"Would you take the wheel if I lose control? If I'm lying here will you take me home? Could you take care of a broken soul? Will you hold me now? Oh, will you take me home?" —Jess Glynne.

My dad says I am vindictive and petty but leave it to Justine Meyers to break my record.

It's not rocket science to perceive that the reason she asked Harmony to 'showcase her talent' is that she's just jealous. Her trifling antics won't erase the fact that I had politely informed her to remove herself from my groin the other day, and it definitely won't remove the fact that when I am bored of someone, it can never rewind. I find her envy amusing, but the fact that Harmony is standing at the front of the room with anxiety written all over her face deeply bothers me. I am starting to feel troubled that I forced her to come here even though she had told me that she isn't a fan of singing in front of others.

Remorse. I am guessing that's what I am currently feeling. It has been a while since I've felt this way, but I do recall what it feels like. It's the feeling I would normally get when my mom caught me doing something she would deem as 'wrong,' just before she ended up beating me to a bloody limp on the cold floor. It's that very same feeling, and I hate it. But Harmony seems to be messing with my head in many ways and this is one of them.

I should just tell her that we are leaving. If that will erase this weak emotion inside me then it's best that I depart from this damn place and never step foot in here again.

I am about to stand up and announce just that, but she opens her mouth and begins to sing, causing me to still in my spot.

~Wrapped up, so consumed by all this hurt. If you ask me, don't know where to start. Anger, love, confusion, roads that go nowhere. I know there's somewhere better. 'Cause you always take me there~

I am left breathless. The room is quiet as her soft voice fills the air, fills my eardrums, and strangely, fills my heart.

~Came to you with a broken faith. Gave me more than a hand to hold. Caught before I hit the ground. Tell me I'm safe, you've got me now. Would you take the wheel if I lose control? If I'm lyin' here will you take me home? Could you take care of a broken soul? Will you hold me now? Oh, will you take me home?~

Her eyes fall shut, and she's singing with all her emotions. My eyes are fixed on her, my fist perched over my mouth as I listen, and somewhere deep within, I feel something. And then a mental tape goes off, of one of the many moments of abuse I had undergone.

"Mama, please!"

"Put your hand up there!"

"No-no, I won't do it again, please? I won't do it again! I am sorry!"

"Put your fucking hand up there, boy!"

The person who should have protected me at such a tender age of nine, my mother, grabbed my skinny hand, forcefully attempting to press it against the hot blazing fire of the stove. But my kicking and crying made it extremely hard for her, and instead, she kicked me to the floor, using the sole of her feet to step in my chest repeatedly. And when she was tired, she went for the belt, using the iron buckle to hit me all over, red raw skin tearing under her gruesome act. The pain was unbearable for a child to have undergone. And sadly, that wasn't even the half of it.

I flash my head and shift a little, trying to block the thoughts away and focusing back to Harmony as she pours her heart out at the front of the room. Saying she resembles an angel at this moment is a little far-fetched, but she does appear like a form of 'saving grace.' Her purity is shining, dominating the entire room, filling it with serenity.

~Hold the gun to my head. Count 1, 2, 3. If it helps me walk away, then it's what I need. Every minute gets easier the more you talk to me, you rationalize my darkest thoughts, Yeah you, set them free. Came to you with a broken faith, Gave me more than a hand to hold, caught before I hit the ground. Tell me I'm safe, you've got me now. Would you take the wheel if I lose control? If I'm lyin' here. Will you take me home? Could you take care of a broken soul? Oh, will you hold me now? Oh, will you take me home?~

A tear slips down her face while she sings, and my eyes are red and glossy. I have been numb for years, but what she's doing to me with her voice is something I may never know. I have never felt this vulnerable in a long while and it has been ages since my eyes have stung this painfully. My heart is moving in small tremors.

~You say space will make it better and time will make it heal. I won't be lost forever and soon I wouldn't feel like I'm haunted, falling. You say space will make it better and time will make it heal. I won't be lost forever and soon I wouldn't feel like I'm haunted, falling. You say space will make it better and time will make it heal, I won't be lost forever and soon I wouldn't feel like I'm haunted, falling. Would you take the wheel if I lose control? If I'm lyin' here will you take me home? Could you take care of a broken soul? Oh, will you hold me now? Oh, will you take me home?~

She ends the song there, and a teardrop escapes and slides along my face. It catches me off guard and I touch the path it left, staring at the wet mark on the pad of my forefinger. My forehead crumples bewilderedly as I get up from my seat, leaving the room quickly while everyone is clapping and standing to their feet.

••

"But lately what I've been crying about most is myself, the person I used to be and lost and the person in the present with no clue about his future." —Unknown.

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