The Songs We Sang (MarkiplierXOC)

Chapter One: Sometimes I Feel like a Motherless Child

Lyric Cross shifted her backpack onto her right shoulder. Her guitar case was gripped tightly in her left hand, the feeling of the plastic handle a lifeline to things lost. She clenched it so hard—she could feel the blood pulsing in her hands, struggling to get around the constricted joints. Each sensation a beat, a beat that turned into a melody, then the words enter her head:

"Well I remember everything

And every window pane

All the words came back to me

The way they used to be...

Then I saw your face across the street

And my heart was home again..."

"Grandma loved that song," she said to herself. A slight smile came to Lyric's face and due to lack of expression she realized her cheeks had gone numb. It almost hurt to grin. Had it been so long? She picked up the melody in her mind, and sang aloud the rest of the words, her clear voice piercing through the night air.

"Well you said love breaks everything

And none of us survive

But I got over you last night

And I am still alive..."

A few feet away in a street alley a male voice cried out, "Shut the hell up! Some of us are trying to sleep." She silenced herself and sighed. Damn bums, she thought. Frick, how can I judge them though? I'm just like them now. No, almost just like them, but not quite. She knew better. Most could sleep at night and work for food or beg during the day. With Lyric being a young twenty-three year-old that wasn't an option. Too much crap could happen at night to someone like her, being only five three and one hundred and ten pounds. And with her blonde hair and emerald green eyes, she was a prize to sex traffickers in the area. The expressive mouth and sharp cheekbones didn't help either. It didn't matter how greasy she was or how dirty and worn she looked, she knew better than most the LA pimps always looked for new victims. And often, they looked at night. She knew to not take risks. Daytime was a safer time to crash and let one's guard down. Nighttime she could be on the move, be awake, and not be as vulnerable.

"Thanks for teaching me that much Father," she spat. "I'm glad you gave me that life lesson. Watch and learn. Tell my mom to turn tricks."

Her stomach dropped. she remembered what Grandma Maggie had told her the summer she turned twelve, and two slight bumps began to swell on her chest. "Respect yourself," she had cooed gently, smoothing her hair back, "you need to respect and love yourself before anyone else can. You're too smart to be getting into trouble, and you're too talented with your music to be wasting time chasing boys. You're going to go to college and make Gram proud, right?"

She had nodded, her eyes gleaming with hope now long gone. "Yes Grandma. One day I will buy you a house next to the Florida shore, and we can live together there. I will sing you what I write before I put any of it on my albums."

She would gaze down on her, with those watery green eyes that were aged remnants of Lyric's bright ones, and kiss her forehead. "I will hold you to it, baby girl."

The dreams of the shore died when, shortly after Lyric's thirteenth birthday, Grandma Maggie closed her eyes and never woke up again. Then, after being apart from them for nine years, she was sent back to LA; back to the whore mother who never wanted her; back to the pimp father who saw her as a possible commodity, but could never bring himself to do it, to turn his back on what little fatherly obligation he felt he had toward her. That's where the affection stopped though. An occasional slap on the face was perfectly acceptable, as was a foot to her back when she fell down, and constant reminders to Lyric that he was always in control, and if she ran away, he could hunt her down. He knew less kinder pimps in the city, and whoever found her, could have her for all he cared. He could green light the hunt.