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“Got one,” Desmond says but doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he swings the car to the right side of the mansion and pulls up under a bay.
Everything happens so fast in the next few minutes. Lyric’s door opens, and Dom yanks him out, cursing him out the whole time. Then he’s on a stretcher, and the two of them, along with Desmond, disappear through a set of glass double doors, leaving me to stare in silence at their retreating backs.
Slowly, I emerge from the car to stand under the bay, my heart finally slowing down. The adrenaline ebbs, leaving a void filled with worry and fear. As I breathe slowly, everything comes crashing down on me.
My worry for Lyric, the memory of Matty at the door, then the frantic rush to find Lyric compounds until tears pour from me. I lean against the car’s cool metal, allowing myself to let go, to release the pent-up emotions and fears that I suppressed due to the urgency of the situation.
It’s overwhelming, and sobs rack my body, but I’m grateful for the release. The stormy night above me seems to echo my tumultuous emotions, rain mixing with tears as if the sky weeps with me. I can only hope that Lyric will be all right, that we’ll get through this. The weight of uncertainty presses on me, but deep down, I find a flicker of hope that we’ll emerge from this darkness stronger, with Lyric safe and sound again.
Chapter Six
Once,I heard someone talk about their childhood and how they don’t remember specific events. Something triggered a trauma response, and their memories slipped away.
I’m not that person.
I remember everything. My very first memory is standing in my Pack ‘n Play, crying. The weather was so hot that I couldn’t nap. Honestly, I have no idea how long ago that memory was, and I never got to ask my mom about it.
I can also recall the day my appendix burst when I was only five. The pain was unbearable, and a fever made me exhausted. It was a struggle just to move or open my eyes. When I did, I saw my dad with red-rimmed eyes, almost as if he had been weeping or staying up all night, watching me to ensure I was safe.
Recollections of my mother driving, with me out of my car seat and lying on my father’s lap, are foggy. The next memory I have is of being wheeled through a hospital. One of my father’s old college friends promised him everything would be all right. A man stood there, too, by the elevators, looking terribly upset. He seemed so out of place that his presence almost felt like an illusion.
Then, a nurse with smooth skin and red lips stepped into my line of sight. Her smile was as soft as the petals of a flower, and her pale eyes were bright like the snapdragons on my windowsill. I got lost in those eyes, but not before I noticed that she had a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She looked familiar somehow, like someone from my past or maybe just an old friend I hadn’t seen in a while. To this day, I can close my eyes, smell her perfume, and remember her gaze and brown hair.
As I woke up the following day, my parents stood beside me, exhausted. Mama had mascara smudged across her face, and her eyes were swollen with tears. Daddy was shaking with relief when he saw I opened my eyes. His shoulders relaxed, and he stopped trembling as he exhaled deeply. I asked for breakfast because I was starving.
Turns out the only thing they give you is Jell-O after a major surgery, so I made that Jell-O my bitch and ate my weight in it.
With the morning sun streaming in through the curtains on Halloween, I find myself awake with that recollection still vivid in my mind. It must have been a dream because why else would it be so clear?
A yawn splits my jaw and makes me wince. I struggle to remember where I am and why. Slowly, second by second, the night before rushes back at me.
Matty.
Lyric.
All the blood.
The recollection of the blood should unsettle me more, but my heart is strangely untroubled. I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is Matty propped up on a few pillows, silently observing me. His red-rimmed eyes hold echoes of the worry I had seen in my father’s eyes years ago, adding another layer to the complex mosaic of memories that defines my existence.
We’re in a bedroom, a grand space within Desmond’s mansion that feels straight out of a fairy tale. The room boasts regality, with a four-poster bed adorned with silk sheets, a fireplace crackling with warmth, and a lounge chair beside the bed, where I’m sitting. A thick blanket is wrapped around me, shielding me from the chill lingering in the room.
“Hey,” Matty drawls, lazily blinking at me. His face bears signs of exhaustion, a paleness that speaks of recent ordeals, but he’s breathing.
It strikes me then—here we are, surrounded by opulence and luxury, yet none of it holds value if the souls that bring life to this home are not here to enjoy it. It’s a haunting realization, rendering the grandeur of the surroundings meaningless.
“Hey,” I reply, a yawn escaping me, followed by a stretch that cracks my joints. I’ve been in this chair for far too long. I blink sleepily at Matty, reassuring myself that he’s breathing, that he’s okay and alive.
Sitting up, I sniffle and shiver.
“Yeah, Dom opened all the windows and made it arctic in here,” Matty remarks, attempting to sit up but wincing and falling back against the pillows.
“Don’t move,” I say, tossing the blanket off and standing beside him. However, when I reach the bed, I hesitate, afraid that my presence might inadvertently cause him pain. I’m careful not to jostle him.
“I’m not going to break, sweetheart,” he drawls. His curls are stuck to his face with dirt and sweat—evidence of what he’s been through. He hasn’t even had a chance to shower yet.
I gently sit on the bed and bring my knee up beside him. My hair cascades over my shoulder, touching my knee. As my father did all those years ago, I reach for Matty’s hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just got shot,” he mutters, his fingers intertwining with mine.
