Page 83 of Discordant Cultivation

I’m going to help you find the rage you’re burying. I’m going to make you reach what the song needs, and I’m going to love every second of watching you burn.

“Twenty minutes,” Vale said, guiding Kieran toward the basement door with a hand on the small of his back as he whimpered and swallowed his sobs. “Just enough time to push through whatever protections you’ve rebuilt this week. Then when Eliza arrives, you’ll perform the song with the honesty it deserves, and we’re done.”

Kieran moved like someone walking toward execution, his guitar clutched against his chest like armor that wouldn’t protect him. But he moved, because they both understood that resistance would only make the lesson more intensive, more thorough, more devastating.

The basement door closed behind them with a soft click—like the first note of a song that required blood to sing properly.

24

I'll sing it though it burns my throat; Wired wrong, wired wrong, I need the things that hurt the most…

Kieran

Kieran knelt on the cold basement floor in his boxers, in complete darkness behind a soft blindfold. His skin prickled with goosebumps from cold, from fear, from the sick anticipation preceding a lesson.

“I c-can do the s-song,” Kieran pleaded with one final attempt at negotiation. “I d-don’t need—I can access the anger wi-without help. I promise.”

But even as the words left his mouth, doubt crept in. The rehearsals upstairshadfelt hollow and protected. His rage at internet strangers questioning his seizures still existed, but it had trapped itself behind walls he built years ago when showing anger might mean he would have to fight harder to exist. Those walls that protected him then were going to be the reason for his pain.

It was his fault they were there. Vale was just going to help him break them down.

Wait, what the fuck am I thinking? No, no, no…

“Enough of that,” Vale said in a way that made Kieran feel childish and small. “I know you want to try, beautiful boy. Butwe both know what happened last time you tried to perform without proper preparation.”

Something cold pressed against Kieran’s chest. He flinched.

“What is—?”

Vale’s fingers found his thigh and pinched hard enough to steal his breath. “Hold perfectly still. This requires accuracy.”

Kieran froze. What was happening to him?

“What’s the song called?” Vale asked.

“I—I don’t know.” Another cold thing pressed against his right pectoral, and he forced himself not to flinch despite every instinct screaming to see what was being attached to his body. “I haven’t n-n-named it yet—”

Vale’s palm cracked against his inner thigh. Kieran yelped, jerking sideways before he could stop himself.

“Be still,” Vale reminded him, gentle as always. “The song needs a title, doesn’t it? Something that captures the song’s theme.”

More things pressed against his skin—four pieces arranged across his abdomen in a deliberate pattern. Two more pressed against his back. Kieran could feel thin wires trailing from each spot, connecting to something he couldn’t see but could hear humming softly in the background.

“What did you st-stick to me?” Kieran asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wh-what are the wires for?”

“What’s the song called?”

His throat felt dry as sand. “Library Card,” he whispered.

“Good.” The approval warmed the air around him as Vale placed the guitar in Kieran’s trembling hands. The familiar weight should have been comforting, but so much of this lesson was new and Kieran couldn’t find a point to anchor to.

“Play it, don’t sing,” Vale instructed. “All the way through.”

“What’s attached t-to me?” Kieran asked again, his fingers resting on the opening chord positions. “I c-can feel the wires, I need to know—”

The first jolt hit his chest without warning.

A current shot through his muscles and nerves, seizing his entire torso in a spasm that stole his breath and nearly made him drop the guitar. Pain burned through his ribcage and under his skin. His teeth clenched so hard he thought they might crack.