I’ve been laid up in bed for several days now, neglecting everything in my life. Jax is losing his ever loving mind and everything inside of me is dying over the neglect I’ve shown him. He deserves so much more from me. I just… can’t.
I’m not eating. The idea of sleep is a joke. It’s a weird feeling to be so restless and so bone deep exhausted at the same time. I can’t even pull myself out of this fluffy hotel bedding to change my clothes. I’m safe here. Physically at least. My mental state is another story altogether.
Mamma and Papa are worried, but ultimately told me to take care of myself first and let them know when I’m available to come back. Or if I need them—whichever comes first.
The Reckless Sin group chat is a nightmare since none of them know where I am and I’m not responding. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already kicked my door down by now back at home. It’s not fair what I’m doing to them. I know this. I feel the despair and worry in every word of every message they send. It’s a physical impossibility to check my voicemail. I’d die if I heard it in their voices, what I’m doing to them.
The real kicker is that I got a text from Oscar. That mean old bastard doesn’t text and I fucking love him for making the effort. It’s how I know I’ve been missing in action for far too long. I made sure to let him know that I was okay, just not feeling my best. It’s so far from the truth, my stomach burned with acid as I sent the message.
My mom was borderline hysterical with the way our phone call went but I placated her with a text saying that I was all right and just needed time to digest things. Also to please not stress or blame herself that I’m having a tough time coping with the knowledge of spending the last eight years believing things to be so wrong. The last thing I can handle is dealing with my mom spiraling right now too. She didn’t love what I was saying but she couldn’t argue. I’m a grown ass woman taking a timeout in a random hotel in Manhattan, New York. I spent my own money and no one is likely to find me unless they hire a private investigator, which is highly unlikely given that I’ve not gone missing with zero contact. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true for everyone.
How shitty am I for that? Entirely. Even worse, I'm so close to their hotel I could practically throw a stone from here to there. They’d be pissed to know I’m right under their noses. I suck for thinking so selfishly. If I could just figure out how to fucking breathe through it all, I’d put my feelings on the backburner. The problem is that I’m suffocating. My life is in shambles and there’s no air here, not where I’m living—in the worst, most dark parts of my brain.
Not gonna lie, I hate it here.
The tears have come and gone, then come back again. The hysteria cycles through whenever I think of this psycho who thinks it’s fun to message me stalkerish things. I’ve blocked the number after this last threat. At first I brushed it off as someone playing a joke. A sick joke that creeped me out, sure, but a joke, nonetheless. A classmate, maybe? A rando messaging me for a Tik Tok? Hell, even a crazed fan of my dad would make sense.
I don’t know. All I can say is that they crossed a line by threatening my guys. So, while it pains me to do it, I’ve left them on read while they freak out over why I’ve ghosted them again. It won’t be forever. I just wish I could tell them that. I refuse to risk their safety in the meantime though.
I’m hoping that once I finally gain the courage to get out of this hotel bed and stop the seemingly endless cycle of paranoia, agitation, and manic depression, that I’ll be able to go to my dad’s place here in the city and finally have a talk with him. I know he’s here because my mom said she called him to let him know what happened and they both decided to come stay in New York for the foreseeable future. At least until I’m ready to talk through things and face my issues head on.
Apparently all it takes to bring my family back together is me having a nervous breakdown.
Fucking cool.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dexter DeLacey
Somethingisverywrong.Ainsley has been missing for over a week now. She’s gone without a trace.Again. Only this time I’m old enough to do something about it. She’s not getting away again. I’m not sure what happened. We’ve spent the last several weeks relearning each other, making love and making music. It’s been a dream come true.
“I think if you sing it in a minor key instead, it’ll give you more of the angsty vibe you’re going for with these lyrics. The song is about lust and passion, but also about longing and anticipation. It’s about the build up to something wild and explosive,” I say through the microphone synced to the loudspeaker in her music room.
I’m manning the production booth, to help her cut this track for one of her classes. Luckily, she’ll own the rights to the song because it’s money. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s number one on the charts if I can talk her into joining the band for real and dropping it on our album.
“You think?” Her nose scrunches up in that adorable way that I love.
“I do. Sing it again and let me show you what I mean.”
When she’s done she makes her way into the sound booth and takes over and I trade her places. Once I have the headphones on I say, “okay, now play that back and record me.” I don’t sing much, just offering harmonies that will perfect the chorus and add in a couple runs at the bridge. With me coming in from the top and her from the bottom, it changes the song dramatically and when I finish, I see tears streaming down her face.
She loves it. Thank God.
“It’s better than I ever imagined. What made you think to do that?”
“It was easy. I just imagined that this song was us and everything fell into place.”
“I think you might be perfect,” she tells me, looking at me with hearts in her eyes. I’ll seriously never get enough of that look.
“Perfect for you,” I say, kissing her deeply.
And I know in my heart that nothing could ever be more true.
“Any word on where she is?” Cyan asks, snapping his fingers in my face when I’m unresponsive for too long.
“Not yet,” I sigh. “I’m honestly a lot less worried aboutwhereshe is and far more concerned aboutwhyshe’s gone. What made her leave in the first place, man? Because I keep replaying our last moments with her and they were so good.”
“Maybe it had nothing to do with us. Has anyone tried calling her dad? Fuck, I’d even give calling her mom a shot at this rate.”
