Alonzo’s POV

  Summer.

  Just a little after midnight.

  Adam was already three drinks past reckless by the time I noticed something was wrong.

  At first, it looked like the usual barely-legal birthday mess: slurred jokes, that lazy-eyed grin, leaning too hard on the bar like it might carry him home.

  Then his hand started shaking.

  Not drunk shaking.

  Something’s-wrong shaking.

  His eyes unfocused. Not looking at us anymore… looking past us. Through us. Somewhere else.

  Then panic, fast and quiet.

  He stood so suddenly the stool clattered over, stumbling back like he was trying to escape something only he could see.

  His breath caught.

  His hand clamped on his neck.

  Not nausea.

  Not dizziness.

  Like he couldn’t breathe.

  David caught him before he hit the floor.

  I’ve never seen anyone cradle someone that big so gently. Adam’s taller than both of us, but in David’s arms he looked… Small. Shaking. Gone.

  We got him outside: David on one side, me on the other.

  His weight dragged between us like a sack of bricks wired to blow, and every time he whimpered, my stomach pulled tighter.

  The night air slapped us.

  Somewhere behind, the bar door thudded shut.

  David crouched beside him on the curb, one arm locked across Adam’s chest, keeping him upright.

  Adam’s head tilted sideways.

  His breathing stuttered, like his lungs had forgotten how to work.

  Then I heard him whispering. Barely. Fragments.

  “S-she used to hum it. After… When she… cleaned me up…”

  David froze.

  Adam’s chest jerked with the next breath.

  “She’d press it so tight… Over my mouth… Whole roll... Said I scared her… when I screamed…”

  David’s hand tightened, grounding him, voice low with something I couldn’t hear.

  “Said I was lucky... That she loved me enough to fix me…”

  His voice cracked.

  Dry, no tears.

  “I tried to breathe… so hard…”

  I took a step back, fists locking.

  I shouldn’t have heard any of that.

  But I did.

  And once it’s in, you can’t unhear it.

  We got him home.

  ***

  On David’s couch, Adam curled in on himself and passed out like his body had finally dropped what his mind couldn’t.

  David covered him with a blanket.

  Touched his shoulder once. Stayed there.

  “I know something happened to him,” I said finally.

  David didn’t look at me. Just kept his eyes on Adam, like if he blinked, he’d lose him.

  “I’ve seen it,” I pushed on. “Last year. Before the tats. His neck. The missing nails. I didn’t want to pry but… I saw.”

  Still nothing.

  “That, tonight? That wasn’t just drunk. He wasn’t here anymore. He left.”

  David’s jaw flexed. “He does that sometimes. When he’s overwhelmed.”

  “Flashbacks?” I asked. Lower now. “PTSD?”

  A slow nod.

  I leaned back, heart pounding. “Who did it?”

  Finally, he looked at me.

  “Someone who’s not going to touch him again.”

  Flat. Cold. Enough.

  That told me plenty.

  He didn’t owe me more. But maybe he saw it in my face, my fists, my jaw… Because after a beat he said,

  “It was bad. Worse than I can explain without… making you hate the world.”

  “I already do,” I said. And meant it.

  We sat in the quiet.

  Adam shifted in his sleep, a low groan breaking through. David leaned forward, ready to catch him if he fell.

  And I thought…

  This guy’s not just surviving. He’s carrying it.

  And David’s been carrying him.

  That night, I made myself a promise I didn’t tell anyone.

  I looked at Adam: his brow still creased like he was bracing for impact, and I swore:

  Whatever broke him?

  Nothing like it will ever touch him again.

  Not on my watch.

  He doesn’t know it yet. But I got his back.

  For good.

  And if anyone even thinks about hurting him again…

  I’ll be the last face they see.

  DREAM SEQUENCE | Adam’s POV (Trigger Alert: Violence)

  I can’t feel my arms or hands. My legs won’t work. My whole body is numb.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  Warm water.

  A soft cloth.

  The scent of Violet and Clove soap.

  Mida thinks it makes her seem unique.

  For me, it’s the scent of smiling danger.

  She hums. Sweet, off-key. The same melody every time.

  A lullaby soaked in syrup.

  I try to speak.

  My mouth won’t move.

  Something’s over it. Taut. Sticky.

  Tape.

  There’s something in my mouth.

  Foul.

  Breath hits the barrier and comes back wrong: shallow, hot, wet.

  She hums louder.

  “You’re so lucky I love you enough to fix you,” she says, like it’s bedtime. Like I should be grateful.

