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We both freeze and just stare at each other.
She looks different, yet the same; her brown hair is still long and her face is covered with freckles. But there’s a cast on her arm and a scar on her cheek, remnants that she’s not the same Sadie I knew five years ago. That she’s been beaten and tortured and God knows what else.
After a second or two goes by, I open my mouth to ask her if she knows who I am, but then she’s already running to me.
“Oh my God, I thought I was never going to see you again,” she cries as she wraps her good arm around me.
I start crying again, and it’s ridiculously embarrassing. I seriously need to get a grip on myself. But the fact that she’s here and alive, it’s so fucking overwhelming I can’t stop the tears from flowing.
She trembles as she hugs me, and I can sense that fear inside her, the fear of being touched. But she must be stronger than I was, because she keeps holding onto me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say through my tears.
She shuffles back, giving me a quizzical look. “Sorry for what?”
“For not finding you.” I wipe tears from my cheeks with the sleeve of my shirt. “I tried. I tried so fucking much, but no matter what I did, it all led to a dead end.”
Her eyes pool with tears. “You didn’t find me because they didn’t want you to find me. There was nothing you could’ve done. As long as our . . .” Anger and fear flash in her eyes and her hands tremble as she balls them into fists. “As long as he wanted me there, I was always going to be there.”
“How long . . .” I breathe in and out, trying to keep myself from crying again. “How long were you there?”
She turns her back to me, wrapping her arms around herself. “Ayden, I don’t want to talk about this.” She climbs back onto the bed with her feet dangling over the edge. “I’ve spent too much of my life surrounded by this shit, and now that I’ve finally gotten out, everyone just wants me to sit around and talk about what happened. I don’t want to. All I want to do is forget about everything.”
“I get what you’re saying.” I pull a chair up and sit down. “I forgot about what happened to us for a while and thought it was easier that way.”
“You forgot?” she asks, her eyes widening. “Really?”
I nod. “Up until a few weeks ago, I couldn’t remember any of the time we were in that house together.”
“You’re lucky then,” she mutters, her shoulders slumping.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I mumble. When she gives me a confounded look, I add, “I couldn’t remember because I was repressing everything, but it wasn’t healthy.”
“So you’re saying you’re happier now that you can remember?” she asks, confused.
“I still can’t remember everything now, but what I did remember helped them track the people down.” I slant forward in the chair and rest my arms on my knees. “I’ve learned over the past couple of years that running away from your feelings only allows them to grow and feed off you, and eventually they’ll nearly kill you if you don’t learn to deal with them.”
“You sound just like I remember,” she says softly, almost smiling. “You always had a poetic way of saying things.”
“I did?”
She nods. “You did. It was always fun listening to you talk when you got really passionate about something.”
“I’m glad there were fun times . . . Sometimes when I look back at the past, all I can see is darkness.”
“There were a few good times I can remember . . .” She trails off as she scoots back in the bed and rests against a pillow.
“Are you tired?” I ask, getting ready to stand up and leave. “Maybe I should let you sleep.”
She shakes her head and motions for me to sit down. “I don’t want to be alone. But I don’t want to talk about the past right now. I know you say it’s not healthy, but I just can’t yet, okay?”
If that’s what she wants, then that’s what I’ll give her. “What do you want to talk about then?”
“You.” A trace of a smile rises on her face, but pain and fear haunts her eyes. “I want to hear all about your happy new life.”
“How do you know it’s been happy?” I wonder curiously.
“Because I can see it in your eyes,” she says with a shrug.
“It hasn’t always been that way, though.”
“Then start from where it does get happy.”
I rack my mind for the moment in my life where things turned around for me, where happiness felt within reach. “Well, I was adopted by this really amazing family,” I say with a smile as I remember the day the Gregorys brought me home.
“Oh yeah?” She rotates on her side, cradling her casted arm. “Are they the ones who keep peeking through the doorway?”
