“Oh, and Eloise? If youeversee Riot Arden again, I will make you both pay. Just remember that.”
I listen to his footsteps retreating up the stairs, the pressure behind my eyes heightening. But no matter how much I want to, how much my body screams for it, I do not cry.
I can’t.
With nothing else to do, I grab a toothbrush, a bucket, and a sponge from the kitchen, then head back to the basement to clean the keys, like I used to when I was younger and this was a regular occurrence.
The monotonous task lulls me into a sense of calm, and I allow muscle memory to take over, letting my mind wander to happier times.
As I clean, I’m vaguely aware of loud hammering coming from upstairs as Dave nails all the windows in the house shut. It makes me feel hopeless. Useless and frail.
I want to be different—to stand up to him. To run away.
But I can’t. I’m stuck here. Stuck in this place, with this horrible, evil man.There’s nothing to do, no way to stop his abuse. If I ran away, Dave would call the police, telling them I had a psychotic break and convince them I’m a danger to myself. They would track me down and throw me in a psych ward—something I know from experience—andthatis so much worse than this.
There’s nothing I can do but bear it.
I fall asleep at the foot of the piano, too tired to make the trek up to my room. And in my sleep, I dream of Riot, and his fingers moving skillfully over his guitar. I dream of his smile, so free and full of life, and his eyes—gazing down at me like I’m the only woman in the world.
The fantasy helps me make it to the morning.
26
Riot
It’s been a week,and I haven't heard from Eloise. She missed her lesson again and hasn’t responded to a single one of my texts or calls. I’ve stopped by her secret beach hideout dozens of times, but there’s been no trace of her—even her beloved Murten’s bowl has remained empty. I’ve taken the liberty to fill it whenever I stop by, but when I catch sight of the fluffy orange cat, my worry for Eloise grows.
A small part of me is concerned she’s avoiding me because she regrets sleeping together, but the larger half—the logical one—believes it’s something more nefarious.
I’m terrified that Dave found out about us, about me, and that he’s keeping her locked up in that house like a prisoner. The longer I go without word from her, the deeper I descend into madness, spiraling into a darkness that only Eloise’s touch could pull me out of.
I gaze down at the phone in my hand, thumb hovering over the Buy Now button. Eloise has a showing tomorrow in Neon Valley, and though I know it’s best to stay away—to let her come to me—I just can’t. I have to see her. I need to know she’s safe.
I buy the ticket, hoping I don’t regret it.
I sit in the Neon Valley Concert Hall, the buzz of the packed auditorium rising, adding to the pressure building behind my eyes. Just like the last time, every single seat has sold out, and I’m just as out of place in the crowded hall.
I run my tongue over my lip rings, searching the wings for a sign of Eloise. It’s five past the time the show was supposed to start, and the crowd is getting restless. But none are as anxious as I am.
As if my thoughts have called her, Eloise saunters onto the stage, and my heart stops at the sight of her pink hair and bright eyes. She’s dressed in a tight purple halter-style dress, backless and held aloft by a thin strap of fabric curving around her neck. The front dips low in a dramatic V, showcasing her full breasts that bounce with every measured step.
My mouth waters as my eyes trail down her frame, roaming over the sensual curve of her ass and thighs. The memory of her taste floods my senses, and a shudder runs through my body as I work to stay seated instead of rushing the stage and taking her into my arms like I want to.
Noticing her arrival, the audience rises, erupting in thunderous applause, but Eloise doesn’t seem to notice—all her attention is focused on the gorgeous Steinway sitting at the center of the stage. She sits at the bench, her eyes lowering to the keys as she takes a deep inhale. Eloise gazes up for less than a second, giving a nod to the conductor before placing her hands on the keys.
That’s all the warning I get before sound explodes into the air, filling the grand space with her music. Eloise looks beautiful—it’d be impossible to find a moment when she doesn’t—but hereyes are so profoundly sad. Sitting there, her shoulders slumped and mouth downturned, Eloise seems so broken and hopeless—nothing like the strong, vibrant woman I’ve come to know these past few months.
Cracks form in my heart as I watch her, each passing minute spreading the fissures until I’m left with a gaping chasm of anguish. I want to help her so badly, to take her away from here so she can be happy, but all I can do is sit and listen to her break.
This time, I sit through the entire performance, staying seated long after Eloise exits the stage and the crowd begins to filter out of the theater. My eyes flit to the door leading to backstage, wondering if I would be able to sneak back there without anyone noticing.
As far as I can tell, no one is guarding the area—and the crowd is so thick right now, no one would notice one person slipping into an unauthorized area.
With my mind made up, I stride toward the back of the theater, forcing my expression to remain neutral so as not to call attention to myself. I make it through the door without any problems, closing it softly behind me before making my way down a narrow, darkened hallway with doors on either side.
At the end is a dressing room with a piece of paper taped to the front, the nameEloise Marquettestanding out like taillights in the fog. I rush toward it, stopping with my fist wrapped around the handle, listening for sounds of someone approaching. When there is none, I turn the handle and burst into the room, my senses flooding with the scent of cherry blossoms and sunlight.
“Hey! You can’t be in here—?” Eloise freezes, her mouth forming a silent gasp as she meets my eyes. A myriad of emotions flicker in her sky-blue pools—shock, disbelief, fear, and finally, adoration.
