Page 97 of Fun and Games

"If you were listening in, then you already know what went down." A sour lump sat heavily in my stomach.

Cerise nodded carefully.

"I don't want to assume anything," she said. "But can I ask you… Have you ever listened to any of my songs?"

It was a complete non sequitur. I stared at her.

"I write from the heart," she said. "Most of my songs tell a story." She gave me a sad smile. "Do you know what stories I used to tell?"

"No," I said.

"They were stories of grief," she said. "Stories of loss." Cerise brought a hand up and picked at the edge of a red nail, not looking at me. "I lost someone I loved in a terrible, violent way."

I started, eyes wide.

"I thought I'd carry that pain with me forever," she continued. "The only way to deal with my feelings was to write about it. To put that pain and sorrow into my music."

"Did it help?" I asked as I rubbed at my red and stinging eyes.

"If I didn't have music, I think the grief would have torn me apart from the inside," she replied. "And even then, it took years before I was able to really heal and move on." She took her attention away from her nails to look at me. "But I did," she said. "I healed. I moved on."

"How?" I asked, a single hiccup escaping my raw throat.

Her eyes went distant, thoughtful. I thought maybe she wouldn't continue. I thought maybe she had no answer for me.

Maybe there was no answer to be had at all.

"I think I just realized something," she finally said. "It wasn't so much that I was still grieving, although I was. There was something more to it than that. Something bigger." She looked up, staring at the twinkling stars above us. "I was scared."

Scared.

That single word rang in my ears like a low, resonant bell.

Scared.

I took in a slow, shuddering breath. I ran my palms over my cheeks, wiping away the tears. My face was warm and sticky. The collar and sleeves of my shirt were damp.

"I really like your songs," I told Cerise.

She looked at me, taken aback, then let out a chuckle.

"Thanks," she said. "I don't write as many sad songs anymore. Some fans don't like the new style. They want the old music back. But people change. We grow. We become better versions of ourselves, I think."

We stood there, side by side, leaning against the grimy alleyway building. I stared up at the evening sky. The moon was bright, reflected light from the sun shining down on us.

I closed my eyes, Cerise's words echoing in my ears.

Scared.

Thirty-Seven

The laptop'sharsh glow cut through darkness as I opened the lid. I squinted and shielded my eyes until I could lower the brightness. The bedroom's curtains were drawn closed, blocking the rising sun's light from streaming in. I needed complete blackness to sleep.

I hadn't slept, though. Not yet. I'd laid on the bed all night, staring at the ceiling, mind chasing thought after thought, reliving the events of the previous few days.

The sound of the apartment door slamming.

Mason's green eyes, narrowed in hurt and anger.