Chapter 2

The days blur together. Another dream, another day wasted. I contemplate getting out of bed to take a shower or find something to eat; I don’t know—nothing seems enticing. When my cell phone begins to ring, I don’t bother checking to see who’s calling me, I already know it’s Elijah. He calls me almost every day, he didn’t yesterday, so I guess he’s overdue to check on me. I’m so not in the mood for whatever it is he has in store for us today. Unfortunately, the truth is I’m never in the mood to do much of anything. Depression is a hell of a thing. But Eli has been my rock for the last two years, making sure I get out of bed most days and go about life with some semblance of normalcy. He’s made each day feel a little easier to get through and—even if I didn’t already love him more than life itself—I will be forever grateful to him for pushing me to recover from the trauma I’ve faced in the last two years. Without him, I’m not sure I would have survived to today.

I know that if I don’t answer the phone, he’ll just keep calling. With a sigh, I press the answer call button, tapping the screen a little harder than necessary to vent my frustration. “Yes, Eli. I’m awake, and before you ask, I don’t want to leave the house today.” Regrettably, brutalizing my phone when I answered didn’t get out all of my irritation because my greeting has a sharp, annoyed edge to it.

Even with my grumpiness, Elijah is a ray of snarky, gay sunshine in response. “Heya, sweet cheeks! Sounds like just an average day in the life of Dani. You do seem a little extra saucy today, babe, but I think I have something up my sleeve that will turn that frown upside down.”

I roll my eyes in response. I wish he was asking me to join him for a night in, with shitty movies—like Freddy Got Fingered, insisting it’s hilarious— and wine, but no. He is definitely trying to get me to leave my warm, comfortable bed. Ugh, hate that. “Don’t you have, uh, what was his name again? Something with a T…Tyler! Or wait, was it a Z…” I trail off, trying to remember the name of his current boy toy.

“Girl, his name is Andrew. And that is entirely beside the point, so stop trying to change the subject. I’m not taking no for an answer, so get your ass out of bed. I’ll be over in an hour to help you get ready.”

Now I’m seriously annoyed. “Eli, just no. Whatever it is you think we’re doing, I want no part-”

He cuts me off. Classic Elijah. If I can’t finish rejecting his idea, then, according to him, I didn’t actually say no. “Dani, I will be there in an hour to get you ready for tonight. And don’t even try staying in bed because it won’t stop me! You can’t trudge around every day looking like The Walking Dead because of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, because you are so much better than that, and he doesn’t deserve that power. I’ll see you soon, babes!” He blows loud kisses over the phone and then hangs up.

I groan loudly. Goddamn it. There really isn’t any way to stop Eli when he gets an idea stuck in his head. And his threat to drag me out of bed isn’t for show; he pulled me from my bed by my ankle one time, to force me out of the house. He’s an absolute barbarian when he wants to be.

I’ve been best friends with Elijah for pretty much my whole life. I met him in elementary school, when an eight-year-old Elijah absolutely annihilated one of my childhood bullies who was picking on me because I didn’t have the cool shoes that lit up when you moved your foot. The audacity! Elijah informed her that my shoes were better because they sparkled, while hers were ugly. And that glittery protectiveness sealed a forever friendship. We’ve been inseparable ever since. He always has my back, and I’ll forever do the same for him.

In our early years, we were both more than a little socially awkward, but when we entered high school, I got an in with the popular crowd. I think it was really only because of how I looked because, otherwise, I didn’t really have fuck all in common with the girls that ruled the school. But denying them would have been social suicide, so I kept my head down and wore a mask to fit in. It mostly worked.

But then Elijah came out. I always suspected it, but I never pushed him on it. I wanted him to come to me and tell me on his own terms. I loved him to death either way, regardless of who he found attractive. Unfortunately, not everyone had that same mindset. Some douche football player tried to play a prank on Eli, thinking it would be funny to match with him on Tinder and screenshot their messages to post all over social media for the whole school to see. Like his sexuality was something to laugh at and belittle. Elijah was distraught, and I couldn’t let that slide.

