Page 25 of Tear Me to Pieces
It’s a question I’ve successfully avoided being asked up until now. I don’t know what I would’ve told one of my brothers if they’d been the one to pose it, but I do know what I’ll give Myra. I’ll give her the truth. Because she of all people will understand it, and it might make her feel less alone.
“It’s not that I don’t like being here, I do. It’s just…difficult.” I take a deep breath, steadying myself before sharing a little bit of what I hold close. “It’s hard seeing all of them with what I should have had.”
Myra’s quiet for a minute and I let her take a second to absorb what I’ve said. It’s a lot for me to admit, and probably carries weight for her as well.
“You know, I read something a few months ago, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” She glances around before again meeting my eyes. “It said, if something is meant for you, it won’t miss you.” She swallows, the delicate line of her throat working with the action as her eyes fall. “I want to think it’s true, but some days it’s hard.”
I don’t mean to do it, but I step closer, my hands coming to the sides of her face, tipping it back until she’s looking up at me. “Itistrue.” I can’t stand the despondent look on her face. The almost hopeless edge to her words. “I just think sometimes shit takes way longer than necessary to hit us.”
As I hoped, Myra laughs, her mood lightening instantly. “I guess that could be it.”
I expect her to step away. To put space between us now that she no longer needs comfort. But Myra’s hands lift to grip my forearms, holding on as she smiles up at me. “Maybe we should put targets on our chests. See if that helps.”
I think back to her reaction to my half-dressed state yesterday morning when she showed up at my camper with the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten. “That’s not a bad idea.”
9
MYRA
I thinkI’m going to throw up. Might even do it right there on-stage, mid-song.
“You don’t look so good.” Lydia eyes me from where she sits between Piper and me at the high-top table tucked into the corner of the bar closest to the stage. “You sure you want to do this?”
In spite of the turmoil in my gut, I don’t hesitate. “Positive.”
I’ve reclaimed ownership of my body—even if that’s gone a little off the rails lately—and now it’s time to take back another piece of myself.
For a while, I felt like singing was something I’d never be able to extricate from who I was before—who I was made to be. I thought it was something I’d never get back. But fuck them. Fuck them for what they did to me. They stole my childhood, and most of my twenties. I’m not letting them take anything else.
Lydia scoots to the edge of her seat, eyes shining like she’s excited to hear me sing again. “What song did you pick?”
“I gave Christian a few options and told him he could pick.” My knowledge of popular music is a little limited since I’ve only been listening to it for a year, but I do have somewhat of a preference. It’s not what Christian and his band normally play, but I feel like it’s in the same vein, so hopefully the audience won’t mind too much. Because if I get booed...
Lydia leans one elbow on the table, propping her chin onto her hand, eyes wide. “Do you know when you’re singing? At the beginning? After the break?”
I shake my head. “I told Christian not to tell me. I think if I knew, I would work myself up in the minutes leading up to it, so having it sprung on me felt like a better option.” Now, I’m feeling a little different about that. But the decision was already made, and I have to deal with my life choices. At least they were mine to make, so I’m not complaining.
“It’s going to be crazy to hear you singing something besides religious music.” Lydia presses her lips together. “I kind of feel like I’m going to cry.”
“If you cry, I’m never talking to you again.” I’m already feeling emotional—about a lot of things. Looking out into the audience and seeing my sister with tears in her eyes will make what I’m about to do infinitely more difficult. And it’s already hard enough.
“Okay.” Lydia sucks in a deep breath through her nose, eyes closing as she blows it out. “I’m fine. I will be fine. I promise.” Her eyes open and she looks me over again, expression approving. “Did I tell you how amazing you look?”
“You did, but you can tell me again.”
I tend to dress a little edgier than Lydia. I look for any opportunity to send a giant middle finger out into the universe whenever I can, and what I wear is an easy way to do that. Tonight, I’ve got on my favorite pair of faded jeans and a pale blue shirt that’s basically just a bunch of ruffles offering a peek at my belly and a full shot of my cleavage. It covers my nipples, but leaves a large amount of skin exposed, along with a couple of the tattoos I’ve accumulated. They’re not nearly as impressive as the ones Simon sports, but the delicate line drawings covering my back and shoulders are meaningful. They remind me of the weight that used to rest there, and how much of it I’ve managed to shed. The way I’ve given up many of the burdens I was taught were mine.
The crowd around us starts to make noise, and Lydia’s eyes leave me to snap toward the stage.
I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves and my heart before doing the same thing. I know more than just singing is going to test my limits this evening, so I down what’s left of my bourbon and slowly turn to where the band is walking out.
And it’s a good thing I’ve already cleared the drink from my mouth, because I probably would have choked on it when my eyes landed on Simon. He always looks great when they perform. He usually wears black jeans and a fitted tank top that leaves his sculpted arms on view as they flex and move while he plays the drums. But tonight—for some weird reason—he’s omitted the tank top, instead striding onto stage shirtless.
My eyes are so wide they burn as I watch him make his way to the stool where he’ll spend the evening. I know I saw him just like this not long ago, but I still can’t stop myself from drinking him in. He really is ridiculously gorgeous. Dark wavy hair pushed back off his face. Skin slightly tanned. Chiseled musclesthat speak of use and strength. Hands that are warm and careful and?—
I nearly fall out of my chair when his eyes find mine. I tip back in my seat, a yelp of surprise sneaking out. Luckily no one can hear it over the droves of women surrounding me who are cheering and catcalling loud enough to smother it out.
But Simon still sees my reaction, and it has a slow smile pulling across his lips. He gives me a wink as Christian addresses the crowd, and I can feel heat creeping over my skin. Warming me from the inside out. And I know this view will be front and center in tomorrow morning’s fantasy wake-up call.
