Her flinch and cowering replayed in my head on a loop. Those eyes that had stared up at me like I held the keys to the universe were clouded with fear and the need to escape.

I turned and walked away.

“Dare?”

I didn’t look back. I raced out of the building and into my car. My tires squealed as I peeled out of the parking lot.

The way the guitar splintered in my hand. It all came flooding back to me as penance for my crimes. As punishment for what I’d done. I could see every excruciating second, and the look on her face.

I flung open the door to my car and puked up nothing but bile.

How could I fix this? Fix the unfixable?

36

Bay

He was a wild raging force of destruction and I’d been his target. He splintered the wood. My father’s guitar lay in pieces after he stormed out of the room.

I’d clutched at my chest, the tears coming down so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. If I’d passed out, I didn’t remember, but I unfroze from my spot in the corner of the room and walked to the crime scene he’d left behind.

Crouching, I picked up the pieces with trembling fingers and cradled the remains like they were a dying creature. But it was already gone, and no CPR could bring it back. The neck and body were splintered, almost shattered. Slivers of wood stabbed at my palm. Tears flowed down my cheeks, soaking the broken guitar. The instrument of my destruction.

On the other side of the wall, the music died down and the muted laughter and applause ripped me from the haze of ruin.

Gathering up the pieces, I walked all the way home with them in my arms.

Numb and unable to process what happened, I needed my bed. I needed my house. I needed my mom. And my dad.

I broke down again. With each step, memories of Dare assailed me. I passed the place where I’d fallen off my bike and he’d held out his hand and given me a ride home. Where he’d helped my mom by pushing her car. Where I’d given him that glass of lemonade and he’d smiled, making my knees weak.

The wood bit into my palms. I shifted and a splinter slid into my skin. Wincing, I stared at the broken instrument. Almost none of it was recognizable. It was beyond repair. There wasn’t a single intact piece to build from. He’d demolished it.

He’d demolished me. I’d been so worried about fixing him, but I should’ve been preparing to fix myself when he shattered me. Cruel. Violent. Vicious.

I feared my choking sobs would drown me. My fingers wouldn’t unlock from the beaten corpse of the guitar. Staring at the shattered pieces made the tears come even harder. It had been his. The spots on the fret board where my dad’s fingers had run across the metal with the inlaid mother of pearl had still been visible. But now it wasn’t an instrument. Now it was another body I had to lay to rest. My fingers trembled as I put the remnants of the guitar into the trash.