Peyton Norelle has closed herself off from the world.
Ever since her sister's death two years ago, she has wrapped her heart with chains, protecting and guarding it, ensuring that nobody ever got past her walls. She's just been floating, after havin...
The song being sung in the chapter is 'Bette Davis Eyes' by Kim Carnes. A fairly old song, which makes references to fairly old things. But you might want to listen to it as you read the chapter, just because it gives you a better feel of the whole situation.
I've attached a cover by Taylor below, though, so it's not the original. Also, just a tip, skip to 0:47-0:50 for the actual song.
Some of the lyrics are pretty difficult to understand, which is why Genius is here to help you out: https://genius.com/Kim-carnes-bette-davis-eyes-lyrics
You'll realise that the song relates to Peyton quite a fair bit.
Also, this chapter makes reference to a character in TPOF—Josh Carrington. There's a very brief explanation on his role in Peyton's life for the sake of readers who didn't read TPOF, but he'll be appearing in the next chapter, so everyone will get to know him a bit better. :)
Sorry for the long note, so now, enjoy the chapter!
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E I G H T
F L A S H B A C K S
✕
memories & eyes
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IT WASN'T LIKE ANYTHING I'd ever heard before.
It was soft, it was smooth, but yet it was raspy, with the rawness of a first attempt. I was instantly drawn to it. It was pretty faint at first, but clear enough that I could follow it to the source. The song hadn't actually started proper yet—it was just to test the waters, to check the notes, and probably to try and recall the lyrics. The voice had an odd familiarity to it, but yet, I couldn't quite place it.
And only when I reached the entrance, did I see him.
I found myself outside of the music room, watching as he cradled his guitar in his arms, strumming gently—not urgently, not quickly, but carefully, as if the strings may break at any one time. He sat on the steps leading up to the makeshift stage, bent over the instrument, hair falling across his forehead. I made sure to hide myself from view, but with just one eye peeking out.
I was twisting a yellow tendril around my finger when he began.
Her hair is Harlow gold
Her lips sweet surprise
Her hands are never cold
She's got Bette Davis Eyes
I didn't know how to explain it, really. It was just so soothing to hear. It made you want to lie down right where you were and fall asleep. It just had that lilting tone to it that could calm you down, regardless of how anxious you were. You could get addicted to it. In fact, I probably was. I never wanted to stop hearing it.
It was... angelic.
Almost instantly, my mind brought me back to long summer days sitting on our bench swing, watching as my mother whisked my sister around the porch, a lemonade in hand, my father sitting in his chair, a cigar between his fingers.
And she'll tease you, she'll unease you
All the better just to please you
She's precocious, and she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush
She's got Greta Garbo's standoff sighs
She's got Bette Davis Eyes
On good days, he would take Harper's place, and dance with my mother instead. Those were my favourite days. Those were the days that I didn't find my mother leaning over a toilet bowl, that I didn't catch her sitting alone in the dark, crying over an unfaithful husband.
My eyes fluttered open as soon as I had realised that the sweet, nostalgic tune was no longer playing out around me.
Once I did, my gaze met his.
And only then did I realise that unconsciously, I had begun to hum along, and with each word, a tear had fallen.
The usual confidence and ease in his green orbs were now replaced by other things—things that I was afraid to name, for fear that it would break me. But I knew exactly what they were.
Confusion.
Concern.
Pity.
That brought me back to miserable days at school when every pair of eyes were on me—the first time I had ever gotten that much attention—looking at me the same way Colin was, like I was some charity cause that they had to help. And if that wasn't bad enough, some of them looked as if they knew my secret, as if they could see right through me.
I remember when it got too hard to bear. Walking briskly with my chin tucked into my neck, I would lock myself in one of the bathroom cubicles and dial the first number on my phone. I didn't even need to say anything, all because Josh Carrington—my unofficial big brother and best friend—knew me even better than I did myself.
He always got there within thirteen minutes—which honestly felt so much like thirteen years. We usually rarely exchanged words—just because there was nothing that needed to be said out loud for us to just know. He would fold me into his embrace, running his fingers through my hair again and again as I buried my face into his chest, feeling his own tears leak onto my shirt.
And as every single one of those memories flashed across my mind, throwing me back into that pit I had tried so hard to get out of, and simply by looking into his eyes, I knew exactly what I needed to do.