So, I got to work using my carefully cultivated popularity for good. During lunch at school the next day, when the asshole football player was walking by me and Eli at our lunch table with a tray of food in his hands, I slipped my foot out in front of him. He tripped and fell, food flying through the air. He face-planted on the floor in front of the whole school. Hit his head on the unforgiving floor, broke his nose and everything. To add the cherry on top of the entire thing, his chocolate pudding landed right in front of him, the force of the pudding container hitting the ground, splashing its contents up and all over his face. When he stood up, he had the remains of the thick, goopy, dark brown substance smeared all over his cheeks. I pointed and mocked, laughing loudly, which drew the attention of the rest of the lunch crowd, who, of course, followed suit. Somebody started calling him “shitface,” thanks to the chocolate pudding explosion all over his face, which stuck, and he eventually became a social leper at the school. I think he may have actually transferred at some point to escape the endless terror heaped on him by ruthless students. I’m not one to typically initiate that kind of behavior, but he fucked with my best friend’s heart, and I was going to make damn sure everyone knew that I would destroy them socially if they ever tried it again. Elijah was my ride-or-die, and I was his.

Oh, my sweet, sassy Elijah. It’s hard to tell him no. Even when all I really want to do is lie here in misery, he forces me to see the sun a few times a week. He really means well, and always has my best interest at heart.

It’s the knowledge that I don’t deserve my angel of a best friend in my current state, that finally forces me to throw my covers back and leave the safety and warmth of my bed. I need to at least try for Elijah. Two years of depression, of crying incessantly, of shattering exhaustion over Oliver fucking Shaw, who couldn’t see the good thing that was with him the whole time, is enough. My mind is consumed with thoughts of Oliver, his disappearance, and that of the band. I sigh. This isn’t the first time I’ve had that conversation with myself. Let’s see if my dedication to being better actually sticks this time.

I make my way to the bathroom and look at my disheveled appearance in the mirror. I really do look like death warmed up. My golden blonde hair, initially tied up in a messy bun, is now just messy. I’m starting to get dark circles under my eyes, too, and my skin is deathly pale, thanks to the lack of vitamin D.

With the stark visual of the utter disaster that I’ve become, shame washes over me. It has been two years, Dani; why can’t you get your shit together already? Oliver is either dead or lying on some private, rock-star-only beach with a beautiful woman sprawled across him. It’s really the only conclusion I can draw in my head. How does someone disappear from the planet, especially someone who made a name for himself, like that? But it wasn’t just Oliver who vanished; it was all of Soulstorm Serenade. It just doesn’t make any sense. The best I’ve got is that maybe Noah and the rest of the boys finally got sick of his shit, killed him, threw his body somewhere in the ocean, and are now hiding from the law. However, I know it’s a far-fetched thought. The entire country threw massive search parties to find any trace of the band, with not even a single piece of evidence to go off of. It was like a country-wide goose hunt to catch ghosts and mist. I’ve come up with every possible scenario that I could think of and, what I haven’t imagined, the tabloids have. With their disappearance, Soulstorm Serenade became something of an urban legend. It would be a great marketing stunt if it was intentional. As it was, none of it made sense.

I once even spent weeks searching the darker sides of the internet to look at all of the conspiracy theories that the rest of the world could come up with. They were definitely wild and extravagant. Some people have interesting imaginations. There was one comment that even suggests that they were all satanic worshipers, that the devil came to collect their souls. My name was also brought up quite frequently. Like I was the crazy, clingy girlfriend, and they vanished so that Oliver could get away, “since I tried to kill him,” one commented. What a fucking crock of shit.

Elijah shows up at my house precisely one hour later, just like he promised—threatened?—he would. He wouldn’t ever dare to be fashionably late; that isn’t his style. Elijah is more the type to show up early to make sure he gets all the juicy gossip. He never wants to miss a thing.

I’m just getting out of the shower, towel draped around my body, hair dripping wet, when Elijah strides into the bathroom without even knocking. Typical. I catch a glimpse of an iced coffee in his hand that I assume is for me, if only because he’s going a mile a minute, making me think he’s already downed his. “Hey, sweet cheeks, I got you a caramel iced coffee. Thank god you’ve already showered. I would have been so annoyed if I actually had to drag you out of bed today.” He gives me a wide grin, showing all his perfect, straight, white teeth. Any time Elijah is around, I know I need to step my game up, even if that does just mean taking a shower, because my best friend is a fashion icon. Today, his short brown hair is styled to perfection, and even though we’re indoors in a bathroom with no windows, his sunglasses are still resting on top of his head. A half-moon earring dangles from his left ear, shimmying happily whenever he talks or makes any sort of movement with his head. His manicured nails are the same shade of pastel pink as mine, although they’re short in length compared to my own coffin-shaped acrylics—which he coerced me into getting. He wears a tight-fit T-shirt that accentuates his muscular body, showing off his toned arms that I know are gym-developed rather than for practical use, and a pair of jeans that are probably more expensive than some people’s cars. Everything about Elijah is bright, loud, and cheery, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about him.

