Hi all, it's been over a year since I've updated this but what a year it's been. I can't make any promises for how frequently updates will be made to this story anymore because I know I can't keep them. But I got hit with a wave of motivation and creativity the other day and decided *fuck it* thus this chapter was born.

Enjoy.

I do not own Lemonade Mouth.

"I'll do a medium mango smoothie and a medium strawberry-banana smoothie, please." Wen spoke coolly across the counter to the girl with space buns. She read out the total as he handed her his card and she swiped it, remarking that the smoothies would be out shortly. He made his way over to the high top that I was sitting at, absentmindedly rolling my nails across the wooden tabletop, and hopped up onto the bar stool across from me, reaching out to grab my hand which caused me to jerk my eyes to his.

"Are you sure you wanna go to Stella's? We don't have to go, you know, I can call her and tell her that you weren't feeling well-"

"I'm sure," I cut him off. "I can't stop living my life, Wen. I won't stop living my life just because of this." I softly pulled my hand from his and cracked my knuckles. "If I stop living my life or if I live in fear, he wins. And I'm not about to let that happen." My insides still felt like mush and I prayed that my words were coming out firmer than they sounded in my ears. I meant what I was saying, I just needed to keep saying it to myself until it really sank in.

"Alright." Wen sighed, looking down at his now folded hands. "Is there anything that I can do right now to make this easier for you?"

I smiled. He really did have the biggest heart of anyone I had ever known. "No, there's not. But thank you, Wen. I'd really just like to talk about something else - act like this never happened?" Wen nodded, the twinkle in his eye meeting mine again. "We never actually worked on anything for the band, so we can do that." I remarked, reaching into my bag hanging off the back of the chair and producing the small notebook that I had been writing in earlier. This sparked Wen's interest and he stood up, sliding his bar stool closer to me and sitting back down. "I was thinking more of an upbeat rhythm, but you're the composer," I smiled, flipping open the book to a page with a complete page of lyrics scribbled down. "This is what I have in terms of lyrics."

Wen slid the book closer to him, eyes scanning the page, a furrow of concentration in his brow that slowly softened as a smirk appeared on his lips. "Dark Blue?" He questioned, gesturing to the title on the top of the page. I nodded and he responded the same way, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and opening up garage band to the keyboard widget. He laid his phone flat and started hitting a few keys with his fingers, looking back and forth from lyrics to keyboard. I heard the girl behind the counter call out for a mango smoothie and strawberry-banana smoothie and I got up quickly to grab our smoothies. As I got back to the table, I sat Wen's smoothie down in front of him but it didn't phase him - he was completely enveloped in the music. I took a sip of the pink drink in my hand and reached into my bag for my phone to check the time.

"Shit, Wen, we should get going." I grabbed his shoulder to snap him from his concentration. He looked up at me, "What?" He asked, "It's twenty-till. We gotta get going to Stella's." I told him again, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, taking another sip of my smoothie. "There's your smoothie, by the way." Wen smiled and took a sip of his mango smoothie, standing and grabbing his phone and my notebook, handing it back to me.

"I think I have something that'll work to show everyone else when we get to Stella's, I can't wait for you to hear it." Wen remarked, holding open the door for me to walk through as we made our way to his car.

It was a fifteen minute drive to Stella's house that was filled with silence between Wen and I other than the radio. But the silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, it was familiar. Wen would glance over at me every other minute or so, trying to read my face or my body language but I didn't have much to say. My head was swimming. I kept telling myself that I was fine and that I was stronger than the bile I could still taste in the back of my throat no matter how often I took a sip of my smoothie. I was only fifteen when Thomas attacked me - I was immediately hospitalized for a week followed by a week of intensive inpatient therapy and mandatory six month outpatient therapy, then optional therapy, which I've kept up with every four to six weeks. I've healed physically from the attack, but mentally it's still a process. Even before I knew Thomas had been let out early, the thought of him ever being released absolutely terrified me and I hoped that by the time he did, I would be long gone - away at college somewhere where I wouldn't have to worry about him finding me. His threat to me that night was so real - 'if you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you'. He was so cold, so cruel, so unbelievably malicious. Those words kept echoing in my ears and the image of his eyes would never leave me. They were a strikingly bright blue, but that night they were the darkest blue I had ever seen. It threw me into a whirlwind how eyes that I had fallen for and encapsulated my heart could completely change in an instant. My throat tightened and tears burned my eyes and I quickly turned my head to face the window in case they fell. I couldn't stop the thoughts and images coursing through my head. His eyes, his words, the feeling of his weight crushing me, his hand around my throat and the sharpness of the pocket knife against my cheek, the shooting pain-

"Liv."

