Awakening You (Unraveling You 3)

She abruptly folds her arms around me. “I know life’s been hard on you, and while I really don’t ever want to walk in on you like that again, I’m glad you’re with Lyric. You deserve the best, Ayden, and I know Lyric makes you happy, which is why I’m not going to punish you over what I walked in on tonight.” She clears her throat. “Just promise me you two will be careful.”

This is quickly turning into the most mortifying conversation I’ve ever had.

“Okay, but . . . never mind.”

She moves back to look at me. “No, go ahead and say it. I need to know that you feel comfortable enough with me.”

“It really isn’t that big of a deal.” I wave it off. “Forget I said anything.”

“Is it about Lyric or . . . sex?”

“What? No. It’s definitely not that.” I make myself look her in the eye. “It’s about Sadie and the case. I just want to know more about what’s going on.”

She stiffens. “Look, Ayden, I know you’re worried about her, but the police are doing everything they can to find her. They even tracked down that woman you ran into in that God awful neighborhood and brought her in for questioning.”

“What’d they find out?”

“Nothing much.” She grabs another plate out of the sink and sticks it in the dishwasher. “The woman said she saw you go into the house, and she thought she’d warn you to stay away from it, considering what happened there. They already knew what went on there, though, so her statement didn’t help with the case.”

I gather a few dirty cups out of the sink and hand them to her. “But I want to know exactly what happened in that house. No one’s flat out told me the details.”

She remains quiet while she stacks the cups on the dishwasher rack. “The police believe Sadie was taken from that house by the group of people who took you guys when you were younger, and the foster parents she was living with at the time of the kidnapping were drug addicts and didn’t notice she was missing for over a week, so it instantly put a hitch in the case.”

A week? She was gone and entire week, and no one knew?

My heart is splitting in two

And bleeding out

Because she never knew

Just how good life could be.

I grip on to the edge of the counter to keep from falling down. “Didn’t they notice all the paint and stuff on the walls?”

“They might have, but . . .” She sighs heavily. “When people are on drugs, they can get too caught up in their addiction.”

“My mother was an addict,” I utter quietly with my head lowered. “She was like that sometimes, so I get it. But still, it pisses me off.”

“I know it does, sweetie.” When I glance up, her heart looks like it’s breaking for me. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“The only way I think I’ll ever feel better again is when they find her.” Forcing myself to suck it up, I stand up straight. “There’s some stuff on the Internet about the locations of some of the places the Soulless Mileas hang out at, and I think you should mention them to the detective the next time you talk to him.”

Her brows knit. “I didn’t know you were looking up that sort of stuff on the Internet.”

“No one really tells me anything, so I thought I’d find out some stuff for myself.” I hand her a dish soap tablet from the box beside the sink, and she drops it inside the dishwasher.

“We tell you what we feel is a healthy amount.” She closes the dishwasher door and pushes start. “Does your therapist know you’ve been doing this?”

“No. The only person I’ve told is Lyric and now you. I didn’t think it was that important.”

“I think you should tell him so you two can talk about the stuff you’ve been reading about. It can’t be easy . . . reading about that . . .” The way she says it makes me wonder if she has been reading stuff, too. She grabs a dishtowel and begins wiping down the counters. “Maybe I’ll mention it to him myself since I have to go in for a visit, anyway.”

A pucker forms between my brows. “Why are you going in for a visit?”

She winds around the kitchen island, cleaning up spilled sauce on the tile. “To discuss your amnesia therapy.” She stops scrubbing and looks up at me. “Your father and I just feel like maybe you should stop doing them since there hasn’t been a lot of progress, and it seems to be increasing your stress.”

“It’s not increasing my stress.” The last thing I ever want to do is stop with the therapy, and if Lila gets involved, there’s a slim chance I’ll ever be allowed to do it again. “And I can’t do that to my sister—stop trying like that.”

“You’ve been sleepwalking more ever since you started the treatment. You sleep less. And now I find out you’re looking up stuff on the Internet. It’s not healthy.”

“Nothing about any of this will ever be healthy, but I might be able to be less stressed if the police find her.” I contemplate my next words carefully. “Which is why I think you should reconsider letting me try that experimental therapy.”

She swiftly shakes her head. “We’ve already talked about it and decided it was too risky.”

I grit my teeth, biting back my anger. I don’t agree with her, but at the same time, I feel guilty for even thinking about going against them. The Gregorys were kind enough to take me in when they knew I had so many problems, and I owe them for that. The last thing I need to do is yell at her.

“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.