Page 90 of Broken Lines

Heat flicks like flames up my neck as my brow wrinkles.

“Oh…no. No, I’m fine.”

“Let me hear you play.”

“No.”

Something cold starts to dig it’s claws into me. Something monstrous.

Something slipping into my room when I was thirteen, and my mom was out on a bus somewhere.

“Melody—”

“I don’t play in front of people.”

Something with a sickening chuckle, and evil eyes. Something who told me to “sing pretty for me”.

Something that left me broken, empty, and unable to even cry afterwards, with the words “rock ’n roll, baby,” snickering on his lips.

“I don’t play in front of people either, but I just did.”

“Well, good for you,” I snap coldly.

He rolls his eyes, pushing the guitar towards me.

“C’mon! Drink some liquid courage and fucking play, you baby.”

My jaw tightens. My vision starts to blur and go dark on the edges.

“Jackson—”

“And don’t tell me you don’t sing, either. I heard what I heard the other day.”

“Jackson, please—”

“Melody,” he sighs, shoving the guitar at me.

“Please…don’t…”

I jolt as the guitar gets pushed into my lap. My body goes cold, my vision narrowing to pinpricks as my throat starts to close.

“C’mon, Melody. Play something.”

“I—”

“Sing pretty for me.”

My vision goes out. My throat closes completely, and I’m vaguely aware of the glass slipping from my hands to shatter on the floor.

“Melody?”

The room spins, cold claws ripping and tearing at me, dragging me down into the blackness as I lurch forward out of the chair.

“Melody!”

The darkness swallows me whole.

19

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