Page 193 of Composed
I thread my fingers through his, watching the swaying curtain as my vision swims.
The boxes I tucked away in my mind crack open one by one.
The memories, the choices, the missed life. All of it swells inside of me, building like a haunting crescendo before smashing into a thousand pieces and tearing through every defence I’ve ever made.
Silent sobs rack my body.
I cry for the girl I was, the girl I never got to be, and the woman I became—the woman who locked her dreams away and dulled herself because she believed she wasn’t worthy enough to shine.
Cole squeezes me closer.
I twist in his arms, curl my arms around him, and bury my face into his chest. He says nothing, just holds on tight as I fall.
Chapter sixty-one
Hendrix • Then
Centuries – Fall Out Boy
Twenty Years Old
“Mercibeaucoup,”Isay,the B I got in French finally coming in handy.
The guy sitting in the box office hands over my ticket. He mumbles something in response and waves me on my way, already calling for the next person in line.
I tuck the ticket between my teeth as I snatch up my backpack and hook it over my shoulders. The thing weighs a fucking ton. It’s filled with clothes, an extra pair of shoes, my passport and travel documents.
If only I’d had the foresight to book a hotel before getting onto the Eurostar.
Music blares through the lobby.
I draw in a slow breath and force my feet to move.
A security guard scans my ticket, peels off one side, and ushers me into the darkened auditorium.
Strobe lights bounce off the walls, ghosting over the waiting crowd. I dip through the bodies at the back, and find a spot against the wall.
I dig my phone out of my pocket, and pull up my texts, only to lock it and shove it away.
It’s been a few weeks since I’ve spoken to Theo, Axel, Carter, and Saint. They’ve texted a couple times, but I haven’t found the words to respond. Not sure what I can say, really.
Cole checks in daily, but our texts are becoming less frequent, our calls barely lasting more than a couple minutes at a time.
It fucking hurts, but I know it’s for the best. He’s happy on this tour. Thriving with his friends while they travel Europe and make a name for themselves.
I tuck myself against the far wall, drop my bag between my legs, and drag my hoodie over my head, tucking my hair beneath it.
Tapping my foot, I lace my fingers together in my pocket.
The crowd presses closer to the barrier when a low hiss crackles through the air.
I close my eyes.
An all-too-familiar riff sounds, shredding my chest as Saint strums his strings.
My heart thunders, beating in time with Carter’s snare drum.
Axel plucks his bass in perfect harmony, rounding the sound, and flooding the room.
