My voice hardens. I grab onto the only thing that gives me leverage. Anger. Control. The deal.
“Don’t,” I bite out. “You still owe me time, Adora. We have a fucking deal.”
She nods slowly, staring past me.
I know that fucking nod. That’s not agreement. That’s autopilot. She’s just nodding to make me stop talking.
She turns back to the violin, empty-eyed.
Fuck! I’m not ready to let her go.
“I’ll play for you.” The words leave my mouth like someone else shoved them out.
My fingers tremble at just the thought of touching that cursed instrument again.
Her breath catches.
“I can’t ask that of you,” she murmurs, her voice wrecked.
“You’re not asking, are you?” I cut in. “I offered.”
I need her out of her head. Need to drag her back to me before the darkness takes her someplace I can’t reach. I need more time with her.
Fuck it. No more waiting. When the spiral starts, it’s a war to pull her back. And she always fights it.
I move. Grab the violin from the case like it’s a snake ready to strike. The moment my fingers wrap around the handle, a jolt hits me. My breath snags. Everything inside me locks.
This feels wrong, but I don’t stop.
I tune it with hands that won’t stop shaking. She’s still not looking at me. She keeps her head bowed, silent. I watch her tears hit the floor, one by one, each drop a gut-punch.
The mask she’s been wearing to protect herself, to fake her strength, is completely off. She’s not pretending to be strong anymore. She’s breaking into pieces right in front of me.
I lift the violin to my collarbone. My chin settles into place like no time has passed.
It’s muscle memory. Even after all these years, my body remembers.
My breath stutters. The bow rises— And the first note is a mess. Broken, ugly and jarring, it hits the air like a scream.
I stop and double over, hand braced on my knee, dragging in air like I just got punched. The pain is instant. Bone-deep.
But I inhale. I steady. I push through. And I lift it again.
When I look at her, everything else falls away. Nothing else matters anymore. Not my irrational aversion to the violin, not my plan, not my darkness, not my pain.
Just her. Only her.
I ready the bow again.
The music is already playing in my head — her favorite. The one that used to chase her nightmares away. The one I created just for her, the song she always said brought the sun inside her mind.
“Count to ten, adorable,” I whisper.
The words hit her like thunder, and she flinches. I used to say them every time she got like this, right before I'd play this piece for her.
My hands move, pulling sound from strings. My performance is shit. It’s not that I forgot how to play, I could never do that.
The strings are fucked and need replacing. But that’s not the problem either.
