Page 59 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
When she’s gone, I sit there for another moment in the empty dining room. The silence presses against my eardrums until I hear the blood rushing through my head.
“To me, she was already gone.”
The words echo in my mind as I push back from the table and leave the dining room.
My legs feel heavy as I climb the stairs to my bedroom. Scratch that. My whole body feels heavy.
I close my bedroom door and lean against it, staring at the unfamiliar space. The chunky wood around the bed. The worn,antique furniture. Nothing here is really mine, except Ellie. I half-smile at the stuffed blue elephant near my pillow.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out and find a new text from Jill.“Haven’t heard back from you in a while. You okay?”
My thumb hovers over the screen.
I should respond. Should tell her... what? That my aunt barely wanted to take me in? That she won’t talk about my mom? That there are secrets I’ll never understand?
I set the phone down on the nightstand without replying.
What would I even say? How do I explain any of this?
I change into pajamas, brush my teeth, and wash my face. Go through all the motions, hoping it’ll bring on sleep faster.
But when I climb into bed, sleep won’t come.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling’s peeling paint, and my mind replays dinner over and over.
“To me, she was already gone.”
Twelve years. Mom and Miranda didn’t speak for twelve years. And now I’ll never know why. Never understand what broke them apart so completely that even death didn’t soften it.
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin, and hug Ellie.
The house is too quiet, too big, and too empty.
I reach for my phone again, knowing I shouldn’t.
Knowing it’s probably a bad idea.
I open my browser anyway and find the clip. The one I watched that first night here when I couldn’t sleep. When everything felt overwhelming and impossible.
Sky Chaos on The Jameson Late Show.
My finger hovers over the play button.
Part of me says don’t. Don’t watch it. Don’t think about Ryder, or the band, or any of it.
But I press play anyway.
My heart zings to the imperfection of the opening guitar riff. My shoulders relax as the drums and bass join in. Then Ryder’s voice has me finally settling against the pillow. Raw, intense, and somehow vulnerable all at once.
I close my eyes and let the music wash over me.
It shouldn’t comfort me. Not when everything about being here is complicated. Not when Ryder has actively made my life harder at every turn.
But it does.
The music drowns out my thoughts, fills the silence, and makes me feel like I have company even though I’m more alone than I’ve ever been.