I glance over my shoulder right as Lila walks by, trying to look casual as can be. I chuckle under my breath, turning back to Sadie. “That’s Lila . . . My mom, I guess.” It’s strange to say that to Sadie, to call someone else other than our real mother my mom.
“She seems worried about you,” she says. “She’s walked past the room about a thousand times.”
“That’s just how she is.” I pause, debating whether to tell her what Lila and Ethan told me in the car. “They want you to come live with us.”
Her brows shoot up. “What? They can’t . . . There’s no way they’d want . . .” Her eyes water up again.
My heart aches at her self-doubt, the feeling of unworthiness of having something good.
“I think you should live with them,” I tell her. “They’re really nice people who’ll help you get through this.”
“Did they . . . Did they help you?”
“They did,” I say. “And so did Lyric.”
Her forehead creases. “Who’s Lyric?”
How do I even begin to explain who Lyric is? The girl I’m in love with? No, she’s more than that. Way, way more.
Not knowing how else to explain it to her, I start from the beginning, telling her about my journey with the Gregorys and how I fell in love with my best friend.
“So . . . you’re in love?” Sadie asks after I’m finished.
I nod, fiddling with the leather band Lyric gave me. “I am.”
She blinks, trying to hold the tears back, but they pour out of her eyes. “I’m so happy for you. I really, really am. I was so worried that maybe we both ended up broken and ruined but . . . Seeing you like this . . .”
I scoot forward in the chair and place an unsteady hand over hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m glad you did . . . And I’m glad you fell in love.” She sniffles. “It gives me hope that maybe I’m not completely broken . . . That if you can make it, maybe . . . Maybe I can too.”
It takes all I have in me not to break down and sob. “Sadie, you’re going to make it. I swear to God you will. And I’ll be there for you.”
She cries for another minute or two before she pulls it together. “I don’t want to cry anymore. Please, Ayden, tell me something that won’t make me cry . . . Tell me more about your family . . . And Lyric . . . And this band and the tour . . . It all sounds so great.” She sniffles as she dries her tears with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe you ended up being musically talented. I remember when you tried learning how to play the flute. You sucked.”
“Hey, I was eight,” I protest. “And the only lessons I had were from Mr. Grangering. You remember him?”
“That grumpy old man that had a lot of cats,” she says, nodding. “I didn’t know he gave you lessons.”
“The lessons really weren’t that great since he got the harmonica confused with the flute. You should’ve seen him try to play it.”
She laughs softly, but then her expression instantly plummets as terror flashes through her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the guitar . . . I thought about it a lot while I was . . . But I didn’t think I’d ever be able to . . . Get the chance to.” r />
“I can teach you,” I offer.
“That would be amazing.” She tries to smile but instantly frowns.
“Lyric can teach you how to play too,” I offer, trying to keep the conversation going so she’ll stay distracted from her thoughts. “She’s actually just as good as me. Maybe even better.”
“I want to hear her sing,” she says. “When you were talking about it, all this excitement was in your eyes and I want to feel that excitement too.”
“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of chances for you to hear her.”
“Maybe when you’re on this tour thingy, I can go watch one of your concerts.” Self-doubt seizes her expression as she grips onto the blanket for dear life. “W-well, just as long as I can stand backstage. I-I don’t think I can stand being out in a crowd.”
I completely understand where she’s coming from. I remember the first concert I went to and how terrifying it was being in the crowd. Thankfully, Lyric was there with me and calmed me down.
“I’m not sure I’m going on the tour . . . I’m still deciding,” I offer her a reassuring smile. “But you can definitely watch me play sometime.”
“It’s not because of me, is it?” she asks worriedly.
Not wanting to make her feel guilty over anything, I choose my next words carefully. “No, there’s just some other stuff I need to do right now.”
She shakes her head. “Ayden, please don’t stop living your life because of me. I’m so jealous of what you have, and I’d die if I knew I ruined stuff for you.”
