Exit Wound by Alexandra Moore Page A

it can be when we’re out in public together. Even these past few months, it hasn’t been any different. He’s still my brother. The only difference is he plays live shows to real people instead of me and my teddy bears.”
    It was the truth. I was Eden Sank’s first audience member. Now that I wasn’t the only one watching their every move, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone else who felt as close to them as I did. I know it wasn’t the same thing. One thing I knew for sure was that through music anything was possible. You could transcend through time and space and understand an era you never lived through. You could understand someone else’s pain and feel liberated because you were no longer alone. That was music. It gave you peace of mind, something other art forms couldn’t. Music never dies. Words are never lost. Through music, we could do so much, feel so much. That was why I loved music. Writing and playing it was one thing—to share it with others was a great blessing. I didn’t know if I was going to share these pieces of music with other people, but if I did, I knew that they would have peace of mind because somewhere inside of them they felt the same way I do.
    “What’s one thing you want to accomplish after you finish this tour?” I was asked, and I smiled.
    “I want to be the first one in my family to finish college. I’m going to Dartmouth in the fall.”
    “What are you majoring in?”
    “Music.”
    “Taking notes from your brother?”
    “No,” I said. “I’m taking notes from myself.”
    “Okay, that’s a wrap for today.”
    Once the camera crew was done, I went to shower off some of my makeup and hair product, which was way more than I usually wore.
    I changed into my pajamas and wrapped my hair in a towel then went around to the lounge to see what was for dinner.
    “Chinese,” Splinter answered.
    “Again?”
    “You should know how this band feels about their Chinese food.”
    I let out a sigh and told him my order since it was his turn to order it. I decided to go with something a bit healthier since I could tell the kungpao chicken was adding to my waistline. When Splinter was done ordering, he sat down next to me and flipped on the TV.
    “Why do you have a towel on your head?” he asked.
    I looked at him as if he was crazy. “Don’t you do this too? I mean, with your man-bun and everything, surely you know how to towel dry your hair.”
    He laughed, and so did I. We began shoving each other playfully until we couldn’t breathe from the laughter.
    “I don’t have a manbun!” he said. Today, his hair was long and flowing majestically.
    “Not today,” I said. “Except on every other day you have a man-bun.”
    He frowned, and I sniggered, and when I went to flip the towel off of my head to get the excess water from my hair, he hugged me tightly, causing me to lose the towel and have my wet curly hair stick to him.
    “Splinter, what on earth—?”
    “You’re kind of normal right now, so I thought it would be okay to hug you.”
    I shoved him off and grabbed the towel. “I am always normal, and it is never okay to hug me. Ever.” I ran my fingers through my curls and started to French braid my hair. Splinter was watching me instead of the TV.
    “Do you want me to braid your hair too, Splintykins?” I asked in a baby voice.
    “Sure, why not?”
    Once I tied off my braid, I looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you being serious?”
    He nodded, and sat in front of me with his back facing me. “Do that braid you did on your hair to mine.”
    I did as he asked. When we were done laughing from taking all the pictures and posting them to Instagram, the boys came out to see what we had done and laughed along with us.
    That was the most any of us had laughed in a long time. It was really the most we had laughed since Everett died. For that, I was grateful. I was glad we were able to laugh again. Although, even though I was laughing on the outside, on the