Wen's warm voice stopped the image in its tracks and I inhaled sharply as I felt his hand connect with my thigh. I turned my head to look at him, using the back of my hand to wipe away the wetness on my cheeks. His eyes were those of a wounded puppy, his lips turned down in a perpetual frown. He squeezed gently, the light pressure keeping me present in the car with him and out of my own traumatic headspace. I met his eyes and put my hand on top of his, squeezing with the same pressure and mumbled an apology in embarrassment. I never wanted to drag Wen into this - it was my problem, my trauma to handle. Wen cocked his head at me, moving his eyes back to the road for a moment - we were at a red light. He paused for a moment, studying my face. "Why on earth are you apologizing?"

I let out a sad chuckle that was caught in my breath and shook my head, "I have no idea." The light turned green and Wen's eyes left mine as the car turned to the left. I recognized the apartment complex in front of us and realized we were at Stella's place. I pulled down the mirror in front of me and scanned my reflection, wiping away any remnants that I had been crying and sighed within myself. I put the mirror back up as Wen parked the car, his hand leaving my thigh for only a moment, but I found myself missing the contact immediately. I took a final sip of my smoothie and turned to Wen. "I'm okay. I just got a little lost in my head. But I'm okay, I promise."

"You're stronger than I've ever thought possible, Olivia." Came his reply, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "If you need us to leave at all, I will in a heartbeat, okay? You just tell me what you need." It was my turn to smile at him, and I nodded in appreciation, afraid to open my mouth to speak as the familiar tightness found its way around my throat. I gripped my bag and opened the door, hearing Wen pull out his phone to tell Stella we had arrived.

Usually band practice was held at Charlie's house - he had an open garage that had room for all of us plus our instruments and we were able to make as much noise as we needed without being bothered or bothering anyone else. Stella's apartment was a much different atmosphere. It wasn't her apartment, exactly, but her dad's. They had their house across town that she lived in with her mom, dad, and two brothers, but her dad had rented this apartment when his company moved him to Arizona before they could sell their house back in Rhode Island. He lived here for three months while the sale of their house became final while he searched for a new home in Arizona for the five of them. The lease was for an entire year and her dad was having a hard time finding a subletter, so sometimes Stella would stay in the apartment and her parents didn't seem to mind much. It was a small, one bedroom apartment that was blandly furnished, but it was enough space for Stella (and usually the band) to hang out in.

The hour that had passed since Wen and I got to Stella's consisted of me showing the group the lyrics that I had come up with and Wen playing around with different melodies on a keyboard that he had left at Stella's for low-key meetings like this. Stella pulled out her acoustic guitar about twenty minutes in and she and Wen argued back and forth over chord progressions and harmonies while I sat back with Mo and Charlie. The three of us knew not to get involved with their arguments as it always fell on deaf ears. Stella always had to get a word in edgewise but Wen countered every time with music theory (which Mo would defend when she could) and his "expertise". Sometimes it was comical to watch, and other times it was just draining. This time was the latter.

Twenty more minutes had elapsed before the pair finally stopped arguing and we put together a rough draft of the song, complete with Charlie slapping his thighs to a passable drum beat. It was in desperate need of bass and actual drums, but for what we had thrown together (and by we I mean Stella and Wen) within an hour wasn't the worst thing I had ever heard. It was always a surreal experience when the band got together. My whole life, my lyrics had just stayed as words on a page but I've finally found people to help me bring them to life in a way I never thought possible. The band all agreed that the song needed some more tweaking, but it was a good place to be in.

From his place on the sofa, Charlie stretched his arms over his head and yawned, looking expectantly at Stella. "You mind if we turn on a movie or something?" There was a collective variety of noises of approval from the rest of the band and Stella stood up from the floor, making her way over to the TV and que-ing up Netflix, tossing Charlie the remote.

"Hey, why does he get to pick?" Wen moped from behind the keyboard.

Mo laughed, "Oh, here we go."

"No, I'm serious! He always gets to pick the movie and all he cares about are sports documentaries. I just want to have a fair input for once!" Wen whined.

"Wen, no one wants to watch the stupid-funny movies you always suggest," came Charlie's reply. "I just put on whatever looks good and I've never gotten a complaint from the rest of the band."

"Well I'M complaining!"

"Can't you boys just compromise?" Mo sighed exasperatedly, "No sports and no stupid comedy. Why don't we put on a horror movie?"

