when I’m this worked up. Or one person, anyway. Lyric Scott, my best friend, my girlfriend, my everything really. I don’t even care if I sound cheesy. Lyric is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, besides being adopted by the Gregorys.
After I slip on my boots, I go downstairs to the kitchen.
Lila is standing in front of the stove baking something that smells heavily of cinnamon, and Ethan is sitting at the table sorting through some papers for work.
“Can I go over to Lyric’s for a while?” I ask as I grab a can of soda from the fridge.
Lila looks up from the pan, hesitation written all over her face as she exchanges a look with Ethan. “It’s kind of late, don’t you think?”
Ethan glances at the clock. “It’s only nine.”
Lila glares at him. Clearly, that’s not what she wanted him to say.
I pop the tab on the can. “It’s just next door, and there’s an officer parked right outside . . . But if you don’t want me to go, then I won’t.” The last thing I want is to stress her out.