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Taking a seat, I look toward the vastness of the auditorium.
As a child, my parents would take me here. That was before they died, and life handed me disappointment after disappointment.
The seats are empty, but it doesn’t matter. In my mind, they are filled with prying eyes and judgment.
My palms start to sweat, and my legs shake.
Gideon steps up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder.
“Focus on my words, firefly. Only me.”
“Okay,” I mumble out, determined to at least try.
He went to all this trouble renting the entire space out. The least I can do is try.
Wrong.
Fear isn’t something so easily overcome. Especially when it’s a fear born from childhood trauma that’s lingered like a ghost for years.
“I want you to play—”
“I can’t—”
“You promised to try. Now, once you’re in position, close your eyes.”
“I—”
“Shh,” he coos. “You can do this, Sasha. You’re brave.”
Me? Brave?
I think of all that I’ve been through. What I’ve overcome on my own through this life. It hasn’t been easy, and I have managed to survive. Maybe I am brave. Or at least, I can play at it for one night.
I fumble with the cello, feeling the familiar strings and curves of the instrument.
His hands trail down my back, down to my waist, his breath on my neck. “Close your eyes, firefly,” he whispers. “And pretend you’re alone.”
I do as he’s instructed. Closing my eyes tightly, I breathe in deeply, trying desperately to pretend he’s not here.
I want to let the music wash over me.
But I can’t.
“What’s the problem? What can I do to help?”
I let out a long sigh, resting the cello against my chest as I turn to look at him. “I can’t get out of my head.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You don’t understand…I get locked in there. I hear the ridicule. I hear the scorn, my fear…”
“Then we just have to find you something else to think about.”
“What do you mean?” I try to look at him, but he shakes his head.
“Close your eyes.” I do.
“Get in position.” I lift the bow up to the cello.
