Total pages in book: 195
Estimated words: 185573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 928(@200wpm)___ 742(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 928(@200wpm)___ 742(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Whoever I was before died the day I left the treatment center with a name I gave myself and not a single possession to call my own. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I soldiered on in the only way I knew how. I erected armor around me and put whatever past I may have had behind me. I didn’t need family. I didn’t need friends. And I’m not delusional enough to call Eden that. We’re companions who sometimes look out for each other. When I met her at the homeless shelter in New Orleans, she told me she grew up in foster care and aged out of the system. That shared solitude is the fragile thread that tethers us together. We have nobody else.
“Hey.” She sits down in front of me, and when I glance over my shoulder, the guy is gone. Eden pulls a small baggie of white powder from her bra and dumps it onto the back of her hand, snorting it with a rolled up piece of paper.
Tugging out my headphones, I glare at her. “Did you spend all our money?”
“Don’t worry.” She shrugs. “We’ll make more tomorrow.”
“That money was for food.” My voice rises, and I know I’m overly emotional because I’m tired, but I’m sick of her being so irresponsible.
“You know what? I can’t deal with you right now.” She jumps up and grabs her shit. “I’m going to the tunnels.”
She walks away, and I can’t help myself.
“Meet me tonight?” I call after her.
“Yeah,” she says, and then she’s gone.
I find a spot near the bushes where I sleep for a few hours before daylight stirs me back to life. I’m freezing and filthy, and I would kill for a warm cup of anything right about now. But I’ll have to settle for a sink bath in one of the casinos.
Once I get cleaned up, I wander down the Strip for a while and set up near the MGM Grand. The sun is out now, and it’s warming up, but I’m numb inside. People pass me by without a second glance. Mothers, fathers, husbands, wives. Families with children in tow. They all come and go, not sparing me a thought, and it feels like salt in the wound that lives inside me. What kind of person must I have been to have nobody who loves me? Not a single soul.
An older woman dumps a few quarters into my case. She looks nice, motherly even. That’s exactly why she should stay away from the likes of me. I’m a bad seed. A rotten apple. And at moments like these, I’m reminded of that.
I thank her, and she moves along like everyone else, leaving me alone. The way it was always meant to be.
Chapter 4
Madden
—PAST—
Sundays at the ranch are family day. Lucky for me, my family doesn’t give a fuck about visits, so I’m left to my own devices. While everyone else is having crappy picnics and doing group therapy sessions with their parents, I sneak down to the lake and play my guitar in peace. It’s the only time I can unravel the constant stream of tangled lyrics in my head.
I find the same worn-out spot beneath a tree and sit down, closing my eyes and singing the lines I’ve been working on all week. Every so often, I pause to tweak the tune and change up the words. I don’t know how I know when it’s right. It’s just a feeling. A spark of fire in my lungs. The taste of victory on my lips. I live for these moments, however fleeting they may be. Like everything else, the shine wears off in a flash, leaving the artist perpetually dissatisfied. The irony is that I live to create, but my creations keep me trapped in a hell of disappointment. I hate the whole fucking world, but once I finish my songs, they no longer belong to me. They’re for someone else. An audience I’ll never have because the thought of actually singing for anyone makes me want to puke.
Maybe it’s a lost cause, but I can’t stop the words from hijacking my brain. The urge to lay them down and organize the chaos is all I know. The lyrics keep me chained to this existence while the soundtrack of my life plays on in the background.
You’re a fuckup, Madden. A piece of shit. You’re never going to amount to anything, kid. Stay in your lane. Know your place. Keep your head down and shut the hell up.
Even from hundreds of miles away, Stefan’s voice lingers in my thoughts. So I fucking sing it again. This song. These lyrics. These feelings that live inside, buried beneath the fortress I’ve built around me. For a few moments, time is suspended as my words carry on the breeze, and I live for it. My blood electrifies, my pulse pounds, and I burn for more until nothing but the last verse remains. Then the haunting melody fades into blackness as numbness seeps into my veins.