Scarlett’s being closed off about seeing her uncle at the restaurant, which is not helping because I need to give my dad some answers tonight. I think she’s afraid to say what I’ve been thinking.
From what she tells me, it makes sense that her uncle would try and attack her dad. He could have used the drugs to blackmail him while continuing to buy faulty diamonds to scare the businesses. It’s the perfect motive and the perfect story. Something about it being tied up so neatly with a bow on top doesn’t sit right with me. There is something messier, deeper, and darker that we’re missing out on.
My run quickly turned into a sprint, so I turned back towards my house, jogging on the cool-down.
When I get home, I shower, clean up the stubble on my chin and try my best to refresh myself. I can’t keep getting caught up in whatever green eyed monster that has taken over my brain when it comes to Scarlett. Mostly, it’s a primal, protective nature that I have over her. I’ve always been like this, and she’s just been too in her head to notice. I’m mostly at the events she attends, and I covertly protect her. I make sure no creeps or weirdos go near her or when they do, I give them a look to fuck right off. I make sure she gets home alright every night.
Even being in competition, our families have known each other for years which meant I knew Scarlett growing up - sort of. We attended events together when we were in kindergarten and middle school. We never really spoke, but there was always this strange comfortable silence that settled between us whenever we were alone.
She’s the youngest of four brothers and I’m the only son of a multi-millionaire who developed anxiety early on and obsessive compulsive disorder not too long after. We were both ignored and belittled. Without knowing, we found a silent solace within each other. It’s ironic now because all we do is argue.
Once I’ve gotten ready, it’s well into the second period and I know that I’ve missed class. The way I lose track of time sometimes worries me. I’ll be reading a book, trying to forget for a few minutes and then three hours have passed. I don’t know how I managed to do it this morning. I could’ve sworn my run only lasted twenty minutes. Maybe I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.
I don’t bother to give a lame apology to Anderson about missing class and I head towards the music rooms instead.
The rooms are each small soundproof cubicles with a piano on one side of the wall, a mirror above it so when I look in it, I can see the door.
Once I’ve put my bags to one side in the corner, I stretch out my fingers and I start playing. What comes most naturally is Bach’s ‘Prelude in C major’, which is the first composition I learned without sheet music. I can play almost anything by ear now, but as a kid, it was one of my great achievements.
Now, I don’t even think twice as I let the music carry me to a place beyond this room. To a place where my mom was still living with us and we’d spend the morning waking my dad up by sharing a seat on the bench next to the Steinway, doing a duet. To a place where my anxieties could be soothed by a book and some music. To a place where it’s just pure, quiet tranquillity and silence where I’m not obsessing over numbers.
I make a smooth transition into SYML’s‘Where’s my love,’ closing my eyes as I allow my body and my mind to settle. My hands mostly move on their own accord, playing the song seamlessly. It’s a beautiful song. It’s one of the few non-classical songs that I take my time to perfect. I had to learn this one to perfection or else it would never do the original justice.
I’m lost somewhere between the chorus and the verse when I open my eyes for a split second and I take a look in the mirror, Scarlett is standing in the doorway, her tote bag on her shoulder, dressed in a two piece black corset top and a black skirt. It gives off the same flair asVossclothing, but I’ve never seen it on the website. Her eyes are closed and she’slisteningto me play.
I don’t get nervous playing around people. Sometimes my dad would make me sit in the living room at soirées just to get the guests to gush over me. But it’s judgemental, poised, Scarlett Voss who is listening to me play. I go back to playing, trying not to make it obvious that I know she’s there.
I get around to the chorus again and she starts to hum. I don’t mean to be dramatic - actually, I don’t care how insane this sounds - but the way Scarlett is humming right now is the sound I want to hear when I go to heaven. People can sing, sure. People can play instruments, or they can dance. But the way she’s humming is sculptured, crafted, just pure perfection. A lot like her.
Then the worst thing that could possibly happen, happens.
She starts to sing.
It’s not loud. She probably doesn’t even notice she’s doing it. I love that she does that sometimes. She says things, whispers them, or she touches things and I swear she’s so in her head sometimes it’s like she doesn’t realise she’s doing it. It’s a quiet whisper, but her enunciation of the words seems like she’s had real practice or training. It’s in a lower key to how the song is originally played, but it contrasts perfectly with the key I’m playing in. After a few seconds, she goes back to humming and I can’t help myself.
“Holy shit, you can sing,” I say as I stop playing. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror and her expression isn’t what I expected. She doesn’t look like she’s been caught or that she’s embarrassed. She just seems at peace.
“I can't,” she argues.
“You can.”
“Barely.”
“Totally,” I correct. She drops her gaze from mine in the mirror to my hands on the piano. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“It’s not a secret,” she challenges. I shrug. “Why weren’t you in class today?”
“I overslept,” I lie. She wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain what it’s like to be in my head sometimes.
“Bullshit… but I don’t care,” she says, waving her hand at me. “Look. I’ve got to cancel the next study session for the project. I’ve got a date.”
Great. She’s spending more time with that fuckwad, Max. I don’t know him very well, but after a quick google search, I’m fine with keeping my distance. He’s got a successful family, but he doesn’t act like it. He acts like a regular twenty-something who doesn’t feel like he needs to impress anyone. Which is ridiculous if he’s dating Scarlett.
The girl has looks to kill. Any man would be stupid not to be on their knees begging her for even a minute of attention from her.
“What? Why do you look like you’re going to puke?” she asks, stepping back a little from me. I glance at myself in the mirror, and I look pale.
“I’m not,” I say defensively. She doesn’t seem too convinced as she raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m just surprised you’re dating him because you’re…”
