Unraveling You (Unraveling You 1)

“I’m only sixteen.”

“Yeah, so.” I arch my back as I stretch. “I bet you do, don’t you?” When he wavers, I immediately perk up. “Where are they?”

“There’s no they.” He sets down the pencil in the spine of the book and flexes his fingers like he has a cramp. “Just one.”

“Can I see it?” I eagerly move over to sit down beside him.

His expression plummets. “I don’t think …” He trails off when my mouth sinks. “Fine, I’ll show you, but only if you promise not to ask questions.”

I draw an X over my chest with my finger. “I promise.”

A nervous exhale escapes his lips as he reaches for the hem of his black T-shirt. Excitement bubbles inside me as he lifts it up and shows me his stomach then his side. Black ink stains his flesh in swirls and patterns that form a jagged circle. The tattoo doesn’t look professional by any means. In fact, it looks as though someone branded him with an iron rod then dumped ink into the wound.

“Whoa. Does it mean anything?” I extend my hand forward to touch the tattoo, but he quickly jerks his shirt down.

“I don’t know if it does or not, since I can’t really remember how it got there,” he says coldly. He collects his pencil and returns his book to his lap. “And you promised me you wouldn’t ask questions.”

He begins working on the assignment again, leaving me with so many questions I feel like I’m going to combust. There’s so much I don’t know about him, and so much I want to know.

“Can I just learn one tiny thing about you?” I clasp my hands in front of me. “Pretty please. It doesn’t have to be about the tattoo.” When he sighs, I add, “Okay, I’ll tell you something that no one else knows about me first.” I deliberate what to divulge. I’m not much of a secret keeper, but there is one thing I never tell anyone. “Okay, so no one knows this, but I totally suffer from stage fright, which is a big, huge problem since I want to be the lead singer in a fucking awesome rock band one day.” I pat him on the arm. “See, not so bad. Now it’s your turn.”

He stares at me with uncertainty.

“Just one thing.” I hold a finger up. “That’s not so bad, right?”

He considers my proposal, and then in the softest voice admits, “I’m terrified of the dark.” His gaze drops to the scars on his hand.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” I try to remain cheery even though he looks absolutely horrified that he just admitted that secret to me. “And now I know what to get you for your birthday.”

“And what’s that?” A frown etches into his face.

I wink at him, hoping to cheer him up. “A nightlight.” I settle down in the bed beside him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Then why do you look so upset?”

He shrugs, staring at the foot of the bed. “It’s nothing.” His gaze collides with mine, and he gapes at me in bafflement. “It’s just … how can you be so happy all the time?”

His question makes me pause and really think about who I am.

“I’m not that happy, am I?” Am I?

“Kind of. I mean, I barely know you, but … you just smile a lot.” I self-consciously bring my fingers to my lips, but he swiftly catches my hand, stopping me. The contact sends fireworks blazing across my skin and makes me want to smile even more. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing. I just wish I could … understand it.” His shoulders sag as he removes his hand.

Such a sad boy.

With sad eyes.

And a sad heart.

Sad everything.

Too sad.

I need to make him happy.

Somehow.

“I’ll make you smile a lot in the future,” I promise him after the silence finally gets to me. “You just wait and see. I will drive you so damn crazy, to the brink of insanity, where all you can do is smile. My form of torture will be lots and lots of jokes that will be so hilarious they’ll make you pee your pants.”

He snorts a laugh but then his eyes widen.

I thought I was being funny, but maybe I scared him. Some people say I come on too strong.

“I was just kidding,” I say. “Sort of.”

He searches my eyes, his forehead creasing. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbles as he scrambles to his feet. He bends over to unzip his bag then digs an orange bottle out before running out of the room.

Okay, maybe I need to tone it down a bit. Perhaps he’s not quite ready for my sparkling personality and odd sense of humor.

Tone it down, Lyric.

It’s not so complicated.

When he reappears in the doorway, his hands are empty and he seems a bit more relaxed.

“Everything okay?” I cautiously ask as he climbs back onto his bed and opens up his Life Sciences book.

He nods, propping the book on his lap. “Yeah, but could you help me with this assignment?” He avoids eye contact with me, and his fingers tremble as he picks up the pencil. “Science really isn’t my thing.”

I want to ask him about the bottle. About the fear in his eyes. Crack his head open and see what’s inside. Write songs about his inner workings. But I also promised I’d make him smile from now on, and my questions seem to have the opposite effect on him.

So I do what he asks and help him, silently telling myself that one day he’ll trust me enough that I’ll be able to learn what makes him tick. Then I will write the longest, most meaningful song about everything I’ve discovered.

Everything about him.

Even his secrets.

Chapter 4

Ayden

I’ve had the same dream for over two years now. Claws. Bleeding flesh. Scars. Scars. Scars. Pain. Metal. Biting. My Flesh. Over and over again. The images are so vague, yet bright as my mind battles not to fully see what happened to me during that week a couple of years ago.

God, I hate this.

The chains were always the worst. They’re what I remember the most. Other details are hazy, though, like the people I met while I was locked up. The people who stole everything from me and my brother and sister.

I thought the dreams would go away once I was adopted, or at least hoped they would. But the memories still haunt me most nights, and sometimes during the day when I’m awake. They’re extra worse tonight, probably because tomorrow marks a month since I left the shithole of a home I was in before I ended up at the Gregorys. One month since I started my new life. Yet, even a month later, I worry that when I wake up, my nightmares are reality—that this isn’t really my life.

Music is the only thing that can calm me down. Well, that and the crazy black light nightlight Lyric bought me for my birthday a couple of weeks ago. She thought she was being funny when she gave it to me, but I was oddly touched that she remembered my stupid confession about being afraid of the dark.

Fortunately, I never told h

er why I was afraid. Then again, I don’t even know the whole reason since I blocked out most of the darker stuff that happened to me. No matter how hard my therapist tries to unravel my mind, they still refuse to surface.

After turning on the black light, everything white in my room glowing neon, I put in my earbuds then toss and turn for half the night until I fall asleep around two in the morning.

Hours later, I’m woken up out of a nightmare by the soft sound of breathing. And not mine. Someone is lying next to me in bed, and for a moment, I have a panic attack, thinking that somehow I’ve traveled back in time when I was never alone. Then I catch the faintest scent of strawberries and relax. The person lying next to me is the same person who’s been climbing into my bed almost every morning since I moved here.