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Simultaneous shame

Of calling you my mother.”

The silence is deafening. Lyr stares down at her laptop, and the air in the room feels tense. I break the silence.

“That was… wow.” I run my hands through the roots of my hair and confidently shake it around. “That was heavy. I’m sorry you have a shitty mom, but you’re an artist. You know that? Your words are powerful and painfully honest. You should be proud of your voice.”

She’s not shy in her self-expression, and I find that incredibly sexy.

Wanting to kiss her, I lean in as she quietly says, “I’ve never had a voice before.”

Tucking a strand of her hair behind her multi-pierced ear, dull with cheap jewelry, I whisper, “I hear you, Lyr… and I see you. To know you is to love you, and I hope to get to know you really well.”

She shudders, and goosebumps appear on her skin. I rest my hand atop hers. As I begin to pull away, I start to see the blush spreading across the apples of her cheeks. I lick my bottom lip and smile at her. I feel her bring her knees together beneath her hands, and I rub the top of her hand slowly with my thumb when I’m suddenly yanked into Lyr’s grip. She presses a soft kiss to my lips. I kiss her back, relishing ‌the feel of her lips against my mouth. This is what I’ve been waiting for. She knocks the breath out of me, and I know that if I could do it again, I’d give my last for her.

Lyr presses her forehead against mine, linking us nose-to-nose. I love being this close to her and I wish I could enjoy it longer, but I need answers. Now.

“Who’s Dee to you? She seems insanely protective of you.”

Code for: she’s a pain in my ass. Do I have a chance of getting rid of her?

After hesitating, she quietly answers, “She’s been my best friend since eighth grade. She’s always been here for me. We’re all we’ve got.”

“Sounds like she’s a good friend.”

She fidgets in her spot on the bed.

“Yeah, the best.”

She peers up at me through long lashes, her eyes bright and bold. Lyr smiles wide, and I swear I see a twinkle in her eye.

She loves her.

“Must be if you’ve been friends for upwards of ten years. I’m glad you have support like that.” A part of me envies her, but I don’t hold it against her.

“Yeah, me too.” She replies, a small smile appearing on her face as she quickly shrugs her shoulders.

I hold on to the In-Between because it’s the closest thing I have to feeling human. This moment with Lyr tops anything I’ve ever felt here. Grasping at the remaining strands of humanity I have left, I grow some balls and ask Lyr the question that drove me here.

“Tomorrow, 2 PM. Will you go out with me?”

CHAPTER 7

LYRIC

I’m not entirely sure what just happened. My life has been so bizarre lately. From moving in with my friend to meeting mystery man Attie, I’m not sure what to make of things anymore.

I’m going on a date, and holy shit, he’s hot. My heart starts pounding—not the regular kind. I mean the kind that feels like a hammer banging inside your chest cavity. The pounding that feels like doom.

I roughly wipe my clammy hands on my leggings. When I get nervous, my body turns into a water park. My body’s reactive while my brain becomes disoriented every time without fail.

I can’t breathe—not true. I can breathe. I’m just gasping for air like a fish out of water. I’m panicked. This event is no different from any other day, except today, I do something about it. I jog to the kitchen and grab an old plastic bowl from the cupboard. I fill the gray bowl with ice followed by water. As soon as I set it down on the counter, I plunge my face in.

I hold my breath beneath the water for five seconds before lifting my head. I don’t know why I’m surprised when I emerge dry. Things have been weird for weeks, I just don’t have it in me to mind. I thought I was disassociating at a multi-million-dollar-business level.

I wonder where Attie is right now and if he’s as stressed as I am. This date is supposed to be a good thing. I should be happy, but this reminds me of the first few years with Jake. He was the perfect guy—a glorified book boyfriend. He was clean, timely, organized, motivated, and romantic. Until he wasn’t.

It started with weaponized incompetence that escalated to mudslinging and shouting before settling on punches to my pleading eyes and perky lips. Leaving meant death, and although I wished for it then, I was stubborn. He wouldn’t be the one to relieve me—God no, that was an honor all my own.