“I’m going to go up to my room and work on my homework.” I swing around her and stride for the stairway.

“Ayden, please don’t be angry with me,” she calls out. “We’re doing this because . . . because we love you.”

I smash my lips together so forcefully my jaw aches. Despite the fact that I once had a mother and father, I’ve never actually had anyone say they love me like that. I don’t even know how to respond, so I don’t say anything, hurrying up the stairs and locking myself in my room.

Lock yourself up.

When are you ever going to learn?

The only way to be free

Is to give in.

The only way to be free

Is to surrender.

Chapter 9

Ayden

About an hour into writing my English essay, I decide I need a break and get on my computer. I open up the webpage I’ve looked at every night for the last couple of weeks that contains an article about the Soulless Mileas and their rituals and beliefs. On the top of the page are photos of houses, backyards, the shore—the pictures I mentioned to Lila.

I shut my eyes and try to summon locked up memories.

The house on the hill

Bleeds through the ground,

Saturates the dirt,

And drips from the trees.

The red river flows down the grass

And to the ocean.

Waves crash against the sand,

Erasing the blood

And carrying it away.

But a faint trail still remains.

The house on the hill

Waits to be found,

Waits to tell its secrets

Of shackles and nails,

Stories or torture and pain.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

“What is that, Ayden?” my sister whispers through the darkness.

The only thing I can see is the bright pink ribbon in her hair.

I open my mouth to tell her, but my voice gets lost in the sound of the dripping.

“Ayden, can you hear me?” she whispers. “I think . . . I think it’s blood. Oh, Ayden, I think it’s my blood.”

My eyes snap open as my body trembles from the memory—my sister’s plea for help. I glance at the computer screen and examine the photos closely.

“Where are you, Sadie?” I whisper, my eyes locking on a photo of a house settled on a shallow hill.

I try to picture the people inside it, but my memory shuts down. The strange thing that doesn’t make sense to me is that the house we were trapped in was the one in my neighborhood and not on a hill. That’s where I remember being dropped off by my mother, and that’s where we were picked up, yet sometimes, I see us in other places and wonder if we were moved around somehow.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I leave the computer desk and seek comfort in my guitar. After I get situated on my bed, I pluck the strings with my fingertips and sing aloud, something I only do behind closed doors.

“Burning, burning, burning,

My body is in flames.

The fire igniting,

Burning me with rage.

I want the fire out,

Beg the clouds to drench me in rain.

Yet, when I look up,

The sky is fucking tame, no rain in sight.

So the fire keeps on burning,

Blazing, blazing, blazing,

Until it kills me eternally.”

I frown at my words. With everything going on, I need to pick myself up, not drag myself further down into depression.

What I need is Lyric.

Glancing out my widow, I look over at her house. Her bedroom light is off, which means she’s probably downstairs with her parents. I’m curious what her punishment is, but too nervous to text her and ask. Worried she’ll tell me her parents won’t let her see me again.

Sighing, I reach for my journal and turn to a page I’ve been scribbling in for the last week or so. I place my guitar on my lap again, line my fingers with the strings, and open my mouth.

“Lyric, Lyric, Lyric,

Her name pours through my veins.

Her laughter, her smile,

It’s enough to drive me insane.

The way she looks at me,

It doesn’t make sense

Why she would want me.

I don’t understand.

She’s so beautiful, so wild, so full of light.

Every time we touch,

Everything feels right.

Every time we kiss,

My head spins out of control.

I try to hold on, but I eventually fall.

Falling, falling, falling,

I’m falling into her.

Falling so blindingly, so helpless, so willingly.

Please, God, please, let me keep falling.”

I stop strumming the strings as my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I set the guitar aside and check the incoming message.

The second I see her name, I smile.

Lyric: So, I just had a super awkward safe sex talk that lasted over an hour. What about you? Did you get punished?

I rest against the headboard and type a response.

Me: Ethan kind of the did the same thing with me, only his lasted about fifteen seconds. That’s the only punishment you got? Your dad seemed pissed off.

Lyric: He was freaking out, but honestly, it was kind of funny. I think he’s having issues with me growing up or something. My mom was pretty chillax, though. Which I was kind of surprised about. I mean, she’s usually the one doing all the scolding and punishing, but she seemed more worried that we’re being careful.

Me: You told them that wasn’t an issue, right?”

Lyric: Whoops. I knew I was forgetting something.

Me: Please tell me you’re kidding! Your dad’s never going to let me see you again if he thinks that.