Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

I 'm so confused after everything that's been happening. Kage is a wild force of nature, and he's determined to wreck my life, but I keep letting him push his way in then leave. I know why he's doing it, and shit, I even know he's right, but it makes me feel confused and fed up.

Maybe that's why I find myself wandering my house, the usual insomnia and demons chasing me in the dark until I find myself in the living room. I sink onto a couch, looking around at the empty space. For a moment, I imagine it filled with life, with his laughter. Would I still feel so alone? Would I still be so scared all the time?

Would it be enough?

I click the TV remote, letting the leather cushions swallow me until it consumes my body. No one would notice or care if I just let go.

A familiar voice from the TV has me jerking upright as horror and memories assault me.

There, like a ghost conjured from the darkest parts of my soul, is Westie, my father's best friend and bassist. He's older, his hair is grayer, and his eyes and mouth are lined with age. For a moment, I remember how beautiful and oh so fucking dangerous he was.

He was one of the worst parts of my past.

I can't even focus on the words he's saying in the interview. All I can do is stare. I haven't seen him in years, since they all took a step out of the spotlight after my father's death—a decision they didn't make lightly, but one that was the trigger for me to finally step forward. Once more, though, I feel like the scared teenage girl facing down the bigger, more experienced man. When the sound seems to filter through my ringing head, I grab the remote and increase the volume, scarcely breathing or believing what I'm hearing.

"I think it's important to keep the memory of Agille alive, but also to do justice to his story and his rise to fame. That's why this docuseries is so near and dear to our hearts. Everyone has this perception of him as this bad-boy rocker, one of the most talented to ever live, and yes, we want to show that side, but we also want to show the man who was our leader and our friend as well."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I screech as I leap to my feet.

They are making a docuseries about my father?

It's clear it's for fame, money, and the spotlight it will bring, but I wonder how they will gloss over his life. How will they portray his home life? Will they make me the villain? The weak child? All that pain, all that shit I survived will become nothing but a carefully crafted footnote in their story to the top. Everything I endured will become meaningless.

Anger fills me at the idea. What I went through was real, what I survived was real, but this will make it nothing but a lie. Everything I have fought to forget, to move away from will all be brought back up.

I'll never escape him.

I've tried so hard to surpass him, to give him one last fuck you, but I never will. I will always be remembered alongside my father, and the bitter truth is, nobody will ever speak out against him, not even those who know the truth. They will sit in the interviews and call him a legend, and I'll be forced to endure it silently.

Well, fuck that.

I'm not that little girl anymore. I know more now, and I have a voice .

They don't get to make him the martyr and me the villain in my own life.

They don't get to pull apart my past and make me relive it without giving truth to everything I went through.

I can't breathe as I watch Westie discuss more details about it, something they never even asked my permission for. Don't they need that?

All the pain, anger, and hopelessness I have tried so hard to run from consumes me until I crawl back onto the couch and bury my head there.

How can they do this to me?

Isn't surviving it once enough?

I stare at the screen until it cuts out, and I still stare at the blank, empty space.

They ruined me. They broke me.

I have nothing but rot and darkness within my soul, and one day, it will consume me. Even the doctors feared what lived inside me long before they gave it a name, and it all started with them, with him, and those are the thoughts that chase me into waking nightmares.

The room spins, the bottle of amber liquid sloshing in my hand as I fall into the booth. The party is in full swing, and faces blur before me, including some of the biggest names in the world. I hear laughter and moans, and it all blurs.

My arms shake, and my skin is sweaty. I know I shouldn't be doing this.

I know this isn't right, but no one cares.

No one even noticed me here, trying to hide away with alcohol clutched in my hand. My father is somewhere in the party, celebrating another award win. His band is with him as they fuck and shoot up, leaving me to the circling sharks. Even in my own home, I'm not safe. I tried hiding in my room, but it didn't work. In fact, it only made it worse. There was nowhere to escape to then, no company to help me. No, it's better to be here, surrounded by people, even if that means I have to accept the bottles they hand me .

I should have stayed at Kayla's, but I think her mom is getting suspicious and slightly sick of me.