  Her cloth dabs my skin. Sponge in one hand, my chin in the other.

  Gentle touch. Nails digging in.

  “So messy,” she tsks, as if the blood was my fault.

  Water trickles over my shoulder. Over my ribs.

  I jerk. Try to turn away.

  Her fingers clamp my neck.

  “Shhh,” she whispers.

  The tape stays.

  The cloth moves lower.

  A splash hits my face. Up my nose.

  I choke, gagging through my throat. My mouth sealed.

  Can’t breathe.

  Can’t.

  She tilts her head, mock-concerned.

  “Oh no. Is it a little hard to breathe?”

  Her nose brushes mine. “You poor thing.”

  Then, playfully…

  She pinches my nose shut.

  Seconds stretch.

  Tape. Cloth. fingers. No air.

  No air.

  My body thrashes.

  Her laugh cuts through the ringing in my ears.

  “See? I can teach you silence.”

  The dream blurs, vision flashing white.

  Her voice, sweet and slow like rot, still threads through my thoughts like a promise meant to strangle:

  “Soon, even your voice will know better than to cry for help.”

  ***

  I wake choking. Gasping.

  Still tasting soap and blood that aren’t there.

  Air drags in ragged.

  My throat locks halfway.

  My mouth is open but useless.

  The scream’s still stuck in my ribs.

  Arms close around me.

  “Adam. Adam. You’re here. You’re safe.”

  David’s voice.

  Not hers.

  I flinch anyway.

  My body doesn’t trust.

  My fingers claw at the blanket, searching for an exit, for oxygen, for proof I’m not still in that bathtub with my airways sealed and her lullaby in my skull.

  “Look at me, baby brother. You’re out. No one can touch you.”

  I try, but the dream clings like static.

  My chest heaves too fast. My jaw trembles.

  David cups the back of my head, his hand shaking.

  “You’re not there anymore,” he whispers, over and over, like if he says it enough it’ll rewrite the memory.

  “Breathe. You’re here, and I got you.”

  I pull air in like it might betray me.

  My ribs ache.

  My skin feels too tight.

  “She’s gone,” David breathes, forehead pressed to mine now. “And I’m not. I’m right here.”

  Something inside me gives… Not a crack but a collapse.

  Like breath folding in on itself, like a voice forgetting it was ever allowed to exist.

  I press my face into his shoulder and start to cry.

  Not from fear. Not from pain.

  From the unbearable relief of being held by someone who never once made me scream.

  A few months earlier | David’s POV

  I used to think music would save him.

  Not in the soft, poetic way people mean.

  I mean literally.

  Like oxygen.

  Like morphine.

  Like the thin wire between him and the fall.

  He barely speaks.

  Hardly leaves the house.

  Won’t eat unless I start first.

  Even asleep, his face stay tense… like he’s still bracing for the hit.

  But when he plays?

  That’s the only time he feels here.

  Not smiling. Not glowing. Just… present.

  His fingers curl around the strings like he needs them more than air.

  He closes his eyes, swaying, finding some rhythm no one else could hear.

  And I hang onto that. Hard.

  Because it feels like the last thread keeping him on this side of the world.

  So I hunt drummers like my life depends on it.

  Because maybe it does.

  Because his does.

  Eight auditions. Nine.

  Every one that doesn’t fit leaves him quieter.

  Eyes darker. Shoulders lower.

  That thread getting thinner.

  And thinner.

  And thinner.

  “Maybe it’s pointless,” he said after one bailed mid-set.

  “Maybe I should stop trying to want things.”

  He didn’t say it like a threat.

  He said it like he meant it.

  Like he’d been standing at that edge for a while, just waiting for a reason to step back… Or forward.

  I sat on the amp across from him, trying to keep my face steady, trying to find words that wouldn’t sound like begging.

  Finally I said:

  “We’re not done yet. Not until it’s loud enough to drown out everything she ever said to you.”

  His eyes lifted, a quick flash of something.

  Could’ve been anger.

  Could’ve been disbelief.

  Could’ve been the smallest spark of hope.

  “She tried to silence you, right?” I pushed.

  “So we’ll scream. You’ll scream. Until the world hears it. Until we build something she could never survive in.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Just looked at me, jaw loosening a little.

  And I thought…

  If I can give him this…

  If I can make it loud enough to keep him here…

  Maybe he’ll write songs instead of a suicide note.

  Maybe he’ll bleed into strings instead of old wounds.

  His won’t be the story that ends in silence.