"That's gonna be a nope from me." my voice rang out. "You guys know I don't do scary movies, or scary in general."

"How about an action movie? I know there are some good ones on there, and I'm always down to watch a little rebellion." Stella suggested while scrolling through her phone.

"Of course you are," Wen replied. "We all know you're just a total rebel, Stella."

"Yeah, your point?" Stella looked up from her phone to glare in Wen's direction.

"I'm just saying-" Wen stuttered over his words before slumping his shoulders in defeat. "Fine. I'm fine with an action movie. Is that good with everyone else?" Again, a collective variety of approving noises rang out from the group.

"You guys cool if I have a friend over? He just moved in down the hall with his uncle." Stella asked.

"Ooh, Stella's got a man friend?" Wen teased, standing from the keyboard bench to sit on the couch between Mo and I. I instinctively moved closer to the armrest to make room for Wen.

Stella rolled her eyes, "He's just a guy, our age, who's new to town and trying to make friends. Don't read so much into it." She shrugged.

"Is he cute?" Mo asked , leaning forward on her elbows to stare Stella down.

"You know I don't pay attention to that kind of shit," Stella quipped, but a hint of red tinted her cheeks as she spoke. "Do you guys care or not?"

Mo looked at me and smirked. "No, I don't care. The more the merrier."

Charlie's eyes flashed to Mo and he made a tight-lipped smile, "Yeah, sure, I'm down to meet the dude."

Wen nodded in agreement and all eyes turned to me as I had yet to speak.

"That's fine, Stella. I think we're all pretty chill on it. But I'm gonna go to the bathroom." I stood, making my way down the hallway to the bathroom and called over my shoulder, "seat check!" I heard Stella's groan of acknowledgement and I could almost picture the look of annoyance on her face, which made me smile.

I walked into the small bathroom and locked the door behind me, turning to face myself in the mirror, paralleled to just an hour or two earlier, I scanned my face. The redness had faded from my eyes, the puffiness dissipated from my cheeks, the tear tracks no longer visible. I appeared to be my usual self, and I was beginning to feel like normal. Being around the band helped immensely, in a way that I knew it would, but had my doubts about. I felt safe with the group, like we were an untouchable force to be reckoned with. They were my closest (okay let's be honest, my only) friends, and although I wasn't planning on telling them anything about what was going on, I felt in my bones that I could trust them with it. It's just the minute I completely open myself up about my trauma, it becomes that much more real. Part of me was still denying that Thomas was out of jail, and although the rational side of me knew that it was completely real and happening, I couldn't speak that into the world.

I heard the door to the apartment open and close, muffled voices filling the air. I knew I couldn't spend forever in the bathroom, so I turned from the mirror, did my thing, and washed my hands, taking one last look in the mirror, a half-smile on my face, knowing that I would be okay. I walked out of the bathroom and into the living room, hearing the opening credits of some action movie the group had finally settled on grow louder the closer I got. I turned to my right and took inventory of the faces in the room. Charlie was still on the far right side of the couch, Mo was seated next to him, followed by Wen and an empty space where I had been sitting. Stella had pulled out two chairs and there was a body in the chair farthest from the couch, their back to me. I assumed it was her friend. He had short, dark hair and he was tall. Before I could sit down at my place on the couch, Stella walked around the corner from the kitchen and smiled.

"Olivia! I want you to meet my friend, Tom." She gestured to the guy sitting in the chair. He turned his head to look at me and my knees nearly collapsed underneath me as my brown eyes met bright blue. A smile stretched across his lips that made my breath catch in my throat and I blinked hard, thinking that I was just imagining things. But when he stood up with an outstretched hand and said, "Hi, I'm Tom. It's so nice to meet you." I coughed hard and averted my gaze from his, immediately looking down at the floor and wrapping my arms around myself to become as small as possible. I mumbled a 'hi' and quickly sat down next to Wen, who cocked an eyebrow at me but I couldn't bring myself to make eye contact with him either. I could feel my hands begin to sweat and my knees trembled so I pulled them against my chest. My head flooded and bile rose in the back of my throat. I kept my eyes glued to the movie in front of me and prayed for the movie to end quickly, every thought of strength I had abandoning my mind. My worst fear had become a reality.

Thomas had found me.

I knew that I wanted to do this story more justice than what I delivered a decade ago when I started it, so I'm going down a slightly different road with the movement of the plot while still trying to hold onto some of the main ideas I had. It's a roller coaster, this one. As always, leave a review :)