“You’re the first girl I’ve ever wanted to turn me on.” He chokes up, his hand on my arm trembles, and his fingers dig into the fabric of my jacket. “It’s not the first time I’ve ever been turned on… just the first time where I wasn’t… being forced…” His voice cracks.

His comment rolls over me like a vicious wave. What he’s trying to say without actually saying it. That he thinks he’s been sexually abused.

The reality of how harsh his life has been knocks the wind out of me. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? With the way he hates being touched.

“Ayden, I…” I’m speechless, unsure what to say to him and freaking terrified I’ll say the wrong thing.

“I don’t know if anything actually happened to me in that house. All I know is that, at fourteen-years-old, I went into that house feeling okay with being touched. But, when I came out of the house…” He skims a finger along my jawline. “Sometimes, something as simple as a handshake can make me feel like I’m going to throw up. But I’m working it, working on getting better,” he whispers, sounding more as if he’s trying to convince himself than me.

My lips part as I prepare to ask him how he’s working on it, but then his lips come down on my mouth. I stumble back from the unexpected contact and grab onto him to stop from falling. My fingers grasp his shirt, and I end up pulling him back with me. Losing our balance, we slam against the fence, but our lips remain fused together, even when Ayden moans.

“I’m trying,” he whispers through kisses. His tongue tangles with mine as his hands find my waist and he pulls me toward him in desperation. “I want to be able to kiss you like you deserve to be kissed.”

I have no clue what he’s talking about, because I am being kissed like I deserve.

This kiss, it makes my body pulsate.

Makes flames blaze under my skin.

Steals my breath from my lungs.

But it’s not really stealing

When I’m giving the air to him.

Willingly giving him anything he wants.

Just say the word, Ayden, and it’s yours.

My heart.

My soul.

Whatever you want.

“Ayden,” I gasp into his mouth as his body starts to quiver, “it’s okay. I’m fine with how things are. And I love our kisses.”

He abruptly pulls away, his solid chest heaving as he struggles for oxygen. “No, it’s not… okay… nothing is.” He avoids looking at me, staring at the corner of the street. The Christmas lights reflect in his eyes, making it appear as if he’s tearing up. “You deserve so much better than some guy who can’t even touch you.”

“You can touch me.” I grab his hand, lace our fingers together, and pull him. I refuse to let him go. Ever. “See.”

His gaze drops to our linked hands. “It’s not the same as if you were with someone else who didn’t have so many problems.”

“Of course it’s not.” I swing our hands. “It’s so much better.”

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard. “You say that now, but you’ll change your mind eventually.”

“No, I won’t. You leaving my life would crush my heart, and I refuse to let my heart get crushed.”

“It may take forever for me to get over this. And it could get worse when I start seeing the therapist for my amnesia.”

“I don’t care.” I stand firm, knowing that, through all my indecisiveness and sporadic choices, I do want Ayden. I decided that the moment he kissed me for the first time to try to erase the painful memory of my first kiss that William stole from me. “I want this … want you.”

His hand shakes in my hand, but he nods his head once. I’m not positive what the nod means. If he wants this—wants me, too. If he’s giving us a shot. I’m hoping so, hoping what he says is true. Because what I’ve said is the truth.

He’ll crush my heart if he leaves my life.

Will I live? Sure. I’m not going to become overdramatic and think I’ll drop dead if Ayden decides he can’t be with me. Will my life be destroyed? For a while maybe, but eventually, I’ll get over it the best I can. But there will always be a scar on my heart connected to every memory of Ayden. And I’d rather not have a scar.

I’d rather just have him forever.

Chapter 8

Ayden

Over the next couple of days, things are a little awkward between Lyric and I after I confessed that I might have been sexually abused. But I think we’re just confused where our relationship stands. Are we friends? Boyfriend and girlfriend? I have no idea. I’d like to believe, after the conversation we had the other night, that we’re the latter. But we haven’t really said anything to confirm it. We behave the same as we always do. Still holding hands. Joking. She makes me smile. I’ll take whatever she’ll give me. I’m not even sure I could take more if she offered it.  I wish I could offer her more, though. I meant what I said that night I kissed her near the park. She deserves better than what I can give her.

I don’t have too much time to overanalyze what’s going on between us because my amnesia therapy sessions begin this week. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m absolutely frightened out of my goddamn mind.

It’s late in the evening and I’m lying in a lounge chair inside my therapist’s office. My arms are tensely overlapped on my stomach and my heart is like a freaking pounding drum, thrashing against my chest.