Page 66 of Petrify

“No, it’s fine.” I look elsewhere, at the wall, the little angels across the room, unnerved by Bastien’s stare, even when I want to crawl closer and soak in his warmth. “I can do it. Henri will get there. I just?—”

“Mallary.”

“You don’t believe in me?”

There’s a pause. “I do.”

Maybe he knows the direction of my thoughts: I want to do this on my own. I want the music to speak for itself.

“How do I do this?” I whisper.

His head tilts in the dark. And then slowly he’s reaching for me, cupping my cheek with his palm, moving with an obvious hesitance, so gentle,toogentle. He’s never held anyone, never had a reason to caress the cheek of a lover. Or a fuck buddy. His thumb skates across my cheekbone, once, and then again, back and forth.

“Henri is smart,” he says. “If you were tutoring a younger version of yourself, what would you do?”

“I didn’t play at his age.”

“I know.”

My eyes burn with frustration. “I would start with the hardest sections. Work my way back.”

He’s silent, waiting for the rest of my reply.

“When I taught myself as a teenager, I fixated on the hard things. Couldn’t think of anything else until I got them down. I was practicing even without a keyboard in front of me. All in my head.”

“You think Henri doesn’t do the same thing?”

He would know—I imagine he and I are the same in this way, like he’s said so many times before. Is that what he’s meant this whole time? His upbringing was rigorous, and I forced the music into my bones, whether it wanted to be there or not. Both of us, trying to wrest control from something intangible.

“Lay down with me.”

He goes still at my request. Reluctant, even when he’s told me so many times how much he wants me.

He flames an indignation in me. He makes me want to shove him, slap him, scream at him, just for being able to unravel my thoughts, cracking open my ribcage and peering into the disaster that is my heart. I hate how much I want him. How good it feels to be seen by another.

Bastien finally lays his head on the pillow next to mine, the white mask shifting. We face each other, the Ghost and I, withonly a few inches between us. He watches me. I stare right back, thinking how strange it is to feel so comfortable next to him, when there is no music and our bodies aren’t touching.

I drift off like that, my eyelids falling heavy, dreaming deeply of a warm humming, a heart beating as a drum.

But then, in the morning, when I open my eyes, he is gone.

Chapter 34

The Ghost

It’strue that I am a jealous creature. I want what I am owed. I have been very patient.

I know that I have her. She has chosen me, even if she is reluctant to admit it. The way she weeps around me is evidence enough of my possession. And that should satisfy me.

But her attention is torn between the two of us. Henri has softened her. It’s something I didn’t account for—that her affection would be split. She cares too much.

If she thought only ofme, then these worries wouldn’t bother her. I would only make her cry from overwhelming pleasure.

Her fondness for Henri—this is the true source of her distress. This is what’s tearing her apart.

I can mend her again. I can make her whole.

Chapter 35