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— CHAPTER 24 —
CLARA
Grigory comes for lunch a few days after New Year’s. I haven’t seen him for three weeks, and now he’s suddenly here, amidst the thick tension that has permeated the place for two days.
I still haven’t talked to Markus. I just don’t know how.
He quickly caught on that it wasn’t just the alcohol or the stress of the upcoming audition that weighed me down, and he’s persistently tried to get me talking. But instead of succumbing to his will, like I usually would, I’ve been irritable and snappy, and seeing his face taut with shock has become a daily occurrence.
I’m a bit surprised he hasn’t hauled me over his knee or forced me into compliance with a stern tone, but he seems deep in thought himself, unsure how to handle this new situation. It seems that he figures it’s best to give me some space.
When Grigory comes into the kitchen and wraps his arms around me, kissing me on the head, I badly want to sink into his arms and stay there. But Markus is here too, and I quickly pull away, saying I need to get back to the food.
Guilt racks my stomach. I shouldn’t pull away from him. I shouldn’t pull away from Markus. It seems I’ve become stuck in this downward spiral, drawing in on myself, refusing any and all comfort even though I badly need it.
I’m quiet and tense while the two men eat and I try to do the same, but I can barely get anything down. As usual, I’m sitting beside Markus, and I accept his small squeezes and strokes even as I ache to touch someone else. But when Grigory gets up and rounds the table to place a reassuring hand on my shoulder, a slow panic filters into my blood.This is wrong,is all I can think.
“What’s wrong,devochka?” he asks quietly.
Clutching the utensils, I shut my eyes, trying to keep my pulse from spiking. But it doesn’t work. Suddenly, my whole body is pounding with confusion, guilt, and longing.
I can’t take it. I dart up from the chair, away from the table, away from both men.
“Can I just go”—my voice is flat and dejected as I point toward the music room—“play the piano?”
“Sweetie, you’ve barely touched your food.” Markus nods at my almost full plate, and I want to crumble at the feeling of both men’s concerned stares.
Clasping my hands in front of me, I part my lips to say something, but only labored breaths slip in and out, so I dart out of the kitchen, through the apartment, and into the music room.
I slam the door behind me and rush to the piano. I need the stroke of keys to take my mind off the turbulent whirlwind in my head.
Unable to focus on much, I start playing scales, going through all of them systematically. C major, C minor, C harmonic, C melodic. Then I do the same with D flat, D, E flat, E, and so on. My fingers run up and down the piano on autopilot. I see them moving, but I don’t feel them. I don’t feel anything.Mission accomplished.
I’ve reached G minor when the door opens and Grigory’s presence seeps into the air, calling upon my attention with magnetic power. But I don’t look up. I keep going, all the way up and down to recommence the journey in a G harmonic scale.
“Stop playing,” a deep voice says beside me. But I don’t. My fingers only run faster, and I continue straight into the next scale.
Large hands curve around my biceps, blocking my arms and killing the sound. Silence becomes a heavy burden as my hands fall into my lap.
Suddenly, I’m shaking. The hands grip me tighter, encompassing my arms with intense warmth. It should be comforting, and it is, but it spurs my tears. It’stoocomforting, awakening the dormant emotions I’ve tried to deny.
A sob bursts from my lips, unwelcome and uncontrollable. One more wants out, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I shoot my hands up to muffle the sound, and then I’m crying into a familiar shoulder as strong arms hoist me up. Grigory’s scent wafts into my nose with each staggered breath, and it’s both comforting and unraveling.
Cradling me against his chest, he kicks the bench out from the piano and settles on it with me in his lap.
He doesn’t say a word—doesn’t ask what’s wrong—and I’m utterly grateful for it. He just lets me get it all out while rocking me in the safe enclosure of his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he assures, pressing me closer to underline his promise. “I’ve got you,devochka.”
The creak of the door and approaching footsteps interrupt his soothing words.
I tense up, forcing the ugly sobs down as I feel Markus hovering beside us. It’s a difficult task. My chest shakes with heaving breaths as it tries to contain all the hurt and brokenness that want out. I’m not even sure why I feel so broken—the straw that broke the camel’s back, stress piling up for months? I don’t think I realized the full extent of the strain of this back-and-forth thing we have going before this culmination. I didn’t realize how hard it was to crave more from Grigory when I felt like I was slipping away from Markus—how hard it was to balance between love and need while preparing for an arduous audition. Because that’s what this is.
Markus is love; Grigory is need. A need that runs so deep I can’t breathe without it.
It’s been there all along, ever since Grigory started sneaking his way under my skin in the first few piano lessons. But it hasn’t felt so violent during the fall because he was there all the time. It was only when Christmas brought a long separation that I truly started to feel the strain again.
Markus touches my shoulder. “What’s going on, sweetie?” His voice is full of so much concern and care, yet all I see is the implicit threat.
