His Lost Lycan Luna (Kyson and Ivy)

His Found Lycan Luna Chapter 90
She starts clawing at herself, ripping herself to pieces and ripping out her hair. Abbie lost it. She broke and broke some more and it broke me seeing her give up because that’s what she was doing.
Rage bubbled in me as hot as hers while Gannon grabbed her, but she screamed. Blood-curdling screams echoed off the tiled walls as her anger rose, and she started attacking Gannon as he tried to stop her from destroying herself.
“More than my life, Abbie! You promised!” | scream at her just as I feel hands grab me, trying to haul me away. Sparks rush across my arms, and I feel Kyson hold ine.
“Let me go!”
“She will hurt you,” he says, but I pull out of his grip. “Seeing her like this hurts me,” I tell him. Scrambling toward her, she thrashes, kicking me, and Gannon pins her arms by her sides while I try to stop her kicking legs. Gannon grunts when she tosses her head back, but his grip doesn’t waiver. Even when the back of her head connected with his nose.
“Stop. We are trying to help you,” I tell her, but she continues to thrash, this time kicking me in the chest and sending me flying back into Kyson. Anger and grief at seeing her like this licked through my veins. Burning hotter than the sun. It makes my skin prick with the intensity of its searing heat, and I lunge at her. My hands clamp on the sides of her head.
“Stop!” I tell her, and she freezes instantly. Yet her following my command didn’t shock me. It was the glowing of my hands that did before I am plunged into memories that I know aren’t mine. Memories I know are hers.
I blink around, my surroundings evaporating as new ones take shape, nightmares, things I wish I could unsee, yet I couldn’t bring myself to pull myself out of her head.

Trapped, just like she was. Trapped in the past that was darker than an abyss. Tortured and broken. I could hear their voices distorted as if they spoke underwater, yet I knew it was Kyson and Gannon. Tingles rush up my arms, and I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.
Yet instead of looking down at myself, I looked down at Abbie in the tub, where she tried to kill herself. Her wrists slashed open, and she truly believed she was hurting them by being here. Yet the devastation of Gannon finding her told a different story as he tried to save her.
Yet all while I watched her bleeding out, the walls of her bathroom were no longer tiled but filled with every bleeding memory, every tainted word, every bad thing painted on the walls here, bearing her tortured soul to me. I wanted to escape these memories when they weren’t even mine. I couldn’t imagine them being mine and the horror she lived with.
Yet the longer I stayed, the more I found I couldn’t pull myself out of her head, out of her consciousness. I was trapped, and I was drowning in despair. I couldn’t take it. I needed out; I wanted out. It was too much, too much pain. Too much suffering for one soul, too much pain for one to endure.
My heart broke for her, over and over again, until I was left as dead inside as she was. I screamed inside, writhed, trying to break free, yet I had no idea how I was even here, how I invaded her like this.
“Kyson!” I screamed, trying to break free. I wasn’t sure if I screamed his name aloud or only in my head, but sparks rippled violently over my skin before his voice was in my head.
“Give me control of our bond,” he kept repeating, trying to manipulate it as he did my aura, but this was different. My bond was breaking, untrusting from the feelings swirling inside Abbie becoming mine. I had
become her, trapped within her. Yet Kyson prompted, coaxed me.
“Whatever you’re doing, you can control Azzy.”
“You used power to get in there. Use it to get out.” his words made no sense because I don’t remember doing anything. I just remember being angry at her, angry she was giving up.
She promised. She promised! “More than my life.” this was not my life yet. I was trapped in a past that was hers, not mine. We shared it, but not every trauma. I look around the room I am in, the walls of her destruction closing in.
“This is not me. This is not Abbie,” I breathe, closing my eyes. This isn’t Abbie.
“Breathe, Azzy,” Kyson murmurs in the distance, only this time, when I open my eyes; the walls were no longer painted with her darkest fears. No, they were decorated with every memory I had of her, every good memory. The night of the festival when we danced in the attic together.
Playing in the sun when our parents were with us, painting with the children, the apple fight, her smiling face, and as my memories began to paint the walls, I felt her wake. Felt her adding her own, her and Gannon. Tyson. A small cottage with wildflowers and pebble footpaths and her mother.
Tile by tile, we built the walls up that kept her going, kept her strong, the little things worth fighting for until the blood evaporated and the bathroom was clean, and it was just us. Just us and every good thing we remembered.