Page 94 of Haunt Me

So that has to be my weapon, until it breaks in my bloodied hands.

…

More time passes.

More shows, more performances, more fans.

I write songs I don’t record. I toy with the idea of a song namedLaconia, after a place in Greece—Sparta—where, in ancient Greek myth and history, people used as few words as possible to communicate. Like, no more than two or three words in a sentence. It’s art; it’s science. I try to write a song about my grandfather; I can’t even record it in the end.

I can’t write about my dad. I don’t think I ever will. But writing a song about Grandpa was healing in a way I wasn’t expecting it to be. Too bad my voice keeps breaking, and I end up never recording it. It seems like all I can sing are tortured songs abouther.

“You’ve got a broken heart,” Skye observes. We’ve been working together for almost three years at this point.

“Well, aren’t you a genius,” I scoff.

“No,” he says, his eyebrows drawing together. “No. I didn’t just notice, Zay. I mean, youstillhave a broken heart. After all this time.”

“How do you know?” I ask him.

He points to a piece of paper that’s got part of the lyrics toLittle Birdwritten on it in my handwriting. An advertising team has confiscated it; they are considering using my actual handwriting for merch. How unbearably boring.

“It keeps spilling out of you,” Skye says.

“Isaiah’s never had a girlfriend,” Jude jumps in, helpful. “He only has hookups. Well, rarely.”

“Don’t help,” I hiss at him between clenched teeth.

“I know what I see,” Skye insists. “You are a man who’s had his heart broken—never mended.”

“Andyouare a man who doesn’t know when to shut up,” I tell him.

I should do something about this ‘never had a girlfriend’ situation, shouldn’t I? At the mere thought of dating, bile rises to my throat. How pathetic that I can’t move on, after all this time.

I will, I promise myself.I will. I won’t be this person whose pain keeps spilling out every night on a stage as he singsHeartbreaker.

But I can’t.

As time passes, more darkness gathers and drags me deeper and deeper. Everywhere I go, people sing along with me, cheer for me, chant my name. But they don’t see me drowning right in front of their eyes.

And eventually, the music? It leaves me too.

Eden’s (New) Phone

Dearsisters,

You don’t know me, well you do, but you don’t.

I first heard about you about four hours ago. I am in hospital, and about to go crazy, because on top of everything, I just found out I have two sisters.

Two freaking WHOLE SISTERS.

So I am writing a message I will probably never send, but I need to write it so that I won’t go mad. Since you know nothing about the last seventeen years of my life (all of my life), let me catch you up real quick:

My name is Eden. It turns out that I wasn’t using my real last name all these years, so we’ll leave it out. (I didn’t know it). My middle name is Persuasion. Someone used to call me ‘Pet’. I hated it.

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