All I want is to be left alone to do my homework in peace. I have an essay due tomorrow, and I really want to pass to prove to all the snobby kids at that elitist school that I'm as smart as they are and that I didn't get in on my father's name alone.

But no.

When the crowd parts and he comes toward me, I know tonight will be no different than the others.

"There she is, our favorite girl!" Westie shouts, needle marks showing on his arms. He always gets sloppy and overly touchy when he's high. My father either doesn't notice or doesn't care, and I don't know which is worse. "I wondered where you were hiding. Have a drink, princess." He thrusts another bottle at me. "We are celebrating."

"She's too young," someone comments as they pass, but they don't intervene, like it's a joke.

"Nah, our princess is mature for her age, aren't you?" He grins as he slides in next to me, his legs coming up to block my exit on the other side, not that I can get my body to move. "Do you want to feel as good as I do, princess?"

"No, I'm okay." I force the words out, hoping he'll leave me alone tonight.

"Oh, come on, don't be boring. Your dad said you could. Besides, we are celebrating!" He pulls out the baggie and wipes off the table, starting to lay it out.

Most girls my age are worried about boys and the dance that's coming up.

My worry is that one day, they are going to push too much into my system and I won't wake up.

I don't want it, I don't like the feeling of being high, but if I say no, he won't stop there. I try anyway, even as he cuts the line.

"No, Westie, I'm okay. I'm tired, and I have to be up early for school — " I gasp as his hand grips the back of my head. His expression is mean now, and I swallow out of fear, trying to shrink away from him as he leans in, the stench of alcohol on his breath overwhelming me.

"Didn't we teach you that it's rude to say no, princess? Don't embarrass us or your dad like that." He forces my head toward the table and shoves the rolled-up bill into my hand. When I hit it back, he smashes my head into the table. "Don't make me mad, princess. I'm celebrating."

Tears crowd my eyes as I fight against his hand, but it's no use. Despite him being high, he's stronger than me. They all are, and they always have been. I'm just too skinny, too weak, and too young. The attention was once flattering when I was younger. I was their princess, their girl, their daughter when every girl my age wanted it, but as I grew up, it all changed, and now I hate it.

I would give anything for a normal life, a normal upbringing, with a father who loved and protected me.

I snort the line, hating the feeling and hating his hand as his hold softens in my hair.

"Good princess." His hand slips lower, and revulsion twists my insides. This time, I snort the line on my own, wanting to be numb . . . wanting to forget whatever they are going to do to me tonight.

I jerk awake with a scream. So many memories crowd my head, it hurts. My hands clamp down on my ears as I scream, tears falling down my cheeks.

No, no, no, no.

They aren't here. I'm safe. They aren't here. I'm safe.

I repeat it as I run through all the grounding techniques I know, but it doesn't help. The darkness reaches for me, trying to swallow me whole, and something tells me if it gets me tonight, it will be the end.

Rolling from the couch, I crawl from the dark, empty room, searching for something, anything to cling to. I need something to anchor me in this world so I don't fall into the darkness where my memories haunt me. My head lifts, and out of the window, I spy the lights on in Kage's mansion.

Without conscious thought, I drag myself to my bare feet and stumble out of my front door, my entire focus on the lights. If I can get there, I'll be safe. The darkness won't reach me.

My silk nightdress whips around my bare legs as I clamber through the gap he created in the wall, thankful for it right now. Ignoring my stinging feet, I run and stumble to the front door. My heart pounds as fear nips at my heels.

I crash into the door with desperate, clumsy hands, struggling to grab the doorknob. It opens, and I fly inwards. It's unlocked. I look around with panicked, unseeing eyes before scrambling for the stairs.

"Kage." It's a croak.

Was I screaming in my sleep?

Gripping the banister, I drag myself up the steps on shaky legs, crying the entire time. "Kage," I call louder. "Kage!" It's a sorrowful scream as I reach the top and collapse. "Kage, Kage, Kage, Kage."

"Sweetheart?" There's a bang, and then I'm lifted into solid, safe arms. "Fallon, look at me. What happened?" he asks, holding my head up. He runs his hands over me in panic. "Fallon."

