Falls in love with music.
For the hundredth time.
Or the first time.
I’m not sure which.
twenty-seven
I haven’t checkedtheir social media accounts since yesterday morning, when I posted a brief apology to the fans for the abrupt end of the tour with promises of future announcements to come.
Most of the comments on the posts are supportive, but there are a few Ben Gatlin fans who are raging and placing the blame on Jesse and Ever. Thicker Than Water fans aren’t having it. It’s an all-out war that I’m doing my best to de-escalate.
Next, I search hashtags. The number of new videos emerging from Saturday night hasn’t increased, but the number of shares has grown exponentially. Everyone has their hot take on what happened. Most condemning Ben. There are videos of Ben’s rant, some long and others shortened to only capture his words directed at Hannah. There are videos of the punch. One is grainy, and the caption questions whether he connected, accusing me of theater and taking a fall. Another is edited and loops the contact in fast succession, so I look like a punching bag. And then there’s the footage of Ever screaming threats at Ben and fighting the grip of the men holding him back. Thecomments on these posts are all over the place, but I’m seeing a lot of fire emojis.
The things I’d let this man do to me.
Feral Ever? I. Am. Dead.
Every time an Ever screams, an angel gets herwingspanties soaked.
Is it just me or is this video three hours long?
I’d know that scream anywhere. THIS IS RAVEN!
And that’s where I stop reading. TheRaven? From Treachery’s Riot? The logical part of me immediately dismisses it, but the curious bitch who can’t leave well enough alone scrolls until I find the next Ever video. There are more Raven comments. But the one that really gets me is a comparison video of Ever’s scream side-by-side with a Raven scream.
This can’t be true.
Raven cannot be in my fucking house.
In my life.
In my bed.
I’m a massive Treachery’s Riot fan and have been since the first EP released. I listen to their albums on repeat. I watch live concert videos like they’re porn because Raven, even masked and fully clothed, is undeniably sexy. The raw emotion, the screams, the lyrics, the guitar, and his stage presence are a glimpse directly into his soul. One minute vulnerable, the next vengeful—the push and pull elemental. The performance isn’t gentle; it’s a battle. And then there’s the sheer size of the man. He towers over everyone else on stage. I know I’m not alone when I say the combination is erotic as hell.
He did say he was hiding something. Is this it?
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about this. I know we haven’t known each other long, and we don’t know much about each other, but this feels like something big to omit and not share. Or trust me with. I wrestle that against the fact that Raven’s identity has never been revealed and has been closely guarded. No one knows who he is.
I hate confrontation, but if failed relationships have taught me anything, it’s that I need to communicate. In the past, I either checked out when things got complicated or serious, or, like I did with Chance, I never opened myself up at all. Confrontation leads to arguments, and arguments require compromise, and compromise requires self-awareness, and self-awareness requires a hard look at why I am the way I am. And…nope.
I type a text to Ever.
I’m going for a walk. We need to talk when I get back.
I hesitate. Erase the message. Re-type the message. Hesitate again. And then finally hit send.
I’m on the back patio, and everyone else is inside recording the baking video for Mabel and Lola’s channel, so I leave through the side gate.
It’s hot today, high eighties and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s a weekday afternoon, so the neighborhood is quiet, except for the occasional sounds of kids playing in backyards I pass.
Without giving it much thought, I walk for what must be thirty minutes until I find myself standing in front of the house I grew up in. I avoid this street and haven’t been here in almost fifteen years. It looks different. Back then, the colors of theoutside world muted the closer I got to home, until only black and white remained when I walked in the front door.
Two parents.
One angry, one sad.