“Jesus, Eli, knock much? It’s not like I could have been naked or anything in here.” I give him a half grin that doesn’t meet my eyes, grab the iced coffee, and set it on the counter.

Elijah tracks the movement, a slight frown creasing his handsome face, but he doesn’t say anything about me not eating or drinking. Yet. It’s coming, though, I can tell. “Bitch, please. You act like I haven’t seen you naked way too many times. Don’t worry, you ain’t got anything I’m begging to see between those legs of yours.” He directs an overexaggerated wink at me. We’ve definitely seen each other naked on plenty of occasions. “And you know you needed me to burst in here with your lord and savior, coffee. Speaking of, you better take a sip of that sugary monstrosity, or so help me, god, Dani. You’ve lost too much weight, and you look sick. The Walking Dead called, and it wants its zombie extra back on set!” He meets my gaze with an “I’m not messing around” look to make sure I know he means business. Ah, there it is. After Oliver’s cheating, and my slide into depression, Elijah had appointed himself as my master chef, even though he couldn’t cook worth a damn, and it mostly just entailed him delivering food to me to make sure I wasn’t wasting away. Two years later, he’s still making sure I’m taking care of myself, which, spoiler alert, I’m not unless he’s forcing me.

I pick up the iced coffee and take a few sips of delicious caffeine. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I have lost a lot of weight. I have no desire to eat, drink, or do anything. The only time I really remember to eat anything is when Elijah is shoving food and drink into my face or, on the rare occasion he’s not with me, reminds me to eat.

“There, are you happy?” I ask, setting the coffee back down and placing a hand on my hip. Elijah grins at me again and nods his approval. He’s way too pleased with himself for just getting me to drink something. “Where are you dragging me off to tonight anyways?” I ask while picking up my brush to begin the process of working out all of the knots lodged into my hair.

“Oh, it’s no biggie. Super casual. You’re gonna have a great time, I promise.”

I stop brushing my hair and turn to stare at him with a pout. “Nothing about you has ever been or will ever be casual, Eli. Where are you taking me?”

He flicks an imaginary fleck of dust off his shoulder before shifting his gaze to his nails. Humming, he tries to look innocent. Emphasis on tries.

“ELI! Stop fucking around and just tell me. You’re making me anxious.”

He starts giggling and doing these jazz hand-type movements with his arms that usually mean he is really excited. He is…way too fucking happy for me right now.

“I got us some tickets to go see Bloodstained Symphony play downtown tonight! AND I got us invited to the after party by their tour manager. The guy is super fucking hot.” He still stares at me with that stupid, wide, toothy grin on his face.

No matter how out of it I am today, I can’t ruin Eli’s fun. It will probably be fun, even though I’m still pretty well known by a lot of people and bands in the scene as the ex-girlfriend to the infamous Oliver Shaw. Everyone knows my tragic story by now and either pities the fragile little girl that Oliver Shaw broke or just wants to get in my pants to have a piece of what Oli had. It’s the fear that somebody will be shitty to me tonight that has me whining, “Seriously, Elijah, we can’t just go get dinner or something at that fancy place you like to go to?”

“Sorry, no can do, babes. We are going to enjoy some live music and party like the bad bitches we are after the concert’s over. You need to get out and socialize more with people that aren’t just me, Dani. It’s not healthy. Plus, I need to get laid. And so do you!”

I roll my eyes at him and scoff. I’m definitely not looking for intimacy tonight. It’s not that I haven’t sought out a few one-night stands here and there since Oliver. They’re primarily drunken one-night stands, whose names I can’t even remember. I just have no desire to connect with another man at that level. My ability to trust men at this point ranges from slim to none. “Fine. But I’m going to bitch and complain the entire time, just so you are very much prepared for that.” I pick up my coffee and take another sip before returning to the monumental task of wrestling my hair into submission as I wait for the inevitable celebration coming my way. Elijah squeals at the top of his lungs, the only warning I get before he seizes me off my feet in a warm hug. There it is.

“Drinks are on me tonight, sweet cheeks!” Pulling the brush out of my hand, he starts working on my hair, giddy with excitement. I don’t even have the heart to stop him from styling me. He must sense my nervousness, though, because he meets my eyes in the mirror and says thoughtfully, “I will be with you the whole time, Dani. You know I always have your back.”

I sigh deeply but nod. “And I always have yours.”