I focus on his eyes as the darkness ebbs away from his light. "Nightmares," I rasp, knowing he won't stop until he knows. "I need you."

He blows out a breath, holding me closer. "I'm here." He kisses my head, warming my skin with that one touch. "I'm here, sweetheart." I close my eyes as he carries me deeper into the house, his arms my safety net. Suddenly, I'm lying on something soft, and I startle, reaching for him in my panic, but he slides in next to me, pulling me into his arms. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe. You're safe." He repeats it until I'm breathing again. "That's it, sweetheart, breathe for me." Something warm tucks around me. "You're freezing."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I whisper. "I couldn't see a way out, and then I saw your lights on and I just . . . I just thought if I could get here, I would be safe. I'm sorry."

"Don't you ever be sorry. I'm glad you came," he replies, holding me tightly.

"It tried to get me. "

"What did, sweetheart?"

"The darkness," I whisper.

"Shh, I won't let the darkness get you," he promises.

"It already did," I admit. "It got me, Kage, and I'm so fucking lost."

"I know, but I'm here now. You're safe, and I won't let you wander alone," he promises. "Now just breathe for me and let the light soak back in."

I don't know how he knew I needed that, but I do, and I sink into his warmth. The light of the room burns against my eyelids, chasing away the last of the lingering memories and thoughts. I'm not a fool, I know what happened in my past will never go away, but I hoped one day it would get easier.

I was wrong. It only seems to get harder.

I have been told I need to deal with it, to find the trauma that stalks me and confront it, but I can't. I couldn't ever speak the truth to the array of doctors I saw. I just lied and lied and lied until it became second nature . . . until I even believed the lies.

I'm okay. I'm always okay.

I don't know how long we lie here, him holding me, protecting me, until I force myself to sit up, ashamed and empty once more. I go to slide off the bed, but he captures my hand and sits me on the bottom.

"Let me look at your feet." Before I can protest, he drops to his knees on the floor and lifts my feet, checking them with a sad smile. "Just some small cuts, nothing that can't be fixed, sweetheart. Nothing I can't fix if you let me," he murmurs, and I know he means more than my wounds.

He can't though. Can't he see that? Nobody can.

I watch with sad eyes as he carefully lifts each foot and washes them before applying ointment and then wrapping them in big, warm socks that reach mid-calf.

"Your door was unlocked," I murmur numbly. It's always like this after one of my storms—numbness, nothing, until I don't even feel connected to this world—but when he meets my eyes, electricity fires through me, making me feel again .

"It will always be unlocked just in case you need me. It will never be locked, not to you," he promises as he picks up my hand and kisses it. "You were okay when I left you. Was it just a nightmare?"

I know I have a choice. I could lie once more or I could accept the helping hand. I could let someone in. I'm starting to think I can't do this all alone.

"I saw an interview . . . . They are doing a docuseries on my father and his life." I choke back a bitter laugh, blinking the tears away. "It was all buried with him, and it never truly left me, but I could handle it. Seeing that brought everything to the surface." I meet his gaze and confirm what he probably already suspects. "My father wasn't a good man. I didn't have a good childhood, and now they are going to play it everywhere. It will be a lie, and I just felt like it was making me helpless again, like I was back then, hiding the truth and forcing me to lie like I did for all those years."

He's quiet for a moment, and I'm worried about what he will say and what he will think of me now.

Will he still want me?

"So what do you want, Fallon? What do you want to do? Tell me and I'll help you. I'll do anything. Just say it, sweetheart. We'll regain your power, your voice, just tell me," he begs, anger and determination in his eyes, and it's what gives me the strength to speak again.

"I want the world to know the truth. If the world wants the dirty details, then they can have them, even if it ruins me. For once in my life, I don't want to be a liar. I want to tell the truth, the entire truth. I want to open my wounds and let them feast on them. I want . . . I want to riot. I want to fucking tear them all to pieces. I want them to pay."

He doesn't ask how or why, but he kisses my hand before he leans up, cupping my cheeks. "Then that's what we'll do."