Leonidas is deep in thought. I can tell by looking into his eyes, which fill with moisture as he glances down at me.
“Trinity, the only part of myself that I love is you.” He pauses and shakes his head in denial. “You’re my person, but it kills me to know I’m not yours.”
“You are my person,” I butt in. “I was just mad, and I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.”
His hands find my waist, pulling me closer to his body. He drops his forehead on mine.
“It still stings that you never told me though,” I admit, and he sighs in defeat. “I feel like a laughingstock, the girl who hates music falling in love with a rock star. You probably thought I was a freak!” I exclaim at the end, making him shush me.
“The thought of you being a freak never crossed my mind. I understood why you didn’t like music.”
“I still feel played,” I mutter lowly.
“I know nothing I say will convince you I won’t lie to you again, but I’ll live all my days proving it to you.” Leonidas pauses nervously. “I want to help you.”
I arch an eyebrow up in question.
“Let me help you fall in love with music again.”
FORTY
TRINITY
“Let me help you fall in love with music again,”replays in my mind for a good hour.
I sit on Leonidas’s bed while he takes a shower and start obsessing over what he claimed.
He’s going to help me love music again.
My hands shake at just the thought.
I don’t know if I’m ready. That’s a big step. I haven’t even listened to a damn lyric in years. Diving right into it after all that time seems like a nightmare, impossible to overcome.
No matter how long I wait, I know I won’t be ready. Singing and listening to melodies were my dad’s things with me. We escaped reality on the front porch swing. It just seems wrong to do all of that without him.
Especially the way he died at the music store—brutal and alone. He was going to get me my first guitar. As he placed the stunning oak musical instrument in the trunk safely, that’s when he fell to the ground and never got up. In a way, I feel guilty, like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t wanted a guitar of my own, he wouldn’t have been there.
For years, I blamed myself for his death, that I’d caused it.
My therapist is the only one who knows my thoughts, the only person who knows I blamed myself and tried to change my mindset. I stopped going to him a couple of months ago. I got tired of the looks of pity and ditched.
He would always tell me I wasn’t holding the gun, that my finger didn’t squeeze the trigger. Meaning I didn’t kill my father.
I never believed him until Leonidas came into my life. I hadn’t been there to kill my beloved father. I can’t dwell on the sins of another wicked man. I need to heal. I can’t think of a better person to do it with than Leonidas.
We’ll get stronger together.
“You there?” Leonidas’s deep voice asks and snaps me out of my thoughts.
I find him standing near the foot of the bed in only sweatpants.
“Sorry, deep in thought,” I reply quietly.
“About?” He sits in front of me on the bed.
I run a hand down my face and let out a shaky breath. “What you said earlier about helping me fall in love with music again. I’m just thinking.”
“If you’re not ready, I understand. I don’t want to push you into anything.”
