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“It’s not just an instrument.” My hand lifts up as more wetness collects on my cheek. I brush it off. “It’s my life. One that’s been stripped away from me.”
He exhales harshly. “I know you blame me for that, but can I remind you that I’m only helping keep you safe.”
“It doesn’t feel like that when I’m practically a prisoner, Gideon.”
“You have free roam of this place. You’re fed. I brought you your cello.” He lifts his arms. “What more do you want from me?”
A valid question.
“Let me sleep in here,” I say, glancing around the room. “Give me space.”
“No.” It’s all he says, and it manages to piss me off all over again.
“You’re an asshole.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I’ve been told.” He remains quiet for a minute, seemingly deep in thought. “If you want the cello, you’re going to have to tell me why it’s your life.”
I can tell him that much if, in return, I’ll get to keep the cello. I’ve been missing it so much. I take a deep breath before speaking. Trying my best to keep my voice from shaking.
“For one, it’s the one constant I’ve had my entire life.”
“This specific cello?”
“No. I just mean learning, playing, and practicing the cello. It’s been my release. The one thing that’s grounded me when I’ve felt the ground was opening up and swallowing me whole.” He nods but doesn’t say a word, allowing me to continue. “That cello, my brother bought for me.” I close my eyes, remembering. “It was one of the first things my brother bought after getting a job.” I can’t believe I’m telling him this. It feels too personal. I fight back more tears. “I-I was so proud of him. I thought he’d worked so hard.”
A choked sob rips from my throat, and I hate that he’s seeing me so vulnerable.
I expect to see annoyance or maybe indifference, but there’s none of that. He appears genuinely invested, and I’m sure he is, seeing as though it’s because of him my brother was able to buy the cello in the first place.
“What you don’t understand is that it was just Roman and me. Our parents died when I was fourteen; Roman—he raised me from that point on. We struggled. Playing was the only thing that helped me through the grief, and the cello he gave me pulled me out of my depression. That was, until I found out the truth. The cello had been purchased with drug money, and my brother had been involved in dealing drugs.” The words are spat in his direction. The blame directed at the source. “I was devastated. I didn’t know what to do.”
Angry tears fall as I remember the desperation and sadness I felt when the truth was revealed. “I begged him to stop, but it was like he couldn’t, or he didn’t want to hear me. And then, well, you know the rest of the story.”
The room is silent and still. It’s a disquieting feeling as we lock eyes and hold each other’s stare. I hope he sees the damage he’s caused. Sees that I’m an innocent victim of his actions. It might be circumstantial, but it’s the truth. I lost my brother in more ways than one, and it’s because of this man.
Gideon crosses the space, coming toward me. I don’t move.
He doesn’t give me the cello. Instead, he places it beside me on the mattress, flicks the lock, and opens the case.
“It’s a beautiful instrument,” he says, admiring the craftsmanship while simultaneously ignoring the heaviness of the moment. Refusing to own up to his part in my agony.
I nod. My tongue feels heavy. I’m not sure what to say. What can I tell him that will make him give it to me and leave me in peace? “It’s all I have left of my brother. Of my family.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and I see the emotion cross over his features. The guilt that lies just beyond the surface.
Eventually, he looks away, breaking the thick silence lingering in the air. “Why the cello?”
Coward.
I want to call him out on it, but what’s the use? I can’t force him to own up to his part, and I wouldn’t want to, anyway. What good is an apology if it’s not sincere?
I shake off the thought, debating what to tell him. I go for the truth. This man sees through me, so there’s no point in lying.
“Music has always been a part of my life. As a child, I was always listening to different melodies. As I grew older, I learned to appreciate the beauty of classical music. The delicate harmony of the strings. It was like nothing I had ever heard before.”
My cheeks burn from the honesty and reverence in my voice. Music is like a religion to me, and when I get a chance to talk about it, I come alive. At this moment, I feel self-conscious.
“One day, I picked up a cello. Something about the way the bow glides across the strings and how the music flows through me. It was like I had finally found my voice.” I shrug like it’s no big deal when it’s actually everything. “Since then, music has been my passion. It’s something that I pour my heart and soul into. Music is always there for me. It’s my way of expressing myself, of communicating my feelings without words.”
