Page 59 of Vengeful Melodies

I glance back at the guys—Bash is grinning like a devil, fingers dancing over his strings as he throws a wink at Kaiser, who leans into it with a slow, provocative roll of his hips. The crowd eats it up, screaming louder as the tension on stage bleeds into something palpable, primal. They flirt like the show is foreplay, and in a way, it is. For all of us.

But this song?This one is for Dreya.

The lights drop. Red. Raw. My chest pounds so hard I swear it’s going to crack open. I grip the mic like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world—and to her. The intro hums soft—ghostlike. My voice breaks the silence.

Dreya. Hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair wild, lips parted, standing in the wings like she’s both punishment and salvation. The crowd roars, but I don’t hear them. I hear her.

Every lyric we wrote this night, every chord, every scream—Bash, Kaiser, Alix, and me—we bled into it. We ripped ourselves open. And now, I’m performing it for her. Every note, every word, every raw confession is hers.

“I want to feel your teeth on my skin,

Taste the sin I’ve hidden in you…

Every gasp, every shiver,

A confession I can’t hold back…”

I feel her inhale. Fuck. Shefeels it. Sheknows.

Bash hisses, voice low and dark:

“I traced your spine with my tongue in dreams,

Woke with my own blood on my hands…

We wrote this in fire and need,

And you’ll feel every burn tonight.”

Kaiser rips a riff, jagged, slicing through me:

“I laid my scars bare,

Let you step on them,

Let you carve me into yours…

Every scratch, every bruise,

A map to how I want you.”

Alix slams the drums, heart and rage in every strike, echoing in my chest:

“Every beat a plea,

Every crash a scream for what we’ll never have…

And yet we want it all,

Messy, raw, yours in our hands.”

I lean into the mic, voice ragged, trembling with desire and obsession:

“I want to ruin you and be ruined in turn,

Drown in the echo of your body,

Want you to leave me broken and trembling,